the
school yard; a stack of valentine cards; a chicken fight on the jungle gym .
Surrounded by
friends. At ease. A very different time .
Nick shut his
eyes hard, but could not keep his mind from finishing the school day and
heading home. He saw his parents then, as he always saw them: smiling, locked
hand in hand in perpetuity, changing only as the photo tucked in his wallet
yellowed.
Thirty-one and
twenty-nine, just kids, with a son, and a new home, and so many dreams. Funny,
that he still subscribed to them the wisdom and experience of parents, when
both, in the photo, were younger than he was now .
The door to the
balcony opened, pulling Nick's mind to the present. He twisted, but caught only
a silhouette before the pie-slice of light pinched to nothingness with the
closing door.
"Nick?"
the figure said.
"Yeah,"
Nick answered as the figure approached, and then, "Meg, is that you?"
"Yes."
She stopped a
few feet from him.
"I was
just catching some air," he said, embarrassed to be found here in the
dark, alone.
Her head turned
up. "It's a beautiful night."
"It
is," Nick agreed.
"Tom
thought he saw you come out here. I just wanted to say hi before I left — I
didn't get much of a chance before."
"You're
leaving?"
She nodded. "Everybody
is moving on … 'The Tower' I think they said."
"Should be
fun," Nick said, at once sarcastic and .
"You can
still join everybody if you hurry."
"You're
not going?"
"No. It's
late and I'm not really up for bar hopping … I think maybe I'm getting old
or something."
Nick chuckled. "I
know the feeling."
A long pause
followed; Nick searched for words to fill the vacuum but found none.
"Well, I'm
off," Meg said finally. "Good night."
Meg started to
turn, and Nick, too urgently, said, "I checked before, there was a backup
for cabs."
She shrugged. "I
planned to walk."
"Home?"
"It's not
much more than a mile." She lifted one of her feet and pointed. "These
heels aren't too bad — I'll make it. … Have a good night."
Meg's hand had
reached the balcony door before Nick spoke again. "Meg?"
She turned. "Hmm?"
So easy to say
nothing. To stay here alone with his drink, with no risk. Remember, work is
your element. You don't have the capacity to connect on a different level. You've
tried, and always failed.
Nick forced the
thoughts from his mind, and said, the darkness somehow making it easier,
"I don't really feel like waiting for a cab either. Mind if I walked
along?"
She shook her head. "I'd enjoy the company."
North, then
west, then north again — they agreed on direction, then started side by
side, his long strides setting the pace. Was she nervous too, Nick wondered,
and stole a quick glance.
No, he decided.
Her hair swung in an easy rhythm; her lips curled just at the corners, but not
self-consciously. She seemed cool, relaxed .
It was not a
race, Nick reminded himself, and slowed his gait, falling in step behind
another couple who shuffled slowly arm-in-arm.
Another couple?
He stole one more glance at Meg, finding the idea not unappealing.
Nick began on
his prepared list of questions: How's the job going? Are the hours long? Tell
me what you're working on? Obvious, work related questions — pro forma and
uninteresting — but a start nonetheless.
"You're
still working primarily with Scott?" Nick asked.
"Until his
vacation I was. Since then it seems I've been pulled in a couple of different
directions. Binley's just pulled me in on the Riegle-Neal Interstate Act."
"Interesting
project. I've talked to him about it. Of course there were always inherent
limitations in measuring loan and deposit activity on a state by state basis. Still,
with call reports encompassing multi-state transactions, their utility will … " What the hell was he saying? His voice dropped off as he finished the
sentence: " … necessarily diminish."
"I
suppose," Meg said, sounding disengaged.
Nick's insides
twisted. Idiot. He had spotted shelter — an issue he could examine
and
school yard; a stack of valentine cards; a chicken fight on the jungle gym .
Surrounded by
friends. At ease. A very different time .
Nick shut his
eyes hard, but could not keep his mind from finishing the school day and
heading home. He saw his parents then, as he always saw them: smiling, locked
hand in hand in perpetuity, changing only as the photo tucked in his wallet
yellowed.
Thirty-one and
twenty-nine, just kids, with a son, and a new home, and so many dreams. Funny,
that he still subscribed to them the wisdom and experience of parents, when
both, in the photo, were younger than he was now .
The door to the
balcony opened, pulling Nick's mind to the present. He twisted, but caught only
a silhouette before the pie-slice of light pinched to nothingness with the
closing door.
"Nick?"
the figure said.
"Yeah,"
Nick answered as the figure approached, and then, "Meg, is that you?"
"Yes."
She stopped a
few feet from him.
"I was
just catching some air," he said, embarrassed to be found here in the
dark, alone.
Her head turned
up. "It's a beautiful night."
"It
is," Nick agreed.
"Tom
thought he saw you come out here. I just wanted to say hi before I left — I
didn't get much of a chance before."
"You're
leaving?"
She nodded. "Everybody
is moving on … 'The Tower' I think they said."
"Should be
fun," Nick said, at once sarcastic and .
"You can
still join everybody if you hurry."
"You're
not going?"
"No. It's
late and I'm not really up for bar hopping … I think maybe I'm getting old
or something."
Nick chuckled. "I
know the feeling."
A long pause
followed; Nick searched for words to fill the vacuum but found none.
"Well, I'm
off," Meg said finally. "Good night."
Meg started to
turn, and Nick, too urgently, said, "I checked before, there was a backup
for cabs."
She shrugged. "I
planned to walk."
"Home?"
"It's not
much more than a mile." She lifted one of her feet and pointed. "These
heels aren't too bad — I'll make it. … Have a good night."
Meg's hand had
reached the balcony door before Nick spoke again. "Meg?"
She turned. "Hmm?"
So easy to say
nothing. To stay here alone with his drink, with no risk. Remember, work is
your element. You don't have the capacity to connect on a different level. You've
tried, and always failed.
Nick forced the
thoughts from his mind, and said, the darkness somehow making it easier,
"I don't really feel like waiting for a cab either. Mind if I walked
along?"
She shook her head. "I'd enjoy the company."
North, then
west, then north again — they agreed on direction, then started side by
side, his long strides setting the pace. Was she nervous too, Nick wondered,
and stole a quick glance.
No, he decided.
Her hair swung in an easy rhythm; her lips curled just at the corners, but not
self-consciously. She seemed cool, relaxed .
It was not a
race, Nick reminded himself, and slowed his gait, falling in step behind
another couple who shuffled slowly arm-in-arm.
Another couple?
He stole one more glance at Meg, finding the idea not unappealing.
Nick began on
his prepared list of questions: How's the job going? Are the hours long? Tell
me what you're working on? Obvious, work related questions — pro forma and
uninteresting — but a start nonetheless.
"You're
still working primarily with Scott?" Nick asked.
"Until his
vacation I was. Since then it seems I've been pulled in a couple of different
directions. Binley's just pulled me in on the Riegle-Neal Interstate Act."
"Interesting
project. I've talked to him about it. Of course there were always inherent
limitations in measuring loan and deposit activity on a state by state basis. Still,
with call reports encompassing multi-state transactions, their utility will … " What the hell was he saying? His voice dropped off as he finished the
sentence: " … necessarily diminish."
"I
suppose," Meg said, sounding disengaged.
Nick's insides
twisted. Idiot. He had spotted shelter — an issue he could examine
and
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