Quite some time ago, I posted a fictional series on my previous blog about the origin of my engagement ring. Truthfully, we found the set in an antique store in Micanopy, a small town outside of our college town. The woman who sold it to us knew very little about the set, other then when it was likely made. I have always been enamored with history, mostly because I love imagining people's lives and the goings-on during different time periods. The series is still one of my favorite things I've ever written, and for that reason I'd like to re-publish it here. It is entirely fictional and has no truth to it whatsoever, although it is fun to imagine otherwise.
Part 1, here.
Part 2, here.
George walked out of his apartment, he mourned for his typewriter. So
much hard work had been tapped into those keys and it felt strange and a
bit depressing to let it go. George wondered if other people had
attachments to inanimate objects like the attachment he felt to his
typewriter. Probably not, he thought to himself. He needed to make more friends.
stood perfectly still in her apartment. She walked to the kitchen and
opened her refrigerator door to get some cool air. Although she almost
instantly regretted her decision to write the Man With the Bright Red
Socks a letter, she wasn't one for second guessing herself, so she
decided to leave it be. Matilda was perched on Nadine's small, tan couch
and Nadine joined her, waiting. She realized it could be hours before
the man saw the letter, and even days before he decided to reply (if he
decided to reply). Nadine opened a book, and read without understanding.
Her thoughts were elsewhere.
George felt ridiculous. He felt completely and utterly alone without his typewriter and no human friends. I need a cat, he thought. He turned to open the apartment's lobby door and step outside when a piece of paper caught his eye. Certainly it's not for me, he thought, but it does look like it's attached to my mailbox. He stood still and considered reading the letter. But what if it wasn't for him? He decided to read it anyway. He blushed.
reading a couple pages without really paying attention to them, Nadine
decided it was high time she go and do something productive. She fed
Matilda and gave her a small bowl of milk, something she liked to do on
Saturdays. She thought of her friend Emma, who was probably doing
something marvelous and exciting. She then thought about how boring her
life was in this moment. As she sat in her living room with her cat,
thinking of a man she did not know, writing a letter to that same man,
and running back up to her apartment to think about how silly she felt
for writing the letter to the man she did not know, opening her
refrigerator door to get fresh air, reading a book without understanding
— it all felt too predictable. With that, she grabbed her purse and
Hearing rustling in the lobby, George ducked
outside to catch his breath. His heart felt as though it had dropped
into his hands and he felt silly for being so nervous about a letter
from the woman in the hardware store. Surely it had to be the same woman
with the floral skirt and hair just so. He memorized her handwriting,
the curves of the letters, the way she addressed him as The Man With the Bright Red Socks. He relished the fact that she noticed small details and he felt himself melting into a puddle, a happy one no less.
walked outside and did not notice the missing letter, or the fact that
George was standing just outside their apartment entrance. She was much
too consumed by being someone who was unpredictable (something she was
consumed by quite often). She thought about all the ways she could not
be a bore. She thought of ways to be mysterious, unattainable. Someone
who struck curiosity in others. These were all things she thought of
quite often, almost as though she were rehearsing for a part in a play —
herself, but different.
But what Nadine did not realize was that
somewhere, The Man With the Bright Red Socks, who felt a connection to a
(now broken) typewriter, was intrigued by her forwardness, her desire
to be up front and transparent in any given situation. What she did not
realize was that with just a few of her scribbled words on a piece of
paper, The Man With the Bright Red Socks felt a lift in his spirits, the
chance to make a friend other than a typewriter. How unexpected, he thought.