Disaster from a Distance VI: Watching the Detectives

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I almost never get up early on Saturdays. Sleep is the one luxury that is simultaneously free and priceless. After Valentine's Day in the northwest, the sun makes a brief appearance, shining its elusive light on the gloomily vitamin-d deficient population below. As I walked across the university campus, my boots sunk into the spongy rain-saturated soil.
Standing at a cross walk, I noticed the scent of infant plants stretching and warming up for their frantic race to meet the sun.  A single tenacious crocus peeked out from the dark loam and as I crossed the street its beauty seemed even more poignant when compared with its surroundings of scantily built condos and the scent that seems ever-present in any mini mall or on any city street; deep fried onions. I sighed and wished I had slept in after all.  Poetry readings are at best baffling and at worst, embarrassing for the audience if not the author. 
It had been a murky muddy winter and that morning was the first of  hose warm February days when the first crocus pokes its head from under the soggy soil and everyone takes off one of their layers or coats or sweaters.  Jennifer invited me to her poetry reading and though I loved sleeping in, I still drove to a small used bookstore to hear her read. The great thing about going places alone is that there are absolutely no encumbrances to people watching; no pesky expectation of chatting with another person. Composed mostly of other readers and friends and family members, the audience was clad in the Seattle uniform of fleece vests and ironic t-shirts.  The scent of bitter hot espresso  wafted through the vents of the store from the stand outside and my stomach growled like a caged animal in the middle of a poem about pain or love, I couldn't really tell which.
The pound of the espresso cups, whir of the coffee grinder, and whoosh of the foam attachment all familiar sounds, left me feeling calm somehow. Still, I felt a bit restless and I continued to indulge my habit of buying travel books and dreaming up marvelous vacations to places warm, exotic, and spice-scented. Turning into the international travel section I saw two figures huddled together conspiratorially.  A large women woman with broad shoulders and a skinny hipster man held a book about Brazil and whispered.  As a light brown bobbed head turned, I saw the squared glasses, the heart shaped face, the look of constant disdain mixed with the joy of planning a wedding or prison break out. Theresa's eyes met mine briefly and the workings of her mind were clearly evident.  She tapped Matt nonchalantly on the shoulder keeping a neutral face.  Then, they both turned and walked away quickly.  
Though I am no detective, it was fairly simple to follow them to their next destination.  Just like a chase scene in an old film noir flick, they ran to a crowded place, hoping that they could blend into the crowd.  However, this wasn't a packed and darkened movie theater, but a florescent-lighted sparsely attended lecture on vegan canning parties.  I hung back where they could not see me in the self-help section until they moved again.  As they opened the door to the street, their hands brushed against each other and instead of quickly moving away, Matt patted Theresa's hand as she blushed. 
Cloth ballet flats are a highly impractical shoe for detective work especially in Seattle; the soles do not last, and the vamp is too low.  Feet damp and clammy, I followed them at a distance, ducking into stores to avoid detection. All I was missing was a newspaper with strategically placed holes cut out; then again, I suppose that is a bit of an anachronism now. What a shame. After crossing the university campus, I saw them walk into a lecture hall. I didn't have a ticket but the board outside the room read, "Teaching business in rural South America, a volunteer's guide."  Pretending to be one of the paid members, I stopped another attendee,
"Hi, I'm trying to find the American Sign Language seminar. Is that where you are headed over there?" I pointed to the lecture hall.
"That's next door I bet," he answered, "I'm going to this one here." and he pointed to the door.
"A lecture about Brazil, is it a book talk?"
"No, it's an orientation for a bunch of us who are going to South America for three years to teach indigenous people how to start up small businesses. It's probably too late for you to sign up. Sorry, I have to go," and with that, he entered the lecture hall.
As was Theresa's habit, she sat in the front row, her three ring binder laid out in perfect order.  As the door closed I saw Theresa gingerly pick up Matt's hand. As he held her palm to his lips, I saw them exchange a look of sadness and hope too.  He kissed her hand, the door closed, and I walked to my car wondering if I could spot the crocus again.

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The End

Or is it?

Disaster from a Distance Part IV The Discovery Teaser

As my great aunt Selma used to say, "never put it in writing."  Aunt Selma could never have anticipated the advent of facebook or the careless use of  blogs to reveal even the dirty of laundry. . .

