| Number 12C |
[Nov. 19th, 2006|09:04 pm] |
Title: Number 12C
Type: Short Story
Written: September 2004
Copyright Brian Lelas (c) 2004, 2006
Number 12C
by Brian Lelas
As with all snowy December evenings, thoughts were consumed by Christmas. The glittering of snowflakes dropped a sheet across the cityscape as cars skidded through the slushy roads and crowded junctions. Shopping bags bounced against one another like marbles in a game as rushing buyers raced from one high street to the next, scouring the windows with their eyes for that perfect gift.
‘December 19th – 4.07pm’ read the clock above a large bookstore on one of the busiest streets in the city. And through the blizzard of shoppers and cataclysm of noisy traffic, twenty-five year old Jonathan swept his feet and shuffled his way carelessly along with the tide. As he stood by a newsstand, Jonathan observed the headlines of the tabloids and browsed through a few magazines. He seemed to be the only person without a care in the world. There were no mountains of gift-wrapped presents on his person. There was no haste in his pace. There was nothing in the way he was on that day that made him even consider getting into a rush for any reason. He picked up a tabloid and briefly skimmed through the first few pages. The man behind the desk eyed him uneasily. Perhaps he had a ‘no reading’ policy. Jonathan didn’t care.
Walking up the same street on the same day, at the same time, was a rather relaxed, twenty-four year old Anne. She was carefree and malevolent in the way she danced the street between the onslaught of crowds. Christmas couldn’t be farther from her mind. As she passed the clothes shops along her way she gave quick glances at the different bags and shoes that barricaded the windows. She was about to pass a newsstand when one of the men reading a magazine turned his elbow into her path, knocking her off her feet and onto the ground.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” the man said, quickly placing his magazine back on the shelf and rushing to help her to her feet. Anne merely helped herself up and brushed her jacket off. “It’s fine,” she said, mentally cursing him as she made her way off.
Jonathan went on his way after the girl he knocked over had made it clear that she didn’t need his help. He began to drift around a corner and through a shopping plaza, heading for another busy street on the other side. Spotting his favourite coffee shop, the urge for a quick cup tormented him until he headed for the doorway.
It was very busy inside, only one or two free tables. By the time he’d paid for his coffee, there was only one table even remotely possible to sit at, and it was already occupied by a very wealthy looking businessman, dressed in a fine black suit with a trendy briefcase and neat tie. As he sidled along the row of tables to the only free seat next to the businessman, Jonathan asked politely if he could squeeze in. The gentleman was only too happy to oblige. “Certainly, my young sir,” he said with a smile, moving his briefcase from the table to the floor. There was actually someone facing the gentleman, someone that Jonathan didn’t see at first, a nondescript young man with badly greying lines on one side of his head. Jonathan took the seat with the younger man and tried to avoid eavesdropping.
While sipping his coffee, Jonathan tried to hide the noise around him of the dozens of customers in the tiny coffee shop as he admired a painting on the wall facing him. It was a print of ‘The Persistence of Memory’ by Salvador Dali. It fitted well.
Anne was walking along another busy street and happened to meet an old friend from school. What was her name? It wouldn’t come to her.
“So how’ve you been, Anne?” her mystery friend asked.
“Oh fine… And you?” she responded, puzzling within her mind to recall that name that was lost in her memory somewhere.
“Very well,” the no-named young woman answered, beginning a long-drawn ramble about the old times. It barely registered with Anne. She was looking in the window of a coffee shop across the way and thinking about the last time she’d had a good cup of coffee. She couldn’t even remember it.
“… which sort of made everything that much more special…” her long lost stranger was saying, just in time for Anne’s interruption.
“Oh, sorry, I’m late for a meeting with someone in that coffee shop over there. It’s work related. I’m sorry; I really can’t keep her waiting.”
“Oh, that’s a pity. What is it you do?” the friendly nobody was asking, but Anne was making a passive smile and disappearing into the door of the coffee shop before the question could even be asked completely.
Anne breathed a sigh of relief. God was it crowded in here. There was now way she was going back outside to swap stories with that familiar stranger though. She ordered a cappuccino and tilted her eyes about her head as she looked high and low for anywhere to sit. She could just about see an opening in the corner by the painting.
The bell jangled on the door and another customer came in, eyeing up the empty seat. Anne quickly grabbed a teaspoon from the counter and made her way to the seat before the new customer could.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked a peculiar looking young man with greying hair.
“No problem,” he said.
As she sat down she began to pour some sugar into her coffee when the man opposite her almost choked, placing his cup down loudly on the saucer.
