My friend Ken inspired me to write a short story by way of
asking friends on Facebook to suggest the characters. They were asked to give
the character’s name, one detail about his or her appearance, one detail about
his or her profession or hobby, and one character trait. Of the 5 characters I
received, I chose these three.
Mergatroid
Invisible on Wednesdays
Baggage handler
Pathological liar
Submitted by Kate
Carney
Hathaway
Wears glasses
Knitter
Speaks mostly in a whisper
Submitted by Linda
Carney
Cory
She races motorcycles
She has waist length hair
She is optimistic
Submitted by Bobbette
DeLalio
So without further ado, my story.
Connections by Val Carney
“MERGATROID! Now
where is that damn cat? I swear, he is NEVER where he is supposed to be!”
Twenty-three year-old
Cory was bustling around her San Francisco apartment overlooking the Golden
Gate Bridge, frantically packing for yet another adventure. This time she was
off to sunny Costa Rica. Her small backpack was open on the floor conspicuously
missing one large black cat. Cory craned her neck out of her 3rd floor window
and hollered his name again. “MERGATROID!” Outside the window she could hear
the familiar low grumble and screech of brakes of the garbage truck! “Oh of
course”, the realization easing her concern. “It’s Wednesday, trash day. Duh! He
always disappears on trash day. No
doubt he will come back stuffed to the gills and still demand dinner. Damn cat
thinks he’s a dog!”, she mused to no one but herself. Cory shook her head in
mild disbelief. She couldn’t fathom how one animal could eat so much and then
still ask for more.
“He is such a little liar, always
telling me he’s hungry”, she thought. “No, make that a pathological liar with
all the stories you constantly tell me, you silly old cat!” she mused out loud
at the open window. “Well I suppose he comes by it honestly; I am kind of a
story teller myself” she said to herself figuring he wasn’t around to hear it.
Any time Cory
pulled her suitcase from the closet, Mergatroid never failed to crawl in and
make himself at home. Cory wondered if it meant that he wanted to come along on
her adventures or if he, like most cats, just liked to crawl into things.
Perhaps, she thought, he does it as a form of protest that I am leaving him
again, like a sit-in. She smiled at
herself and said it out loud, “A sit-in! Ha!” She was always so tickled at her own silly
and witty sense of humor. She made it a point to ask him his rationale behind
the suitcase sitting. It appeared however that it would have to wait as the cat
was nowhere to be found. Mergatroid normally liked to scratch at the heavy duty
fabric and bite and tug on the handle to the point that she affectionately
nicknamed him “The Baggage Handler”. She thought it fitting for the cat of a world
traveler. Had she gotten him as a kitten she would have named him Eddie Bauer
or Osprey or REI or something like that after the bags he was always climbing
in. This cat however, was a hand-me-down after her father developed dementia
and lost the ability to take care of himself, let alone a cat. She liked his
name enough not to change it thinking it sounded like a cross between a video
game robot-villain and a snooty Englishman. She remembered her father would
frequently say “heavens to Mergatroid!” but she had no idea what the phrase
meant and she never thought to ask him. Even though the cat had only lived with
her for 3 years, she found that she missed his loud protest meows. As someone
who lives alone, she found it was the only form of unconditional love that she received
now that her father was in a nursing home and due to his memory loss, she never
visited him. Looking at the damage her bag had sustained in just 3 short years,
she said, “Surely that silly cat knows I’m leaving.” She was suddenly feeling
lonely.
Cory shook off
the feeling and busied herself rifling through her extensive underwear and sock
collection looking for the best ones she had. She owned everything she would
need for a year-long excursion but only ever took along the bare minimum
especially for only 2 short weeks. She figured for two weeks in the jungle and
tromping around the cities she’d need 2 pairs each of socks and panties, one to
wear while the other was being washed, a task she performed nightly. “Let’s
see, what else?” She mentally scanned over her carefully selected items and
counted them all out on her fingers. “One tank top, one t-shirt, two pairs of zip-off
pants, one bra, one skimpy bikini, baseball hat, light rain jacket, sunglasses,
passport, money belt, tiny travel towel, journal and pen, hiking shoes, silk
sleep sack, hammock, water bottle with built-in filter, menstrual cup, and condoms.