       That Tuesday, Matt was home taking care of his two boys who had caught the stomach flu. He was doing double duty since his wife Jen was gone staying with friends near school as she worked on her finals for her nurse anesthetist degree.  Theresa was left to her own devices on coffee break. for once, she looked almost vulnerable sipping her diet cola alone, when  Mrs. Johnson leaned across the table and tried to set Theresa up with a single nephew. When Theresa  declined, Mrs. Johnson asked her, "So why is a nice girl like you single?"  

        Like many single women, Theresa had answered the question and its variations with the stock answer of, "I choose to be," her tone changing in time from irritation, to suppressed hope, and finally, to grim certainty. And, after a saying it enough times and like many women, she convinced herself that it was true. To choose a life without romance is just as desirable as any grand  passion could ever be..                                                                       

Th  Theresa peered at little old Mrs. Johnson in her black polyester slacks and giggled, "It has its perks."  Theresa left for her lunch hour and didn't come back until Friday. The same woman who politely sneered when anyone missed a day as a moral failing, advising them to take a cold shower to invigorate the immune system, left for her lunch hour and didn't come back until Thursday. . . . . . . . . 

         STAY TUNED FOR THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER OF DISASTER FROM "A DISTANCE PART IV THE DISCOVERY"!            

" "Had a great time  kayaking with  super-hottie Jason," the post read. As I looked down to find comments, I noticed that Matt's ever-present "like" to all of her postings was absent. In fact Matt's profile was absent, gone forever.

Disaster from a Distance Part !

There are few things more intriguing than watching other people's love lives blossom or wilt from a distance. She looks like a sturdy mid century nun her four inch wide cross her small suspicious eyes peering over wire rimmed glasses. Instead of the black habit, she wore t-shirts and instead of the veil, she wore a ponytail.  I took to calling her mother superior in my mind partly because of her appearance, but mostly because she was certain she was superior. She lived an anachronistic mix of eighteenth century governess, mid century nun, and post modern ideals. She seemed more likely to snitch or lord over than to participate in a scandal.  First, second, and tenth impressions aren't always right.                                                                                           I noticed it the first day back from the company's two week vacation in September.. Sturdy and stoic, she did not show emotion and in all the years we worked together. She had little patience or sympathy for those who suffered in any fashion and she especially despised the Monday catch-up sessions the other women in the department held during lunch. She would walk in to get cheese and crackers out of the vending machine, peer over her glasses in mild disgust and walk away. Emotion was a sign of weakness and she was out to rule the world, even if it was only the world of our department. Under the flickering florescent lights, her eyes turned icy. That all changed when Tim came was assigned to share a cubicle with her.                                       She walked in that Tuesday tanned and smiling. Tim came in a few minutes later and she flagged him down smiling and blushing like a teenager at her first dance. "Did you get my call?" "Oh yeah, sorry my wife and I had to take Cody to the ER last night?"                                             
  "Oh no!" her blush disappeared at the mention of his wife.                                                         
  "He's fine, just three stitches to make sure though," he said and walked to his side of the cubicle. She followed his every move.

At first, I thought it was my imagination, a sort of boredom induced hallucination after filing M-N all afternoon. Sue, a willowy blond stopped her filing and we gave each other a knowing look. From then on, it was a kind of secret game to spot exciting developments without ever referring to them in any form. Our department was known for its reliability and solid work and Theresa played a big part in that success. Every day at exactly 10:15 a bell rang and all the office workers either went outside to smoke or grab a quick cup of coffee before the bell rang again at 10:25.  Tim was a vegan and refused to touch the food in the cafeteria. Soon Theresa followed and they could be seen chatting over organic jimaca sticks she brought from home. He was a short stocky  guy with a tuft of blond hair who wore silly ties every Friday but almost never smiled. For the first year I knew Tim, I thought he was continuously angry at me. It turned out that was just his expression which hid a friendly if a bit obtuse nature. A father of three young sons, two of  whom needed braces, he and his wife had cut back on expenses by selling one of the cars. It turned Theresa was more than happy to carpool with him.Halloween came and when the bell for the end of our coffee break rang, neither Tim or Theresa were anywhere to be seen. Walking to the supply cabinet, I looked out the window. She was leaning on her car laughing and blushing while he took something out of  the backseat. She smoothed her black trousers with her hands and then started for the door.

Watching them was like watching a car accident in extremely slow motion, but it was deliciously bad at first.

Stay tune for parts 2 and 3