“Oh, hi,” Anne said as if in reflex.
“Hi,” Jonathan said, fixing his cup. “I’m so sorry for…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t mean to knock you over, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s fine, really,” Anne insisted. She looked around the room for another seat. No such luck. It’d be rude anyway.
“Are you alright? You weren’t hurt?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered.
The two other men at the table were speaking much more quietly. Anne could feel a strict tension in the room. She tried not to make eye contact with Jonathan.
“My name is Jonathan.” He held out his hand.
“Anne,” she replied, shaking it.
“Nice to meet you, Anne,” Jonathan said with a weak smile.
Anne nodded with an even weaker one.
About two minutes went by before the two other men had made their way to the door. Jonathan noticed that the younger man was now holding the briefcase. Strange that. The table was now theirs, and more and more people were leaving as the passing seconds went by.
“So what do you do?” Anne asked, hoping to make the situation more comfortable.
“I work in computer sales. What about you?” Jonathan asked.
“I think I know somebody in computer sales actually,” Anne responded, “but I can’t honestly think of who it is. I’m an art student. I actually only started the course last year so I’m in year two now.”
“Oh really? I thought you were a little older than a student, I put you over twenty-one at least.”
“I’m twenty-four. I dropped out of law a few years ago and only went back to college because I was going nowhere fast out there. What about you, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five. I feel about twice that though. I’ve been doing the same old job since I was eighteen. The money’s not bad but it’s getting a bit dull.”
“I can imagine. I don’t like computers much myself. Closest thing I’d have to one is a mobile phone. I guess you must have been pretty into that to go into that kind of job.”
“Sort of. I don’t really like sales. At first it felt good to be involved in that field, but it’s tedious. I like computers and games and things which is a plus point for the job. At least I’m not selling something like insurance or something like that. I’d be deathly bored.”
“I know how you feel. I thought that I’d become a lawyer. Of course, at the age of fifteen you don’t really have a clue. Few years later I was in college, studying law and it suddenly hit me; I hate this. So I dropped out. And it was a great decision. I was a painter as a little girl, not a very good one to be honest, but it was what I loved. So I went back to college to do art.”
“That’s great. I wish I knew what I wanted. I’ll probably stick this job until retirement. I can’t complain too badly though. Tell me, who’s your favourite artist?”
“Would you care to take a guess?” Anne asked, finding herself almost flirting with this man. Maybe she judged him a bit harshly at first. He seemed nice once you got past the elbow and the initial awkwardness.
“Hmmm. Being an art student, I’d doubt your favourite would be one of the truly famous artists like Monet or Picasso. I don’t know.”
“Come on, have a guess.”
“Okay, Renoir?”
“Nope.”
“Who is it then?”
“Monet.”
“Really? I said that!”
“You said it wouldn’t be Monet!”
“Ah what’s the difference? I mentioned his name didn’t I?”
“You’re a strange man, Jonathan.”
“So I’ve heard. What do you make of this painting?” he asked, referring to the Dali on the wall.
“Very famous picture. ‘The Persistence of Memory’ by Salvador Dali. The melting clock is something that shows up from time to time in different places. I like it, but I don’t usually like his work. I can see how brilliant he was, but personally, he wouldn’t be to my taste.”
“What about ‘Hallucigenic Bullfighter’ or ‘Senicitas,’ do you not like them?” Jonathan asked, surprised that an art student wouldn’t like Dali’s work.
“I take it you like his work.”
“Very much.”
“And what do you think of Monet?”
“I like him. Some of the things that were created with his brush are simply amazing.”
“I’m glad we agree on something,” Anne remarked with a smile.
“Can I get you to agree to another cappuccino?” Jonathan asked.
“Why not?”
The digital clock behind the counter of the coffee shop read ‘18.48.’ The place was fairly empty at this stage and had quietened down considerably. Anne and Jonathan were still sitting at the same table, although more comfortably, without their heavy coats, scarves or gloves and in an attentive lean in the other’s direction.
The conversation had led from art to art college. Anne had been describing her experiences thus far. They’d been chatting about current affairs for quite a while after that and drifted into talking about holidays and Christmas. Neither of them was bothered with making a fuss of the whole thing. Christmas was for family people. Without having to ask, they both knew that the other wasn’t one to make a big deal of the holidays.
As Jonathan arrived back at the table with Anne’s fifth cappuccino and his sixth coffee in his hands, Anne sparked up a conversation starter, “What’s your favourite film?”
“That’s a tough one. I have a few.”
“Oh come on, you must have one film that you love more than all others.”
