ENCOUNTER

 Charlene

I flipped the page of the book, and stifled a yawn. I had slept for barely two hours the previous night, because my sister, who lives across the world, was having a difficult time at work and wanted to talk. You do not say no to siblings. We cried a little, and sang a few of our favourite songs from our childhood. When we said our goodbyes, it was 6:00 AM.

I stretched my feet, tapping my ankles against the wooden floorboard, and realizing that my toenails were repulsively long and dirty, curled them to hide the grotesque sight. I needed a pedicure. My apartment was quiet now that my roommate had left for work. I had a day off, and wanted to spend it doing nothing. It is not everyday you get to do that. So far, the plan was not unfolding as I had hoped for. All I wanted was to curl up inside my blanket and slip into dreams, and the knowledge that this would ruin my biological clock, the forbidden quality, made my eyes droop lower. Shaking my head, I decided to go for a walk. The Fall Season was probably my favourite, with its light breeze and comforting presence.

I eased into a thin woollen sweater and zipped up my sneakers. I had money left over, in my jeans pocket, from my last rendezvous, so I didn’t take my purse. The lift ride downstairs to the building lobby was uneventful, except for an unfortunate incident of my hair getting stuck in the doors of the lift because I stood too close to them. I winked at the doorman, a sixty-year-old man, and pushed open the doors, stepping onto the curb. For a moment, I just stood there, taking in the noise of the traffic, the bustling of feet of pedestrians and the barking of pet dogs out for their daily walk. It had drizzled the previous night, and the road was still sticky with water and dust. It reminded me of home, almost. I started walking towards a park six blocks away. It had a swing set for adults, and had become a frequent haunt for me. If my family knew that I stepped out of the flat nowadays for non-inevitable reasons, they would have me called back home. Lately, there had been an increase of murders in the city, and the newspapers stated that the only thing common between them was that the victims were all young women. My mother had a panic attack the day she read that.

I had barely walked for five hundred metres when I felt my stomach grumble. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was well past 12, and given that I was someone who had at least six meals a day, I was overdue. I glanced around and saw a SUBWAY outlet. I was not particularly fond of their sandwiches, or of the social interaction required to place one’s order, but their cookies were delicious. I waited for the signal to turn red, before crossing the street and pushing open the door to the restaurant.

Lewis

“Order for Ms. Tatiana is ready. A six-inch sub, with capsicum, cucumbers, onions, olives and barbeque sauce. No cheese. Whole-wheat bread, untoasted,” I said, looking around for the customer. Personally, I felt nauseous while making it, but as a SUBWAY worker, you learn to control your face muscles from scrunching up in disgust. She finally came to the counter, tapping her long nails impatiently against it. As if I was the one doing the delay. “Here you go, Ma’am. Enjoy your meal.” She almost grabbed the tray out of my hand and went to sit down on a corner table. Fortunately for her, I never went for older women.

I turned around to check up on the chocolate chip cookies baking, and heard the bell ring, as it did every time someone entered or exited the restaurant. Owing to a reflex action, I turned around to see and saw a girl, about my age, walk in. I stared at her a little longer than I should have, and she swiveled her head, looking right at me. I knew showing any form of nervousness would seem suspicious, so I called on to my friendly server tone, “Good Afternoon, Ma’am. May I take your order?” I move over to the computer, and tap on the screen to initiate a new bill. I could always type without looking, so I pretended to stare at the screen, but focussed on her. “To go. Italian Herbs and Cheese Bread, toasted, with cheese. Six inches.” She had an accent, so she wasn’t from around here. Curly hair, pitch black, soft, or perhaps not. I wanted to touch them. Was she the sweet but wild kind? Nodding, I waited for her to continue, “Fried chicken popcorn, olives, onions, cabbage… No, no cabbage…” She had a small mole on her left cheek, and a scar on her right hand. She was fiddling with her ring, in the middle finger. Nervous and as it turned out, unmarried. “For sauces, only ranch.” I was about to proceed with her order when she looked at me, her lips pouted slightly, her eyes radiating embarrassment. What kind? I couldn’t read it. “Um, sorry. Just one addition. Four double chocolate chip cookies.” Ding. “That was the cookies,” I replied, and she let out a small laugh. It was sweet, genuine. “That will be twelve dollars. Cash or card?” “Cash,” she fished into her jeans pocket and her sweater slipped from her shoulder, revealing a small tattoo. Classy. “There you go.” I counted the money, and before she turned to sit in a booth, “What’s the name?” “Oh, it is Charlene.” I had never encountered a Charlene before; this would be interesting. I still did not know what kind. I printed the receipt out and hung it over the Cooking Station. I whipped out my phone, and typed out: Charlene, 25-ish, single, international, level: unknown.

As I warmed up the bread and fried the popcorn, I overheard a conversation Charlene was having. As the call progressed, I felt myself tense, delirious with the desire I often felt right before completion. I gripped the knife I had used to slice the bread open tightly, resisting the urge to jump across at her. I had become fairly good at controlling myself in public places, but once in a while, the mysterious ones got to me. I counted to ten and relished the idea of planning the task out, for Charlene, tonight. The assembling went fairly quickly, and I slowly wrapped her sub and packed the cookies, observing her movements. She was left-handed. Lived somewhere close-by, because there was moisture at the bottom of her sneakers, and it had only rained in this area of the city. “Order for Ms. Charlene.” Her name rolled out, smoothly. Delicious. She walked over and placed her phone on the counter to pick up the packet and receipt. She was texting Roomie. So, she did not live alone. Probably had a flat-mate, so lived in an apartment complex.

She stuffed her phone into her pocket and as she turned around to leave, she smiled at me, “Thank you so much! Have a great day.” For a moment, I was taken aback. I was hoping she would be rude, inconsiderate, cold and flipping her hair away. I was waiting for her to reveal her snobbish side, most of them had one. She didn’t. “You too! Have a great meal.”

“Thanks!” The bell rang again, and she was gone. I pressed delete on my phone, a few times and clicked a few letters. Level: Difficult.