measured_words | Pieces Part Two (repost)

Other Pieces

I am sitting in the chair, beside the phone, looking into the mirror. This is a test, an exercise.

I am thirty-two years old, but people might guess older. My hair is brown, cut short, and beginning to grey already. My eyes are also brown. My face is unremarkable and impassive. I have no laugh-lines or visible scars; my jaw is square but not exaggeratedly so. I am not plain, but neither would I describe myself as handsome. I look stern, even simply sitting here, looking into my own reflection. This is what people mark, when they take notice of me at all.

I am dressed casually, in a dark green polo style shirt, with black trousers, socks, and shoes. I am still adjusting to the idea of having control over such a simple area of my life. With the Order, there was the uniform: black suit, white shirt, black tie. Simple standardization; unity through dress code. On Nas Unara, clothing was a matter of convenience, not choice. There was no time or opportunity (let alone desire) to focus on fashion. Now, it is a matter of choice, and becomes important. My nascent sense of style is based on observation, coupled with a deeply instilled habit of blending into the background. I am not ready for people to notice me. I am not ready for people. But I can’t avoid them indefinitely.

I pick up the phone and dial Lori’s number. I smile for the mirror as it rings. It makes me look angry, or at best, unimpressed. It feels unnatural. I have nothing real to smile about. I want to smile, and mean it. There is a slight click on the line as it connects.

"Helllloooooooo?"

It’s a young girl. A child. I am surprised, and hesitate briefly.

"Hello. May I please speak to Lori Petersen?" My voice is even. I sound official. Authoritative. It isn’t what I intended. In the mirror, my reflection frowns somewhat – a more natural reaction. I wonder who she is.

"Ummm…" She hesitates as well. "’k!" There is rustling, and I can hear her walking. She stops, and I can hear her call out, though muffled by a hand. "Loooooo-riiiiiii!" There is another voice in the background, but I can’t hear the words. Eventually, the phone changes hands. Before she answers, I feel my calm shaken. I am nervous. I barely have time to recognize this, nevermind examine it.

"Hey, this is Lori." She sounds slightly stressed. Her tone is pleasant, but clipped, and distracted. She sounds the same. I purse my lips, and try the smile again. The mirror reveals no better results.

"Hello, Lori. This is Daniel."

"Daniel?" I didn’t expect her to identify me immediately, of course. I have no way of knowing what she, or Anna, or anyone, believes happened to me. "Daniel who?"

"Graves." There is silence, while she processes this. My nervousness is growing. I have no way to control this situation; no way to know if it will go in my favour, yet I am committed to it. To back out, or hang up, would be failure. A moment passes, and I prompt her. "Hello?"

"Yeah…. Is this some kind of joke?" Now she sounds suspicious, and perhaps even slightly afraid. I wonder what she thinks, or thinks she knows, of me. I stare at myself blankly.

"No. It isn’t a joke."

"What do you want?"

She is scared of me. I don’t know what this means. "I would like to meet with you. To ask you some things."

"No. Why? Why are you here?" I expected her suspicion, but that doesn’t mean that I am ready for it. I dislike being unprepared; it always feels an alien state of being. My brow furrows slightly. How do I make her understand, or believe me, or even care? What are the right words?

"I’m trying to find Anna." To say ‘I need to find her’ is too strong a phrase. I don’t want to mention our son, either. I don’t even know his name. I hope he is still with his mother, but I don’t know how to talk about him, the six year old stranger I helped create.

"Then why are you here. Why don’t you just… What do you want from me."

My brow furrows further, and my jaw tenses slightly. I look pained. This is uncomfortable. "I want your help." My voice sounds strained, to my ears. She may not notice. Would it be better if she did? "I don’t know where she is."

"Why not? I thought you could just do that." It is an accusation and a challenge.

"No." I could but I won’t. "Please, Lori…" I don’t know what to ask. Tell me where she is. My lips are pursed tightly. I want to look away, or to compose myself. Is this honest emotion?

"Look." She pauses. I wait. "Alright. Let’s meet." She sounds more confident now. Perhaps she has thought of something to her advantage. I don’t believe I could have convinced her.

"Alright." This will be the next test. "When?"

"Tomorrow. In the afternoon. Here."

"Alright."

"You know where I live." She is accusing me again. I want to know why, what she thinks I can do. What does Anna know, or think of me? What has her new family taught her?

"Yes. You’re in the phonebook."

"I’ll see you tomorrow Daniel. Two o’clock." She hangs up her phone. I set the receiver back down in the cradle. It is only 12h23. What is she planning? I could investigate, find out more, but instead I choose to simply wait and see.