“Do you have one?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes, I do. It’s a French movie called ‘Amelie’. It’s about…”
“I know it well,” Jonathan stopped her, “It’s great. So funny at times, but a really beautiful film.”
“I’m glad you think so. That’s mine, anyway. Come one, what’s yours?”
“Well, I like action movies mostly. As I child I was always watching them. Despite that, I suppose my favourite movie would have to be ‘Raging Bull’ with Robert de Niro.”
“I think I’ve seen that one. Is that the one where he’s playing a boxer?”
“That’s it.”
“All shot in black and white, yeah?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“I can’t really remember it.”
“Maybe I’ll show it to you sometime,” Jonathan said, making a smile and taking another sip of coffee.
“We could watch ‘Amelie’ as well, make a real day of it,” Anne laughed.
“You know something, Anne, I’m so glad I knocked you down today.”
“Oh really? Why’s that?
“Because we’d never have had an excuse to talk here today.”
“Then, in that case, I’m glad you did too.”
By eight o’clock the place was getting ready to close up. Anne and Jonathan were the last to leave and decided to head to the nearest pub for one last drink. They walked along the dormant main street, past draping covers from stalls and dancing litter patrolling the ground around the bins. The December moon was clear and close, as white as milk and with light as bright as the sun.
The new friends swept along the streets with their pace in unison, their eyes drifting along the windows of the shops as they passed by. A cool breeze blew towards them and the street was quiet but for their laughter and the occasional passing car or rhythmic set of footfalls.
Upon entering the fairly crowded pub, Anne led Jonathan downstairs to the basement bar, where some loud music was playing – “this monkey’s gone to heaven…” roared the vocals of the song.
“I love this song!” yelled Anne. She grabbed a table and asked Jonathan to get her another coffee. He decided that he’d keep with his coffee too. Luckily, the place was well equipped for their orders. It seemed that quite a few people in the bar weren’t drinking alcohol.
“Man is five, and the devil is six…” exclaimed the singer of the loud music. Jonathan had never heard this song before, but could swear that it was familiar to him. By the time the coffees were ready, another song was playing, a much more laid back song, it seemed. “You can’t resist her, she’d in your bones,” it went. He faded it out as he sat down.
“Thanks,” Anne said, clenching the cup for warmth. It’d been pretty cold outside and she was glad of the heat. Her head bobbed from side to side in time with the cheerful music as Jonathan asked her a question.
“What are you doing for Christmas? Family and such?”
“No,” she answered, “I’ve not got much family left. Only my Dad and he moved to the other side of the world. When he retired last year he decided to get away from here. Can’t blame him. My mother died about ten years back, you see.”
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan responded instinctively.
“It’s fine. I usually spend Christmas with a few friends or something, but it’s not easy to invite yourself into someone else’s home for the Christmas dinner, you know?”
“Tell me about it. I don’t talk to my family, or rather, they don’t talk to me. We were never close, my parents and I. My older sister doesn’t want anything to do with me. Can’t say what I did on them, but they’ve always kind of had it in for me, so I keep my distance now that I can.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Well, maybe you should give them a call before Christmas really starts and try to mend the situation with them.”
“I tried that last year. There’s a lot of hostility back home. I wasn’t the most well-behaved little kid in the world. I don’t really want to go on about this. It’s killing the atmosphere in here. Those bikers in the corner are looking at me weird, I’m probably killing their karma or something,” Jonathan made a little giggle and when Anne looked across the room at a burling great leather-clad man with a two-foot beard giving their side of the room a once over, she erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
The song playing in the background was delving into a rather nice, long guitar solo. At best guess, Jonathan would say that the solo lasted nearly two and a half minutes.
“I come here fairly often,” Anne announced. “It’s a great place. It does a good cappuccino and it plays good music. Now that’s a rare find in this pit of a city.”
“Until we stepped in here a few minutes ago, I’d probably have said that there’s nowhere in this shithole that supplies both.”
“Oh that was so real…” came an angelic male voice through the speakers at a high volume. A strong drum accompaniment melted into the singer’s voice.
“Do you like this song?” Anne asked.
“I don’t know how anyone could dislike Jeff Buckley,” he answered.
“I don’t think it’s possible. Anybody with half a soul likes his music.”
“It’s a tragedy that he died so young.”
“It happens to us all eventually,” Anne responded. Without having to look around, it was evident that the majority of the room was discussing the late Jeff Buckley. Words like “Grace” and “Hallelujah” could be heard all around the room. It must be a universal rule in places that play music like this that the conversation should immediately turn to Jeff Buckley if and when one of his songs comes on.