Oh, and of course my iPhone. Yup, that should do it!” What she wasn’t going to
be wearing fit neatly into a small rucksack. Cory liked to travel light but also
she made sure she was prepared with all the essentials for those just in case
moments. It made for a much more carefree experience…no checked baggage, just a
small carry-on for the plane. “Oh! I almost forgot!” Cory ran to grab her
travel toiletry kit from the bathroom that included a small folding toothbrush,
a travel size toothpaste, dried soap leaves, and extra-large hair ties for her waist-long
dreadlocks. Cory chose to leave the sunscreen behind figuring that her smooth,
chocolate brown skin didn’t need it. Her mother’s shrill voice floated into her
ear from some faraway memory and barked at her to bring the sunscreen anyway,
that Costa Rica is sunny and brown skin burns too. She nodded and acknowledged
her mother’s wisdom with a “yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about it!” and chose
to disregard the advice. She zipped up her bag which must have been the final call
that Mergatroid needed because just then a tap came on the window and there he
was. Cory opened the window just wide enough for him to squeeze in. The cat
jumped down onto the suitcase with a thud and pawed at the nylon material thus beginning
his ritual. “Why do you do that, anyway?” Cory asked him knowing full well she
would never get a proper answer.
Mergatroid
stared at her in response before running off to his empty food bowl where he
sat expectantly.
“Well, I guess
only you know the answer to that one,”
Cory said as he continued to sit beside his food bowl and whine and cry as if
he hadn’t eaten in days. Cory smiled and told him, “Stop making up stories! I
know you have eaten your weight and then some, how can you possibly eat any
more?” And with that Cory opened the airtight container and gave him a generous
portion of kibble anyway. “That’s all you’re getting! Don’t ask me for anymore!
I’m leaving soon and Jamie will be here a couple of days to feed you again,” Cory
informed him.
A loud protesting
“harrumph” emitted from deep within Mergatroid’s
gut but she went about her business and pretended not to hear him.
Two hours later
Cory stood in front of an electronic check-in machine at the airport all decked
out in her trendy name-brand outdoor clothing. A loud crash echoed throughout
the terminal which caused her to crane her neck toward the long Checked Baggage
line beside her. There stood an unusually tall, middle aged man wearing small
Harry Potter-like glasses and an embarrassed and apprehensive look on his face.
He bent down to pick up the overloaded suitcase that had just unexpectedly tipped
over. The man chewed his nails on one hand and tightly gripped his rolling
suitcase with the other to the point his knuckles turned white. There was
something about him, something about his vulnerability and awkwardness and
nervousness that made Cory continue to deliberately turn her head to watch him.
She wanted to help him, run over to him and save the day and put his mind at
ease, but how she would do that, she had no idea. Cory loved to help others.
Her father taught her early in her life that she could bring joy to both
herself and others if she was both helpful and giving. As an adult she often
spent time putting change into expired parking meters or stuffing ten dollar
bills into credit card slots at gas pumps for the following person to find. She
would frequently and anonymously pay the restaurant bill for neighboring
restaurant tables and take people’s shopping carts back to the corral for them.
Sometimes she would simply open a door for someone and then imagine the ripple
effect that such a small gesture might create. With this particular stranger
though, she felt oddly connected to him even standing some 40 feet away. Cory
noted that his blue suitcase looked brand new and she watched him fumble for
his wallet and nearly drop it when he got to the front desk. “I wonder where he’s
going,” she thought. “Looks like maybe he’s afraid to fly”.
