by Freda, Paula
Even after she'd dispensed with the braids, and opted for a short-layered haircut, the nickname persisted. Blessedly, her mother and she moved from their New York apartment to a new one in Massachusetts, to be near her Aunt Lynn, her mother's sister, who late in life had married a sweet, conservative gentleman in his early sixties.
Julie's self-esteem might have suffered less if her father had stayed in her life after he divorced her mother. But he had preferred to break all ties with Evelyn and her side of the family. And that included his three-year-old daughter.
She didn't miss him. Had never truly known him. She did recall him thinner than his image in the only photo of him that her mother kept, for her daughter's sake. A 5x7 black and white that showed him in army fatigues. Something about his easy pose and his smile — at least in the photo — made her think that he would have told her to lose the pigtails and the braids long before her twelfth birthday.
She gave a small sigh and replaced the mahogany shell of her old music box into the drawer. Sometime between high school and college, she had unscrewed the casing and donated its insides to a church charity, but kept the genuine hardwood exterior. Now, in her twenty-fifth year, living comfortably, if frugally, in her New York midtown apartment, she admired the box for its sentimental value and its rare and expensive mahogany wood. What better place to keep her memories.
Along with her father's photo, were pictures of her mother, her aunt, old friends and neighbors, and the few schoolmates who had treated her kindly. One photo in particular she valued. Her best high school girl friend was in the photo, shouldering her. In the background was the schoolyard where she had suffered the worst taunts and nicknames. But in one corner, sat a boy, handsome even at his gangly age. He watched her, a quiet, calm expression on his face. He was one of the few boys who didn't whistle sarcastically or wink duplicitously, on those few occasions that she forgot to keep her head bent to avoid unwelcome stares.
She often wondered what happened to him after he and his family moved away. She heard through the grapevine that his father had obtained a much-needed better paying job in Manhattan. And rather than lose their elegant home to foreclosure, the family had opted to sell and buy a residence less expensive to maintain. Julie wondered if he had remained in her high school, whether he might eventually have asked her out. The smile he sometimes favored her with, was sincere. It had never proved otherwise. Julie recalled the day her girl friend informed her that Evan and his family had left. She remembered running to the girl's bathroom, locking herself in the stall, and crying, as quietly as possible, so none of the unfriendly girls, might hear and make fun of her.
College proved a better experience. She dated occasionally. One young man even proposed. But she had never felt the spark she believed necessary to accept his proposal. And, though she never told anyone, none of the interested young men remotely reminded her of Evan, or had his calm, restful, hazel eyes with a hint of blue, and that gentle special gaze captured in the photo she treasured.
Her mother had not let go easily, balking when her daughter chose a college out of state. In the end, lack of funds decided Julie to stay at home and attend a local college. But once she had graduated, not all her mother's pleadings could dissuade her from moving to New York and renting her own apartment.
She was not leaving her mother unattended. Aunt Lynn and her husband lived only a block away. They were all for Julie striking out on her own, and assured her that if Evelyn needed help, they could easily create a separate living space with its own entrance in their spacious home.
After college, her job as secretary to the assistant chief surveyor at the marine cargo bureau paid her a more than adequate salary to maintain her comfortable apartment in the midtown high rise, and afford clothes and the salon that minimized her plainness. Her employer, Merchant Marine Retired Captain Liam, treated her fairly. Her fellow employees often remarked that she was one of the few who could read his writing and brew him dark coffee he praised. Their employee-employer relationship stayed business-like during working hours. But often, for a few minutes before and after, they shared casual conversation concerning their personal lives. An easy camaraderie developed between them, and Julie found herself wishing Captain Liam were her father. His wife, Cynthia, was the mother Julie would have preferred. Not that she didn't love her mother who had faithfully reared her. Overprotective, not in tune with the world about her with regard to her daughter, she nonetheless had never abandoned her. To this day, they visited regularly and spoke often on the phone.
