A quick note of thanks for those who have read and taken the time to write, I appreciate it. As I've mentioned before, this is my second story on this site. The first is a called "A New Beginning."
This chapter is a short interlude, as I haven't posted in awhile. A new, longer chapter is on the way as well. Your continued thoughts & feedback is appreciated. Jm08nyc@yahoo.com
CHAPTER FIVE
The letter was haunting me. The "A" burned into my retinas. His handwriting. I couldn't shake it from my mind.
I wandered aimlessly from room to room, no lights turned on. I had gotten home from work a couple hours early and hadn't found a way to occupy myself. Except with the endless ruminating about the letter. About him.
Sophie was puttering about the house, finishing laundry and baking something for breakfast tomorrow. It felt comforting, I suppose, knowing that she was around. But I we didn't speak. I didn't know what to say.
I slipped into my closet while she was in the kitchen and changed into running gear. Lacing up my sneakers and stretching felt good. At least I was feeling something.
I started slowly, working my way through the crowded evening streets. Twilight just beginning to fall over the city. My feet pounding the pavement I wound my way through the Marais, yearning for the banks of the Seine. My legs stretching, muscles flexing as one foot fell before the next. The beat of the music pounding through my headphones.
Along the river, past the Pont De Sully, the Ponte Marie, onto the Ile Saint-Louis, down across the Ponte St Louis onto the Ile De La Cite. One foot moving in front of the next. Legs moving. Arms moving in sync. Sunglasses blocking the sun. Blocking out the world around me. The music drowning out the voices in my head. Down and across the Pont Neuf. A turn, heading to the Left Bank. Back up the Quais... Des Grands Augustins, De Montebello, up to De La Tournelle, where the road meets the Pont Sully, and a tight right takes be down the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
A run that I've done so many times before. A workout that used to be about keeping myself in shape. A workout that had become about keeping myself sane. A run that we used to do together. A run that I now do alone.
An hour or so later, I found myself back along the Seine, jumping down a flight of steps, so I was right at the water's edge. Pulling to a stop. Doubled-over. Hands on knees. Deep breaths.
The thoughts of a millions "could have beens," "should have beens," "would have beens" and "what ifs" filling my brain.
I dropped to the ground. The cool pavement. My legs hanging over the edge. Laying down. The sun setting above me.
That damn letter "A" still filling my mind. Fuck it.
The days back in Paris turned into weeks. Before I knew it, it truly felt like fall had arrived. Work days became longer. Work days became more important. Work days became everything I had.
I could feel the sun beating down on me as I rolled over and put the pillow over my head. My head hurt. Ugh. Too much red wine last night.
Thomas and his wife had me over for dinner the night before, attempting in some way, to help keep me sane and social even though I didn't really want to. They were the closest thing I had to family in France, and I appreciated everything they did for me... except for re-filling my wine glass so many times.
Today was...
Sunday. Good, no Sophie today to have to worry about. I hopped out of bed quickly, pulled the drapes closed, and dove back under the covers. A few more hours and I might be human again.
By noon I had managed to make it from my bed to the couch. Where I spent the first few minutes of my day reflecting on the last few weeks. It had been almost a month since the letter had been taped to the front door. A month since the boy. Longer since then that I had been back in Paris. I flipped through the missed calls on my phone. Mom. Dad. Daniel. Family trying to keep track of me. Trying to connect with me. I had been more distant during the last six months than I had probably ever been during my life.
Oh, well.
I got up from the couch and walked to the drawer where the letter was, pulling it out and twirling it around in my hands.
"A"
His handwriting.
Cooper.
TO BE CONTINUED.