Cory shrugged
and snapped herself back to her own reality and finally grabbed her newly
printed boarding passes from the bottom of the machine. She checked over the
details:
Name: Corydalis Love Smith Flight: 1118
Departure: SFO Time: 9:50am
Gate: 50 Seat:
4A
Arrival: DFW Time:
7:45am
Name: Corydalis Love Smith Flight: 4925
Departure: DFW Time: 10:30am
Gate: A17 Seat:
6C
Arrival: SJO Time:
11:15pm
“Oh good, the
window seat.” She picked up her pack and slung it over her shoulder and
practically bounced into the security check. She knew the drill. Shoes off,
belt off, hat off, ID out. She filled the shallow, gray bin with her belongings
and pushed them through the scanner. With a wide smile, Cory greeted the
security officer who had looked over her ID. He smiled back in recognition.
“Off again?
Where to this time?” he said.
“Costa Rica. The
travel bug is rearing its ugly head again! I can’t sit still or I start
thinking about my dad too much,” said Cory
“Wish I could do
that. Gotta work though, you know,” lamented the officer.
“Well, my dad
would want me to go and since he left me all the money he ever earned as a doctor,
I figure I may as well enjoy all the world traveling he can’t now. But I hope
you get to go somewhere soon!” Cory gathered her things, high-fived the
security officer and trotted barefoot into the airport.
Forty-five
minutes later Cory settled herself into the wide, cushy leather seat A, against
the window in aisle 4. Seat B remained empty while several hundred other
passengers filed past. Cory liked to watch the people go by her and wonder
where they were going. “Were they going home or were they just heading out on
vacation? Is this a happy trip for traveling or a sad trip to honor family
lost?” she wondered. Cory noted many families with babies and children and some
families without. There were old folks and young people, people traveling
alone. People with brief cases and people with diaper bags. For each one Cory
made up a quick story. Then noting how unusual it was to have an empty first
class seat this far into boarding, particularly on a full flight, she began to
make up a story about her absent seat neighbor. “She probably had to use the bathroom but being a germaphobe didn’t
want to sit down on the seat. She was in a hurry because she thought she might
be late for her flight, dropped her purse all over the floor while trying to
hang her ass over the seat and simultaneously search for a tampon.” Cory
smiled at herself as she stuffed her own simple rucksack under the seat in
front of her and took out her journal to record her made up stories and her
random acts of kindness from the day, which included helping an old woman put her luggage into her car just outside the terminal.
Several long
minutes after the seemingly last passenger squeezed themselves down the aisle, one final person boarded. The tall man in black Harry Potter glasses Cory had seen earlier looked nervously down at
his boarding pass and then at the numbers on the overhead compartments
indicating which seat was his, 4B. Although his empty seat was not difficult to
locate, the man still double checked his boarding pass and the seat number 2
more times before cramming his bag into the only available space left in the
overhead compartment. The man sat down and for a split second Cory was
disappointed that he was not a woman having just dropped her purse all over the
bathroom floor. She was however very interested in the happenstance in the fact
that this was the man that she had not only seen earlier but with whom she felt
odd connection to. She wondered what sort of cosmic forces were at work and
then just smiled, because she recognized that that was the way the universe
liked to work sometimes. Cory also noted that the man’s cheeks were flushed in
what she interpreted as either embarrassment or being out of breath, or maybe
both. She noticed that he did carry a purse of sorts, a leather satchel that he
stuffed under the front seat at the flight attendant’s instructions. She
wondered if he had ever accidentally spilled the contents in a public restroom.
“You nearly
missed your flight,” Cory said to the man as he finally exhaled a deep breath
that he seemed to have been holding all day.
“Oh yeah, well I
had some travel troubles. First I had trouble at the baggage check counter.
They said my other bag was too heavy and they wanted to charge me extra but my
card kept declining for some reason. They made me use cash to get this prepaid
debit card so that I could pay the extra fee. Lucky I had some cash. Then I got
stopped at security for an extra pat-down, that was fun. Although that was the
first time in a long time I got felt in some of those places, if you know what
I mean. They must have thought I look like a terrorist or something because
they went all through my carry-on and made me leave a couple things. Finally I
got through it but I guess I was a little frazzled because I wound up going to
the wrong gate all the way on the other side of the airport and then I had to
run here when I realized my mistake,” he barely managed to eke out his words while
still trying to catch his breath. “I’m not much of a traveler,” he gasped and whispered.
