The words made me shudder, holding the little white card and its envelope while looking into space. A number of questions raced through my mind like a herd of galloping horses.
Someone knows who I am and has been watching me for a long time? How long has this person been watching me? Did he or she slide the note under my door by himself or herself? Did he or she ask someone else to do it?
I decided to play along. It is probably just some stupid joke someone is playing on me. I mean who would be watching me for any long length of time anyway?
The phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. I picked up the receiver with one hand, still holding the card and its envelope in the other.
“Hello,” I answered.
Silence.
“Hello,” I repeated.
Silence.
The caller ID read. “Unknown name, unknown number.”
I thought the concept of caller ID was to tell you the caller’s name and number. Not to tell you that the name and number were unknown.
I listened more closely and carefully. I could hear a number of people whispering all at once, but I was unable to tell whether or not they were male, female or what any of them were saying because there were so many.
The whispering stopped abruptly, leaving me with a dead silence. I hung up the phone and put the card back in its red envelope and placed it in the desk drawer. Darn prank callers, I thought.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Thank you for calling Shmucks’n’Stuff, how may I help you?” I said into the phone with a fake uplifting tone.
The customer on the other end spoke in broken English at a speed that was much too fast for me to comprehend. But I was able to make out what department the customer wanted and transferred him.
I knew I should have taken Spanish in high school.
I arose from my desk to stretch for a minute, closing my eyes tightly. The disgusting aroma of coffee and cigarettes intruded into my nostrils causing me immediately to sit back down.
I wish people would air out their clothes once in a while or stop smoking.
Phones were ringing, people were talking a million miles an hour, and I was busy being bombarded with phone calls from customers asking me the same questions over and over in English that was so broken that I couldn’t help but wonder where all the pieces were. At the same time I was trying to type up letters written by my boss that I could not read at all because his handwriting was so bad.
“Antonia? Could you please have these files done before you leave today? Thanks,” he said, dropping a stack of folders on my desk with a quick glance while he kept on walking toward his office.
I glanced at the digital clock on my desk.
2:00 PM.
The voice in my head screamed at the top of its lungs wanting to go home. I dug my fingernails into the top of my scalp in frustration grinding my teeth.
I just love this job! What was I thinking when I applied for this circus? Was I on crack?
* * * * * * * * * * *
That night, I was able to finish my project late, finally wrapping things up at midnight.
Thank God tomorrow is Saturday.
Stepping out of the elevator into the hallway, I folded my cane up, dragging my feet on the carpeted hallway of my apartment building. Reaching my door, I fished my keys out of my purse. Turning the key to the left, I opened the old wooden door with a squeak into the warm dark room, not bothering to turn on any lights, for I had walked around the apartment for almost two and a half years now and didn’t need them. Besides, I hated the overhead light that was in the living room to begin with.
Closing and locking the door behind me, I dropped my cane on the floor and my key on the end table allowing my purse and coat to slide off my shoulders leaving them both wherever they landed in my tracks. I ran my hand along the surface of the top of the couch and headed for the refrigerator for something to drink. I opened the door half way, revealing the harsh inside light and quickly gathered my half-drunk bottle of Snapple. I pushed the door closed and entered my living room where I let myself drop on to my worn out couch.
I’d grown accustomed to walking around in the darkness of my apartment. I never had any trouble finding anything and never tripped or bumped into things because everything was always where I left it. The bottle cap snapped open and I set it on the end table taking a sip. Sirens were going off outside in the distance and people talked in mixtures of conversations not making any sense.
I slid the bottle on the end table and pulled the clip out of my hair tossing it on the coffee table. My hair fell forward relaxing around my shoulders. Grabbing the bottle, I took a number of quick sips and picked up the remote to my stereo; I had left on the center of the coffee table earlier this morning. I gently pushed the power button bringing the stereo to life.
Selecting disc number one, track number four, I positioned myself on my side. The beginning of the mellow introduction was long. The beat was slow, the music calm and mellow. It felt great after a long, frustrating day at work. The musician began to sing the first line, seducing me with every word and every note. His voice was very soothing to me. I couldn’t help but imagine him singing just for me as silly as that sounded.
Closing my eyes, my mind drifted into a picture of the musician with his dark shoulder length hair. He was dressed in his usual black suit without a tie or a shirt and was sitting on a stool in a small bar. His fingers of his left hand moved up and down the neck of his guitar, pressing on the strings while the fingers of his right hand strummed each chord. A spotlight was on the musician and I was sitting at a table front row center, enthralled with every word he sang. He slowly finished his song and I began applauding. He was looking at me and began to speak. “Thank you,” he said, removing his guitar strap from around his shoulder, placing the instrument aside. I froze for a second and glanced behind me to the right and to the left. I noticed that there wasn’t a living soul in the room, only the two of us.