A bus honking its horn outside on the street, broke Julie's reverie, and reminded her of the time. She finished dressing, warmed a portion of the French Toast she prepared ahead weekly and kept in the fridge for ready breakfasts. Coffee, light, with one sugar. Dishes into the dishwasher, a quick look-over of the small kitchen to make sure appliances were turned off, she locked the door securely behind her and was off to catch a bus downtown to the Merchant Marine Shipping Office across from Battery Park.
She caught the early bus and a window seat. Traffic as usual during a weekday was heavy and the bus moved slowly. The buildings and stores on either side were old news. She had seen them every workday for the past four years. But what caught her vision was the young man walking among the files of pedestrians. It was him. She was sure of it. A bit older — the gangly look gone. A bit taller, shoulders squarer. But it was him. Evan!
Julie acted on impulse. She stood up and pressed the yellow strip on the side of her window, requesting to be let off at the next stop. She didn't wait to see if the acknowledging red light lit, but hurried to the front of the bus and stood near the driver to make sure he saw her waiting.
"Here you go, Lady," the driver said, letting her off the bus with a smile.
Julie returned the smile with a "Thanks." Not all the drivers were this polite.
Once on the sidewalk, she scanned the bustle of pedestrians. Evan had been walking in the same direction as the bus. But he may have turned into the few side streets intervening. She backtracked, checking the side streets. By the time she reached the tenth corner, she sighed, resigned. He had probably gone into one of the buildings and she'd missed him.
She caught the next bus to work, determined from now on to ride the early bus each morning and look for him when the bus passed the street where she had sighted him. It would be wonderful to reconnect with the one boy in school who had never teased her. Despite the brief instant of recognition, she tried to recall the expression on his face. Had he looked happy, tired, sullen? Preoccupation with her own plain features over the years, had made her observant of other faces. You could tell a lot about individuals when they didn't know you were looking at them. But there hadn't been time to study his face. All she recalled was that he was gazing downward at the pavement. Julie sighed nostalgically, and as was often the case, she created a mini-fantasy to ease her loneliness — he was lonely, too, and thinking about that silly sweet girl, Miss Twisty Piggy Tails.
CHAPTER TWO
When she walked into the office, she saw that Captain Liam was already in his cubicle, busy at his desk, writing in his lined yellow pad. The weatherworn pigment of his skin and the iron-grey hair, cut short, attested to his sixty-nine years. But his tall, broad-shouldered physique belied that age.
Julie sat down at her desk, a few feet from the opening to her boss' cubicle. The time was 8:45, but Captain Liam often came in much earlier and stayed later than the required 9 to 5. She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and placed her shoulder bag inside. She knew the noise of the steel drawer sliding closed would alert him to her presence.
"Good, you're here," he called to her, tearing sheets off the yellow pad. "I've got several letters of approval ready for typing, notarizing, and delivery to the freight office. The specs are all in order. Sanderson inspected the shipment personally. Tools and raw materials for building projects. Can't be too careful nowadays."
Julie hurried to his desk and took the sheets along with the r
elated files from Captain Liam. "I'll get right to them," she said.
"Did you have a good weekend?" he asked.
"Yes, pleasant. I visited with my Mom, did some shopping, read a book. The usual. Nothing untoward to spoil it."
"Except for the part visiting your mom, the rest sounds boring," he told her, smiling good-naturedly.
"Of course, it does," she said, "after your youth abroad in the Merchant Marine, sailing the high seas."
"Yeah, I do miss those days."
The phone on his desk rang and Captain Liam turned away to answer the call.
Julie returned to her desk and to her computer to type the letters. They were short and simple, verifying contents, lengths, widths, weight. Despite her four years working for Liam, most of the shipping jargon went over her head, but she had typed enough of the letters and documents to recognize when something sounded amiss, and ask Liam about it. He did occasionally dictate the letters, but he had mentioned once early in her employment that he preferred to write them out on paper to double-check his own accuracy. He disliked computers, although he had learned the necessary basics to use them, but he'd never fully adapted to the technological age. Give him hard copies, lined paper, pen and pencil, and he was perfectly at home and content. She liked the man. As she phrased it, he had a kind, old soul.