“Seems I’m not much of a runner either.”
Cory nodded her
head in acknowledgement and assured him that “airports can be tricky.” Looking
over at him, she noticed that he was buckling his seat belt and had pulled the
strap extra snug across his waist, as if he though he may slip out accidentally
if he weren’t careful.
“Nervous?” Cory
asked him.
“A little. I
saw a movie once about a plane crash in the Andes Mountains and the survivors
ate the dead to stay alive. I am not sure how good dead people would taste so I
would rather not fall out.” The man spoke just above a whisper and shook his
head with a very serious expression on his face.
Cory stifled her
laughter at what she thought was an absurd fear. She also thought his story of
some Andes plane crash and the survivors eating the dead sounded preposterous
at best. At last the flight crew took their positions and began their safety
briefing. Cory had seen the demonstration a million times and wanted to
continue her conversation with the stranger but he clearly did not feel the
same way. The man’s eyes were locked in attention toward the flight attendant.
He was taking in every detail of every safety feature; the overhead oxygen, the
seat and how it became a floatation device, where the exits were. He clearly
wanted to be prepared in the event he suddenly found himself crashed in the
Andes or somewhere, Cory didn’t know.
“So if you’re so
nervous to fly then why are you flying? Where are you going?” Cory asked just
as the attendant finished up.
“South Carolina
for my good friend’s wedding. We grew up together and if it weren’t for
Facebook we might have lost touch. I don’t socialize much.” The man quietly
announced.
“Sorry, what?”
Cory leaned in towards him. He was so quiet she was having trouble hearing him.
“Oh sorry. In
Seinfeld’s World they’d call me a ‘quiet-talker’.
I don’t know, I guess I just don’t like to be too loud and noticeable
especially because I am already so tall,” the man said as his knees brushed the
seat in front on him, a difficult feat to achieve with the extra leg room in
first class.
“Anyway, I am
going for my childhood friend’s wedding,” he said a little louder the second
time. “Where are you going?” the
mystery man asked Cory.
As bubbly as
ever, Cory announced that she was off to Costa Rica for a quick two-week trip.
“Two weeks,
wow!” said Mr. Tall-Quiet-Man as Cory now thought of him in her head. “I have
never gone anywhere for that long. Come to think of it, except for moving to
San Fran, I have never gone anywhere.”
The pilot
announced that the plane had reached cruising altitude, it was safe to move
around the cabin and that the flight attendants would be by momentarily with
the snack cart. The man reached down and retrieved his satchel and from it
pulled out a skein of navy blue yarn. He wound it around his fingers and
rhythmically began to knit.
Cory turned her
head in both amusement and interest at this unexpected development. This
certainly did not fit with the imaginary details she was secretly making up
about him and instantly added ‘Knitting’
to his name. “Knitting?” said Cory. “I was not expecting a guy such as yourself
to be into knitting and certainly not on an airplane. But where are your
needles?” She had never seen anyone knit with no long needles before.
“They wouldn’t
let me on the plane with them. I had to leave them at the security check. It’s
ok, I can do without them. I actually learned when I was a little kid how to
knit on my fingers. My grandmother taught me. She thought it would help me
relax.” Mr. Tall-Quiet-Knitting-Man said.
“Well, does it?”
Cory questioned.
“It actually
does. It gives my mind and hands something else to focus on besides whatever
else I am anxious about,” he told her.
“What’s your
name?” she asked bluntly.
“Oh,” he blushed
a little. “It’s Hathaway. Hathaway Jones.”
“That may be the
most unusual name I have ever heard of. Well, not the Jones part but the
Hathaway part for sure. So, you mean like Anne Hathaway?” she asked.
“Yes exactly
only not the actress. I was named after Shakespeare’s wife. My mother was a
writer and she loved William Shakespeare. She said she picked out William for a
boy and Hathaway for a girl.” Hathaway said.