“So what will you be doing this Christmas, yourself?” Anne asked, “Spending time with the girlfriend, I suppose?”
“No, no, I’m single. I’ll probably find something to do. Maybe I’ll round up a few friends, take a leaf out of your book. Will your boyfriend be with you?”
“No, no, I’m single,” Anne mimicked, “You should do that.”
“I love you… but I’m afraid to love you…” sang Jeff through the speakers. The song came to a close not long after and the bar was unusually quiet. It was fitting.
There was a halt as the next song came on. Then came a broken, resonating sound and “I am the sun and the air…” came the unmistakeable voice of Smiths frontman, Morrissey. “I am human and I need to be loved, just like everybody else does…”
They both smiled. They sat in near silence for a while, merely examining each other under their own watchful eyes. They must have seen each other somewhere else before. They could both feel something was so amazingly familiar.
“Have we met somewhere else before?” Anne asked.
“I was just thinking that. But surely not.”
“I think I’d have remembered you,” she said after a short silence, all but for the pulsing of Johnny Marr’s guitar in the background.
“Same here.”
Two coffees later, and the place was even more crowded. Anne had visited the jukebox not too long ago, and her songs were coming on in sequence. The room was more than grateful for the sound of “Fridays I’m In Love” by The Cure and then there was the growling voice of Mark Lanegan as he sang “One Way Street.”
The last of her songs was waving through the air as Anne finally reached her hand over the table and touched Jonathan’s. “Just like a paper tiger, torn apart by idle hands,” came the voice of Beck. Jonathan proceeded to take gentle hold of her baby finger and reel in the rest of her hand. “Like a paper tiger… in the sun…” the song went on.
“I think that the world would be a nicer place if everyone just listened to this song,” Anne said. The sound of strings and drums laced in and around each other as she rubbed her hand against his. “There’s one road to the morning, there’s one road to the truth, there’s one road back to civilisation, but there’s no road back to you…” the song ended.
By eleven o’clock they were finally leaving the pub. It turned out that coffee was the drink for the night. Anne kept with her cappuccinos and Jonathan with his regular coffees. It felt as if they were long-time friends, catching up after a year or two apart. Familiarity was something that both felt constantly. It was almost déjà vu.
“Which way do you head for home? I’ll walk you to a taxi, I live only ten minutes away,” Jonathan said, putting his hands into his sleeves and out of the cold.
“I’ll be walking too. I only live over the river.”
“Oh, great, I’ll walk you then. I’m heading that way for home too.”
They walked along a side street and past a few noisy bars as they talked. They talked mainly of music and art, but would get a few nosy questions in about the other when the time was right. They found themselves holding hands as they crossed the river and readying to part ways.
“So, I guess I’ll see you then,” Jonathan said after a quiet minute on the bridge, looking down into the star struck water.
“I take it you’ve got a phone?” Anne asked.
“Sure, here’s my number,” Jonathan jotted it down on a placemat he’d taken from the pub with a pen he kept in his jacket.
“Thanks, here’s mine,” Anne said, tearing a piece from the placemat and scrawling hers in the small space.
“Great. I’ll call you before Christmas; see what you’re up to.”
“Yeah, do. I’d like to meet up again soon.” Anne gave a short wave and went to turn and leave, but finding herself returning and putting her arms around him. “I had a nice night,” she said.
Jonathan held her tightly and then looked into her eyes, “It sure was,” he said and lowered his head to kiss her.
Anne took a deep breath and leaned her mouth to meet his.
They had a long, sweet kiss that felt like a heart-warming inferno in the winter night. Both were nearly breathless when they separated their lips.
“Why don’t you call me tomorrow and we’ll sort out another outing before the places close for Christmas?” Anne asked.
“Sounds good to me,” Jonathan responded and couldn’t remove a smile from his face.
Anne gave another short wave and made her way down a back street across the main road. It was usually the way that Jonathan would take home, but he remembered that he needed to get some bottled water and bread for the morning and slipped into the nearby convenience supermarket. The radio was playing some new boy-band rubbish. He tried to think of what Anne would say if she was there. She’d be scathing. Music? Surely not.
She consumed his thoughts from here on. He didn’t even hear the shop assistant talking to him. We wished that they hadn’t said goodbye.
Jonathan then made his way towards home, using the back street that Anne had gone down before. He made a turn down a short alley and out onto another fairly large street. Crossing that, he wound around another corner and into a complex of apartments. His home was on the top floor, four storeys up.
It was one floor up from the ground that he bumped into Anne. She was just finishing a conversation with a lady from one of the apartments. What was she doing here?