He kept her busy with letters, pulling hardcopy files, and others on the computer. He called upon her often to help with research about the products being shipped, freight regulations regarding size and weight, and restrictions. The hours passed quickly.
By lunchtime, she was ready for a healthy reenergizing meal and a walk by the bay at Battery Park. She loved to stroll alongside the railing, next to the water, and spend what was left of her lunch hour enjoying the cool ocean breezes and watching the ferries cross the bay.
The wind was not as feisty and distracting as some days, and Evan's face filled her mind, the younger Evan she had admired during her teen years. She tried to compare that image with the older version she had glimpsed briefly. She wasn't positive it had been Evan. She closed her eyes and under the euphoria of the ocean breeze and a ferryboat racing toward the opposite shore, she fantasized she was on the boat, by the rail, and Evan stood a few feet behind her on deck. She would turn casually, perhaps to catch a better glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. Their gazes would meet. He'd recognize her and smile. And the rest, as the saying went, would be history.
Despite knowing her thoughts were mere fantasy, she turned to look. But he wasn't there. Only a couple of young girls, daydreaming like herself, and a businessman, weary faced with thick-lensed glasses, stood on the concrete behind her. She chuckled softly. Best to forget the whole morning's incident and get back to real life. This evening before returning home, she might take the Ferry to Staten Island and back, stand on the lower deck to relax and enjoy the sea air, and watch the ferry's bow cut through the water, creating white foamy roiling waves. The water spraying and misting, she'd breathed deeply.
Abigail came to mind. she had made plans with the pleasant young woman, similar to her in age and sentiments. Abigail rented the apartment opposite hers. They'd met a few times in the hallway before curiosity and their shared need for companionship blossomed into a steady friendship. Here was someone to talk to, a confidante who shared basically the same hopes and dreams. Someone to be comfortable with, to bowl with, share a movie, invite to your parents' home on the holidays, or just chitchat. Exactly what she needed this evening when she arrived home.
She knocked on her friend's door. Abigail similarly cautious, peered through the security eyehole, before opening the door with a hearty, "Hey!"
"Is this a bad time," Julie asked. Like herself, Abigail had days she needed her space and time alone.
"No, it's fine. In fact, I just finished supper and was sitting down to a cup of coffee. Come on in. Would you like a cup?"
"Okay."
Julie entered and Abby locked the door behind her. Both girls headed for the aisle counter in front of the small kitchen. Julie sat on the first of the three counter stools, glad of the upholstered seat and backrest, while Abby filled another cup with coffee.
"It's almost eight. I gather you ate out," Abby said.
"Yes, I did," Julie said, helping herself to the cream and sugar on the aisle top. "I ate on the Ferry back."
"Oh, you took one of your favorite rides. Feeling nostalgic tonight?"
"Yes, one of those times," Julie chuckled. "Especially tonight," she went on, relating the morning's incident.
Abby listened, enrapt. "Do you remember the time and the street you saw him?"
"Yes, I don't believe I'll forget those easily."
"Maybe he's in the phone book."
"I looked. Nada. Either it wasn't him, or he's not listed."
"Well, then, tomorrow, leave real early, get off the bus where you saw him, and plant yourself in front of a building. If he passes again, you'll be right there to say hello."
"Easy for you to say," Julie remarked. "I'm liable to be mistaken for a solicitor, standing there checking out every male passing by."
"I doubt that seriously," Abby said. "Not the way you dress. Buttons up to your neck, skirts way below your knees."
"I never liked mini-skirts, and besides, I don't have your figure or your looks," Julie said.
"Hey, I don't wear mini-skirts. Mostly pantsuits and dresses with a decent hemline."
"And they all look fabulous on you!" Julie complimented.
"That's why I like you," Abby laughed, "you always make me feel good." She put down her coffee cup. "In any case, if you spot him, and he's still single, don't be shy. Talk to him, find out as much as you can about where he's employed and where he lives. If he seems the least bit interested, I'll help you in the looks department. Here's my chance to use some of that knowledge I've accumulated working as a cosmetologist's assistant."