“Why not just go
with Anne?” Cory asked him.
“I asked my
mother that same question once when the other kids were teasing me about my
name. She said because she knew a mean kid in high school named Anne and always
thought it was a horrible name, but she liked Hathaway,” he explained.
“Wait, I’m
confused. You’re a guy so then, why aren’t you William”?
“Oh well,
William is my middle name. When my mother was pregnant with me she had this
really vivid vision that I would be a girl and that I would grow up to be a
writer like her. She was so convinced I was a girl she had my grandmother make
a knitted pink blanket with ‘Hathaway’ written on it. When I turned out to be a
boy she felt like she still had to go with Hathaway because the blanket was
already finished and my grandmother had worked so hard on it. Funny thing is, I
hate to write and I am not much of a reader either. SO much for Shakespeare. Anyway,
so that’s how I got my name,” explained Hathaway.
Cory listened
with bated breath. “Wow! That’s quite a story! What about your dad? He didn’t
mind?”
“Oh my father
hates my name. He was actually drunk and passed out on the floor when she went
into labor so she went and drove herself to the hospital and had me all by
herself. When the lady came around with birth certificate papers my mother
figured she could put down ‘whatever name she damn well pleased’ as she used to
say,” Hathaway had gone on to say. “And oh man was my father pissed at her! He was
such a ---” he paused, “--- weeell, he was
not a nice man let’s just put it that way. He told my mom that I would grow up ‘to be a faggot’ what with having a
girl’s name and a pink blanket and all. He would call me horrible names like
Sissy Boy, or Pussy Boy or Girly Boy. Sometimes he wouldn’t call me anything at
all and would just ignore me, which is how I liked it best. It didn’t help
things that my grandmother taught me to knit, which I suppose was a way to take
my mind away and escape from him especially I was never much of a reader. It
just made him hate me even more, though. He had a lot of anger issues and he
left us when I was about 10. Things got a little better after that, although it
created different problems.”
Cory felt
instantly sorry for Hathaway as she thought back on her own idyllic childhood. “How
did his moving out create new problems. Wouldn’t that have been the best thing for
you?” she asked.
“Oh well it was
the best thing for me but see, my mother was suddenly a single parent and
couldn’t really afford much. As a result she became crazy nervous all the time
and wouldn’t let me do anything. She said she couldn’t afford medical bills and
stuff so I’d better not ever get hurt. I think she had some general anxiety
anyway but all that just made it worse. I guess she was afraid I would get lost
or hurt or something. Once I asked her if I could get a motorcycle. Not sure
what I was thinking since she barely let me ride a bicycle. She made me wear a
helmet and this was back in the early 80’s when no kids ever wore something as
dorky looking as a helmet. Of course she said no to a motorcycle. I kept asking
for one for every birthday and every Christmas for 5 or 6 years after that and every
time she said no. Eventually I stopped asking. So as I got older I started to
develop my own fears. So now, no motorcycles for me!” Hathaway reminisced.
Cory nodded that
she understood but said excitedly “I have a motorcycle! My friends and I race
them over the Bridge sometimes in the middle of the night! It’s fun! I can
totally teach you!” Cory’s excitement was building and she ran though scenario
after scenario in her head about what fun they could get into. She figured that
was the reason she had felt so connected to him earlier. He needed her…and Cory LOVED to be needed!
Hathaway
found himself with both a sudden rush of excitement and a feeling of anxiety
that he couldn’t quite explain. He found himself dreaming of what it would be
like to race a motorcycle at 80 miles per hour across the Golden Gate Bridge and
have the wind beat on his body like a million tiny massage therapists. He felt
such inspiration from this young woman that he wanted to act on but he need to
handle his insecurities first. “I can’t believe I have just told you all that,
a perfect stranger and you’re probably half my age. I don’t generally talk to
strangers at all, let alone give out personal details like that. I don’t even
know your name. It’s weird though, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
said Hathaway, wondering if there was some sort of truth to past life
connections.
