Saturday, July 23, 2005

Short Story - Unfinished Business

He had walked at least twenty city blocks. Since he had forgotten to bring a hand towel, the sweat poured from his forehead like a faucet. He kept wiping his face with his hands to keep the sweat from burning his eyes, but he knew he would pay for that later. Once he returned home, he would have to take preventive measures so his face wouldn’t look like a road map. This thought made him smile inwards. Even at his age, he still looked like a young man. But, the work became harder and harder. His vanity was becoming a job. Is this what this feels like? Is this what his parents and older family members went thru? He had a newfound respect for their diligence.

Finally reaching his destination, he walked over to the front desk and signed the sign-in book. He showed his driver’s license as identification and was directed to a bank of elevators to his left. He thanked the guard and proceeded to the elevators. He got in, as one was already available and pressed the button to the desired floor. He was nervous, and that was rare for him. It had been too long since he had seen his old friend, but circumstances dictated this visit.

While riding the elevator his memory bought him back to their last visit. They had met at Rossini’s and he had ordered veal. They spoke about the old days and what they had planned for the future. They spoke about going to a baseball game that summer. He regretted not going to that game but life reared its head and took control of his time. It had been almost two years since he had last seen him. They spoke regularly on the phone, but it wasn’t the same. Now, he had returned to the city and needed his help. He hated to see him with this problem looming, but he truly had no choice. If he couldn’t help him, then he would have to do things in a manner he had promised himself he wouldn’t partake in any longer. It pained him to think he might have to break his promise to himself, but these were desperate times. If he had another option, he would take it. But, as he often said, a promise is a promise. He had to keep his word if only to be able to live with himself.

He opened the glass doors and again went to the front desk. He asked for his friend and was told to “Please wait”. He did as he was told. After three minutes that felt like a week had passed, his friend came thru a different set of glass doors and received him. He looked at his old friend and smiled. It was returned. They left and his friend had mentioned he lived five blocks away. They went to his apartment and he gave his friend a towel and a glass of water. Then they ate a light lunch and discussed the matter at hand.

When the discussion finished, he looked at his friend for a sign. His friend rose from his chair and briefly excused himself. He returned a short moment later and they left the apartment and entered his friend’s vehicle. They drove to the cemetery. It had been eons since he last visited her. He no longer cried, but the sadness was evident. She was his everything and they took her from him. He had exacted revenge against all except one. His friend nodded to him and they left. He took him directly to the airport. As they said their goodbyes, he hugged his friend and told him to visit soon. He said he would and then he left his friend with a valued piece of advice.

“Make it quick. Wasted time is wasted effort. And remember what I told you earlier, okay?” Once again, his friend nodded and he boarded his flight. He finally had finished the task. He hated unfinished business, and although he truly believed he was willing to let it go, his soul wouldn’t let him.

Three days later, he strolled to the newsstand and bought a New York Daily News newspaper. He scanned the paper and found what he was looking for on page three. A report of one man, recently paroled from prison died in his apartment of apparent natural causes. He smiled inwardly and paid for the paper. He then strolled home, went to his kitchen, poured himself a cup of white tea and heated up a bagel. He opened his refrigerator and took out the cream cheese. As he enjoyed his breakfast, he picked up his cell phone, found the appropriate name and hit dial.

“Nice. Thanks. And I’ll pick you up at the airport on Saturday. Remember, once you’re here, you won’t want to return.”

His friend simply replied, “Yeah, so you keep telling me. I can’t believe you like it there.”

“You will too. Trust me, it’s perfect.”

He hung up upon exchanging information of the flight and times and goodbyes. He then looked in the old shoebox he kept on the counter. His friend’s picture was on top. He burned the picture and had one thought as he returned the box to the old storage closet.

Unfinished business.