It was one of those brisk fall days that remind you of a fall day from your childhood. The kind of fall day made for jumping in a leaf pile so high that you could barely see over it with young eyes only if you stood on your tip toes.
That was the type of fall day it was when a twenty-something woman parked herself and her strained backpack on a park bench just up the bank from a man made lake. She had at first slid the pack from one shoulder and than the other making it fall to the ground with no care of breaking its contents. The young woman’s dress and mannerisms gave the appearance that she was a student at the university just outside of the quiet park. Winthrop was the name of the university. It said so on a sweat shirt that she wore. After dumping her bag on the ground, she herself took a seat on the bench. She didn’t bother with the bag. It seemed as though she was glad to have forgotten it for a bit. This twenty something young woman wasn’t in any way to take a keen interest in. The students from Winthrop came to this park everyday. This young woman, though, was different from the other students. So she sat watching the last of the mallards on the lake. It was difficult to even take a guess at what she might have been thinking. Was it the ducks or was it how she was about to have finished her classes for the day? Either way she kept deep into the thought even after she was accompanied on the bench by another person. The man didn’t look out of place. As a matter of fact he looked right in place with the university community. With his grey hair and brown wool suit with the matching brown tie and just as matching white button down shirt, this gentleman could have easily been thought of as a professor at the university. So, no, there was nothing at all out of the ordinary about this scene in the park. The man crossed his legs at the knees and crossed his arms.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” his voice held an accent that one could not place. Maybe it was Irish, or Scottish, or British. It could have been a Maine accent, but it couldn’t be filed under one certain country or part of a country.
“Yes it is. I remember days like this when I was a child. It was a fun time because of the great piles of leaves that came with every fall.”
The young woman looked in the direction of a grove of oak trees just past the gentleman’s left shoulder. There were a few kids playing in the leaves, but not many. The rest of the children were probably tucked inside bedrooms somewhere playing the latest installment of a super violent and bloody video game. Funny how things can change. How technology could change a nation as a whole. The gentleman turned his head in the direction of the grove.
“Yes I quite remember them, myself. My name is John. What’s yours?”
He didn’t look at her when asking this, but at his watch around his wrist as if he was checking to make sure he wasn’t late for some meeting. The twenty something woman pulled her vibrating cell phone from her worn blue jeans and checked the caller I.D.
“Probably the next most boring name in the world besides John. I’m Jane.”
The gentleman, John, smiled slightly at her bit of humour. He also noticed that she cancelled the cell call. Not even letting voice mail pick it up. John stood to leave.
“I’ll see you tonight at Tatum Street House. It’ll be 2100.”
“So late?” a hint of disappointment was caught by John.
“Is there something with the set time, Miss Jane?” John had a smirk on his face as if saying, “Quit you whining.”
Jane pulled her heavy backpack upon her back once more.
“I just have an exam in my first class in the morning is all. I was just hoping to get a little studying done.”
“I promise you Miss Jane you will be safely back in your little apartment by 2300 sharp.”
The smirk went away and it was replaced by a warm fatherly smile, but John’s eyes did not share the smile. They just stayed the same black coldness as with his other emotions.
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