Julie glanced down thoughtfully. She liked Abigail. She was innately kind and giving. The big difference between them was that Abby was raised free-spirited, by parents who gave her the freedom, ability and reasons to like herself.
"Well, all right. I'll give it a try."
Abby smiled. "There is no try, there is only—
"Oh, shush, already!"
Abby's laugh was contagious, and soothing. If nothing else, tomorrow should prove interesting.
CHAPTER THREE
The following morning, a renter's decorating idea magazine tucked in her shoulder bag, Julie caught the bus an hour earlier, and got off at the stop nearest to where she had spotted the man she believed to be Evan. She planted herself in the corner of an alcove ahead of the revolving door entrance to a business building, pulled out the magazine, opened it, and pretended to be reading it. Every few seconds she glanced casually above it at the throngs of passersby heading to work.
As the hour drew to a close, her shoulders slumped. Her arms ached from holding the magazine high to cover her face and mask her glances at the men passing by, not to mention feeling embarrassed. This type of behavior wasn't her style.
She checked her watch. Her bus came every twenty minutes. She'd let two go by, but the next one she would have to board, or risk arriving late for work. She sighed, resigned, and started toward the line already forming at the bus stop. She'd try again tomorrow morning.
By the fifth try, Julie was convinced seeing Evan had all been a trick of her imagination. And upon returning home from work that evening, she told Abby adamantly that her morning attempts to find him were over. "I'm finished acting a fool," she told Abby over a cup of coffee in her friend's modishly styled apartment.
"Maybe he doesn't work in the area," Abby offered, "and was just here for some business appointment, or perhaps an interview." As an afterthought, Abby asked, "What's his last name?"
"Oh, come on," Julie smirked. "Are you suggesting I instigate a search on one of those find a person websites?"
"It's a thought."
"Do you realize how many Evan Foste
rs are listed?"
"Did he have a middle name?"
"Abby!"
"Sorry. I know I'm being ridiculous."
"You're being kind," Julie said, patting her friend's hand. "Let's talk about something else. Like what are your plans for Labor Day. I know we're both off from work that day."
"Well, I hadn't thought that far ahead," Abby replied. "What are yours?"
"I'm thinking I'd like to revisit the Museum of Natural History. I haven't been there in quite a while. And I hear there are a lot of new exhibits."
Abby glanced at her speculatively.
Julie shrugged. "Hey, I love that museum. And losing myself in the past, and all my daydreams."
Abby chuckled. "Eh, why not. It will be a lazy day out for two unattached females. And who knows, if your Evan is anything like you, he might be visiting there too."
"He's not my Evan," Julie blurted. "The man is probably married with a couple of kids by now. And I told you, I'm finished with the whole matter."
"Okay, I won't bring his name up again. So what time would you like to visit the Museum? And maybe we can have dinner at one of the nicer restaurants? Maybe even catch a movie?"
Julie nodded, "Yes, sounds nice." The simple life. Some folks might disagree with her, but that's what she preferred. In lifestyle preferences, Abby was her opposite, but for the sake of their friendship, she was always willing to compromise. One day, perhaps, Abby would find her adventurous other half, and then she'd leave. I'll miss you, dear friend, Julie thought nostalgically.
Labor Day promised warmth with less humidity and an abundance of soft blue sky. A perfect day to enjoy a casual outing with her best friend, Julie mused, brushing her dark hair into a ponytail and securing it with a blue latex-free rubber band. A dab of powder and eyebrow pencil to add a trifle of sophistication to her denim blue jeans and loose light blue cotton top, and she was ready to join Abby. The thought surfaced that Evan would have approved. Julie grimaced. She must not allow such thoughts, and forget she ever believed she had glimpsed him among the crowd. All a trick of her imagination. It might be a good idea when she returned this evening to tear up that high school photo so it would never again bring back silly school girl memories.