“Me too! Isn’t
that weird? Well even though we’ve known each other our whole lives, I’ll
introduce myself anyway. Hi, I’m Cory.” She reached out a hand to invite him
into a handshake. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Hathaway Jones.” In her
head she recorded his name in her little mental notebook as Mr. Hathaway Tall-Quiet-Knitting-Man Jones.
“My name story isn’t nearly as cool as yours is, though.” She added.
“I’d love to
hear it anyway,” Hathaway whispered and smiled shyly. Cory wondered if his
quiet nature had anything to do with his abusive father that she had just heard
about.
“Well see, my
father is a doctor and he was in the army back in the 70’s and served in China
for a while. While he was there he learned to use a bunch of herbs and stuff
particularly to deal some depression issues he was having, you know, from being
in the army. He used this one herb in particular, corydalis, that he said saved
his life and he he thought that Corydalis
would make a pretty girl’s name. So when I came along some 20 years later
he knew what my name needed to be. He said he hoped I would be the sort of person
that could “cure depression”. My mom didn’t care as long as Love was my middle name. I think it’s
funny because my last name is Smith. So
I am essentially a ‘Lovesmith’. You know, like a blacksmith only I create love
instead.” Cory explained.
“I think that’s
a brilliant story!” Hathaway exclaimed loud enough for all of first class to
hear had they actually been listening. His volume surprised even himself.
“Lovesmith,” he repeated with a smile and then consciously lowered his volume.
“Yeah, that’s
why I like to do RAOKs, because I’m a Lovesmith!” Cory told him excitedly.
“Huh? You like
to do what, exactly?” questioned Hathaway with a confused look on his face.
“You know, Random Acts of Kindness! My dad has been
in a nursing home for couple of years and he left me a bunch of money to travel
and spread love and good cheer where ever I go. He said I could change the
world, one RAOK at a time. He says that one tiny little thing can set off a huge
chain reaction of good and positive energy. I try to do them whenever I can.
Sometimes it’s stuff with money but not always. It doesn’t really matter as
long as the other person feels good. Most of the time I don’t even know who the
other person turns out to be” Cory explained.
“That’s really
cool. I have some neighbors that I have never met. Actually, come to think of
it, I have never met any of my neighbors. Maybe when I get home I will surprise
them with a homemade pie or something. Maybe I will bring in their trash cans
too, I don’t know,” Hathaway brainstormed out loud.
“See!? Now you’re
getting it!” exclaimed Cory. “It makes you feel good in the process even though
you don’t really get anything in return. My dad used to say ‘the getting is in the giving’. Now it’s
sort of like my motto. It works for me too because it keeps me busy. It’s
really painful to visit my dad and him not know who I am so I don’t really like
to go see him. I inherited his old cat too and while I am happy to have him, he
makes me sad too. So I just do stuff for other people to make up for it.”
“Hmmm. That’s
kind of sad, about your dad I mean. If my mom were alive, I would give my right
arm to see her. Family is the most important thing; I think”. He paused in
thought and Cory looked at him woefully.
“It’s just so
hard”, she said.
“Hmmm, well what
about work?” Hathaway asked, sensing she would like to change the subject.
“Actually I don’t
have a job at the moment. But I am taking a few classes at SFSU and I volunteer
a bunch. The animal shelter and the food bank are my favorites. Like I said, I
like to stay busy,” she said.
“That’s awesome.
I have never really done anything like that. I just go to work, which is almost
always in my home. Only sometimes do I have to go into the office. A lot of
times I have a service bring me groceries. I don’t even have a girlfriend!”
Hathaway told her. “Funny, you’d rather be on the go and I would rather be
holed up in my little apartment”.
“So this trip is
a big deal then!” she shouted.
“Yes. Yes it is,”
he agreed.
A few hours
later as the flight was making its final descent the two were still talking and
felt like old friends. They each had their own distinct differences and yet,
each had made a profound mark on the other. Cory was excited to make her
connecting flight to San Jose and spread love to the people of Costa Rica.
