The Birthday Present by Vanessa Orlando
Every time Annabel caught the seven o'clock bus at the corner of Lake and Eldorado, Rufus gently lifted, then gently replaced his standard-issue blue uniform cap. He never did that to anyone else. She knew. She’d watched.
Annabel paused on the top step before turning down the aisle. How many love songs had been written about a love like this, she wondered. How many dreams had young girls and old men conjured up about that sense of certainty that comes with that one look that lets you know, as surely as you know your name and birthday and social security number, that magicians and angels and Santa's elves placed this person on your planet, just for you?
Annabel sat behind him and studied the way his hair swept toward the back of his head, the way it waved behind his ears and straightened out in the middle. She wondered if it was soft, like corn silk, or if it was dry, like straw. She wondered how many women had clutched it in desire, grabbed handfuls of it to pull him close.
Rufus looked at her in the mirror above him at every red light and touched the visor of his cap, a gesture so intimate it made the skin between her breasts turn red. The redness traveled upward, against gravity, overtaking her white neck, fanning up into her chin and cheeks until her scalp turned raw. She hadn’t expected love to arrive so abruptly, so full blown, but love comes when it comes, she thought. And here it is.
She hoped he didn’t notice that she stayed on two stops longer than usual and ran into Bells Department Store. Tomorrow was his birthday and if he tried to find out what she planned for the big day, she would explode with excitement and tell him.
“It’s my boyfriend’s birthday,” she told the saleswoman, “He deserves the best. The very best!”
Annabel stared at her watch and looked toward the exit of the Seaside Restaurant. Maria got off at nine o'clock, and she would -- as Annabel had watched her do for weeks now -- walk down Row F, to parking space 13. See that was the problem. Maria never thought anything would change. She never even noticed her own husband falling in love with someone else. Rufus deserved to be with someone who noticed things. That’s why Annabel had chosen a Rosewood Laguiole made with Damascus steel and a Yatagan blade, and because it was his birthday, she included the red bubinga box. She would give it to him on the bus tomorrow.
Ten minutes later, Maria began walking toward Row F. Annabel followed, stroking the Damascus steel under her jacket. Happy birthday, Rufus, my love. Happy birthday.
From Vanessa: I am a past recipient of the Maryland Writers Association Short Fiction Prize. My award winning story, “When Sara Looks Up” was made into a short film by Columbia College Chicago.
Annabel paused on the top step before turning down the aisle. How many love songs had been written about a love like this, she wondered. How many dreams had young girls and old men conjured up about that sense of certainty that comes with that one look that lets you know, as surely as you know your name and birthday and social security number, that magicians and angels and Santa's elves placed this person on your planet, just for you?
Annabel sat behind him and studied the way his hair swept toward the back of his head, the way it waved behind his ears and straightened out in the middle. She wondered if it was soft, like corn silk, or if it was dry, like straw. She wondered how many women had clutched it in desire, grabbed handfuls of it to pull him close.
Rufus looked at her in the mirror above him at every red light and touched the visor of his cap, a gesture so intimate it made the skin between her breasts turn red. The redness traveled upward, against gravity, overtaking her white neck, fanning up into her chin and cheeks until her scalp turned raw. She hadn’t expected love to arrive so abruptly, so full blown, but love comes when it comes, she thought. And here it is.
She hoped he didn’t notice that she stayed on two stops longer than usual and ran into Bells Department Store. Tomorrow was his birthday and if he tried to find out what she planned for the big day, she would explode with excitement and tell him.
“It’s my boyfriend’s birthday,” she told the saleswoman, “He deserves the best. The very best!”
Annabel stared at her watch and looked toward the exit of the Seaside Restaurant. Maria got off at nine o'clock, and she would -- as Annabel had watched her do for weeks now -- walk down Row F, to parking space 13. See that was the problem. Maria never thought anything would change. She never even noticed her own husband falling in love with someone else. Rufus deserved to be with someone who noticed things. That’s why Annabel had chosen a Rosewood Laguiole made with Damascus steel and a Yatagan blade, and because it was his birthday, she included the red bubinga box. She would give it to him on the bus tomorrow.
Ten minutes later, Maria began walking toward Row F. Annabel followed, stroking the Damascus steel under her jacket. Happy birthday, Rufus, my love. Happy birthday.
From Vanessa: I am a past recipient of the Maryland Writers Association Short Fiction Prize. My award winning story, “When Sara Looks Up” was made into a short film by Columbia College Chicago.
posted by Edgy Mama | 7:14 AM
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