“Anne?” Jonathan said. It seemed to frighten her.
“Oh! I didn’t expect to see you this soon!” she laughed.
“What are you doing up here? Do you live in the building?” Jonathan asked.
“Sure I do. I’ve lived here for ages. Upstairs.”
“That’s weird. I’ve never seen you here before. Small world,” Jonathan said with a smile on his face.
They ascended another set of steps. Anne must be one floor under him, for he knew everyone on his floor.
Anne was thinking something similar. She knew everyone on her floor.
This made it very strange when they both headed for the last set of stairs. They both took a few steps, expecting the other to say something like, “Oh wait, I live down here,” but neither did.
They both looked quizzically at each other and ascended the stairway fully. For a split second, Jonathan could have sworn that the moon turned into a red spike. It must have been his imagination, for it was crescent shaped and brilliant white.
“What number are you?” he asked.
“Number 12C,” Anne answered.
Jonathan stopped dead on the walkway and revealed his keychain to Anne. She took a look at the key that he moved into his fingers. Engraved on the key was that number ‘12C.’
Anne looked at him as if he had two heads. “Are you for real?” she asked. “Are you following me or something? This is seriously weird. What’s going on?”
“Hang on there,” Jonathan reacted quickly, “I’m as confused as you. This is my place.”
“How can it be? It’s my place. I’ve lived here for…”
“Five and a half years,” Jonathan finished for her.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“So have I.”
Anne used her key and unlocked the door. She walked in, not bothering to invite him in, for he was only one step behind her. The apartment didn’t look right. Without even turning on the lights, she knew that the walls were a different colour.
Jonathan looked into the gloom and found his home arranged differently. He flicked on the lights and took a look around.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Anne said.
“Take a look at this,” Jonathan said. He was holding a framed picture. The groceries found themselves on the floor with a thud.
“Oh my god.” That was all that Anne could say.
The bedroom door opened and out stepped a young girl of about fourteen years old. “Oh, hi Mrs. Davidson, little Rose is asleep since nine. I was getting pretty tired myself so I just took a nap in on the end of her bed. I’ll see you again soon,” the girl said, grabbing her bag from behind the couch on the other side of the room. “Did you two have a nice day? Did you find that book Mr. Davidson?” she asked, looking at Jonathan.
“No, I’m afraid not,” Jonathan answered, without even knowing it.
“Tough luck,” the young girl replied and headed out the door. “Night,” she said, closing the front door behind her.
“I can’t believe this,” Anne said, sitting down on the couch with the weight of the world on her shoulders, crushing her ankles.
“That’s us,” Jonathan simply said, holding up the wedding photo.
“I’d better check on Rosey,” Anne found herself saying, getting up quickly. Before she was half way across the room, she turned to face Jonathan and asked, “Did I really say that?”
“Yeah, you did…” Jonathan answered.
They both decided to look into the bedroom at the sleeping girl in the bed. She was no more than two years of age. She had beautiful medium length brown hair and a small button nose. She was clutching a fairly worn teddy bear and sucking her thumb.
“Rosey…” they both said in unison.
“Of course…” Jonathan said. He put his arms around Anne.
“I remember now.”
“Me too.”
“Happy Christmas, darling,” Jonathan said, kissing his wife on the cheek. “I can’t believe it worked!”
“I can’t believe that I forgot everything. The place even played our song and everything,” she said.
“‘So Real’ by Jeff Buckley,” Jonathan said as if by request. They kissed each other and everything seemed to make sense.
They returned to the living area and closed young Rose’s door. Jonathan rooted around in a press in the locker by the couch and found a brochure. Anne had poured out two glasses of water, one for him and one for herself.
Jonathan placed the leaflet on the coffee table and gave a little laugh. “I can’t believe how good that was. We have to recommend it to everyone.”
“Definitely,” Anne responded, kissing him passionately. They both took a faint sip from their glasses and led one another into their bedroom and shut the door.
The leaflet on the coffee table read: “HAVE A SECOND FIRST DATE!” There was a drawing of two people clinking glasses together at a fancy restaurant underneath it and an explanation under that.
“We will make it possible for you and your partner to meet each other as strangers again! Using a controlled new medication, we will give you and your partner the opportunity to forget about each other completely for one magical second first date! You will be hypnotised, under strict safety guidelines, and strategically moved together into your ideal locations for a wonderfully exciting first date scenario once again! The effects will last until just the right moment when fate drags you both home to the same place!”
Anne and Jonathan Davidson would never forget their first date.
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