Hathaway on the other hand was anxious about wending his way through the
Dallas-Fort Worth airport and to get his connecting flight to Charleston to visit
his childhood friends. As Hathaway began to gather his things from the seat
pocket in front of him he saw that an air-sickness bag had a handwritten note
on it. Curiosity took hold and he pulled out the bag to see what it said. In
blue pen and in semi-neat chicken-scratch handwriting, the bag read;
Dear
Perfect Stranger in seat 4B,
You
are the right person.
This
is the right time.
You’ve
paid your dues.
You’re
thinking the right
thoughts,
you’re doing the right
thing
and at this very moment,
you’re
exactly where you are
supposed
to be…poised for the
happiest
time in your life.
I’ll
be cheering you on – all the way!
I
love you❤,
the Stranger in Seat 4B.
Hathaway, read
through the letter three times before Cory had even noticed what he had. She
was frantically scratching out details of the day in her little journal.
“What’s that?”
she asked when she did eventually look over at him. Hathaway held up the bag
and with a tear in his eye, turned to face her. Cory looked up at him, saw the
tear and then looked down at the letter, quickly reading it. A look of surprise
and wonder came over her face. She had done countless things like this for
other people but never had it ever come back to her in such close proximity. She
felt as if maybe it were written for her too, like some sort of karma. Cory
looked back up at Hathaway and when his eyes met hers she said, “Do you realize
what this means? It’s absolutely perfect for you!!”
“What?” he
asked.
“YOU ARE READY!”
she boldly announced.
With a genuine
lack of knowing he asked, “Ready for what?”
“Ready. For.
EVERYTHING!” she said with the largest smile he had ever seen on a living human
being.
The plane made
an uneventful landing and the two gathered their bags and walked together up to
gate 50 at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. “Well, I guess this is it”, said
Hathaway, feeling uncomfortable with the small talk of goodbyes.
Cory pulled her journal
and pen from her bag and tearing out a piece of paper, jotted down her phone
number. “Call me if you want to learn to ride a motorcycle.” and she handed it
to him.
Hathaway suddenly
felt compelled to hug her. He opened his arms and leaned in and Cory leaped
into his arms like a tiny little girl hugs her daddy.
Twenty minutes
later, Hathaway had lugged his suitcase through the crowd to his next gate. He
found that he was a little less anxious since having met and talked to Cory. He
thought it must be because she was so laid back and everything. Maybe her aura
had rubbed off on him or something. He located an empty seat and immediately pulled
out his laptop and began searching motorcycle lessons and singles meetups in
the Bay Area. He also began to scan the airport to search out an opportunity to
his very first Random Act of Kindness.
Halfway across
the airport, Cory sat at her gate waiting for her connecting flight to San
Jose. She couldn’t stop thinking about the stranger turned friend that she had
found in Hathaway. She thought about what he had said about family and picking
up her phone she scrolled through her contacts and stopped at Jamie – House sitter. She pressed the call
button and 35 seconds later she heard Jamie’s voice mail pick up on the other
end.
“Hey it’s Jamie! Leave me a message!” the
message shouted into Cory’s ear.
“Hey Jamie? Yeah,
hey, this is Cory. Will you do me a favor and tell Mergatroid that when I get
home that I am taking him to see my dad in the nursing home? I think he will
like that. Oh, and I might not need you next month for my trip to Spain. I don’t
think I’m gonna go. I think I might stay home a while. Sorry! I know you were
counting on that. I will pay you anyway. Well, I hope Mergatroid doesn’t tell
you too many lies while I’m away. If he does, don’t believe him! See you in two
weeks! Bye!” Cory told recorder on the other end of the phone.
With a touch of
the screen, Cory ended her call to Jamie. In that same flick of the finger, she
opened a new text message from an unknown San Francisco number.
Hey this is Hathaway.
I am hoping to take
you up on those riding lessons
when you get back to town.
Talk to you soon. Enjoy your trip.
Cory smiled the biggest smile and
reveled in the new connection that she had made.
LOVE it! Love the characters and the connections :)
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