Moved Away
Moved Away
"What do you mean she moved?" I'm in panic mode. I knocked on the door of my girlfriend's house seconds ago, and a middle-aged man answered, a herd of little kids behind him. They were playing pin the tail on the donkey. I'm guessing it was little Timmy's birthday. I apologized and awkwardly shuffled back to my car. Now, on the phone, I'm practically yelling at Fallon, who failed to alert me about this drastic change in address when I saw her at the airport.
"Mike, it's no big deal, seriously! I'll give you the address, you'll sweep her off her feet at her job, and then you two will be cuddling and watching chick flicks for the rest of the night. No big deal."
"Fallon, I'm going to punch you in the face if you don't give me the address to the law firm." During the three month tour, she gets a job. And moves. We had a fight over the phone about it, but I don't really remember much other than that.
"It's the one near Sisky's house."
"Dammit." That's about a half-hour drive. Should probably stop for some flowers on the way...
"You there?"
"Yeah."
"Well...hurry up; she'll be leaving soon."
"Shit." I shove my phone into my pants pocket as Fallon screams at me not to use profanities, and hop into my Volkswagen. I accelerate down a nearby florist, by some flowers, and then speed to the law firm. I sprint into the building like an Olympic athlete with a bouquet of pink lilies in my hand. I swing the glass door open, and the secretary glares at me. "Hi ma'am," I gasp.
"How may I help you sir," she says monotonously. I can't really tell if it's a question or a statement...
"I'm looking for...a Phoebe Miller." She frowns, and my hope dwindles.
"Sorry, hon. Just missed her."
"Please ma'am. Is...is there any way I can get her...address?" She shakes her head, and I panic. How am I supposed to find her now? "Ma'am, I'm desperate. Phoebe's my girlfriend, and I--"
"I'm not allowed to disclose any information about our employees. Rule number 32 in the book. I'm sorry sir." She slips a business card across the counter and winks. This lady's a sly one. I mouth a "thank you", and start trudging towards the doors. I flip the card over:
The apartment complex is right in front of the building.
Number 875.
Good luck.
But as I approach my car, there's a tow truck dragging it away. "Hey, man! That's mine!" I shout, and the truck driver rolls down the window. "Sir, that's my car you got there."
"And?" He points with his thumb to the bed of the truck. "I'm just doin' my job, kid. It'll be seventy bucks."
"But--" SEVENTY BUCKS?
"Hey, look. How else am I supposed to make money?"
"Sir, this is probably going to sound like the most cliche thing your ears have ever heard, but I'm trying to find my girlfriend, and without my car--"
"Seventy bucks, and it's all yours, buddy."
I grumble and pull out my wallet. Mental note: Fallon owes me seventy bucks. I hand him the money, and he jumps out to retrieve the car. I flip my cell phone out: 6:35 PM. Shit. I dart across the street and dodge traffic as the tow truck guy shouts at me:
"Hey, don't you want your car back?"
"Just leave it there!" I holler back, still sprinting, hurdling over objects. Cars honk, but I still dash by, the pollen from the flowers splashing all over my hand. At the apartment complex, I shove open the glass door, and the desk clerk stares at me. I can feel the sweat trickling down the back of my flannel shirt. Gross. I slip into the elevator, and press the number "8", trying to catch my breath. Man, I need a cigarette.
Once the doors open, I jump out, frantically looking for the number 875. I flit to the end of the hallway, spotting Phoebe's apartment. Out of breath, I knock weakly on the door. I hear shuffling on the other side, and the door opens. Her eyes are wide. "What happened to you? Looks like you've been running a marathon."
"MerryChristmasIloveyouverymuch." I thrust the now wilted flowers at her, panting. "Ican'tbreathe."
"Mike..." She frowns. "Come inside."
"Areyou...madat me?" Now I can somewhat speak normally.
"It's Christmas." Phoebe steps aside. "Now get in before I change my mind."
I grin, still breathing heavily. "I love you, babe."
"...I love you too, Mike."
"Mike, it's no big deal, seriously! I'll give you the address, you'll sweep her off her feet at her job, and then you two will be cuddling and watching chick flicks for the rest of the night. No big deal."
"Fallon, I'm going to punch you in the face if you don't give me the address to the law firm." During the three month tour, she gets a job. And moves. We had a fight over the phone about it, but I don't really remember much other than that.
"It's the one near Sisky's house."
"Dammit." That's about a half-hour drive. Should probably stop for some flowers on the way...
"You there?"
"Yeah."
"Well...hurry up; she'll be leaving soon."
"Shit." I shove my phone into my pants pocket as Fallon screams at me not to use profanities, and hop into my Volkswagen. I accelerate down a nearby florist, by some flowers, and then speed to the law firm. I sprint into the building like an Olympic athlete with a bouquet of pink lilies in my hand. I swing the glass door open, and the secretary glares at me. "Hi ma'am," I gasp.
"How may I help you sir," she says monotonously. I can't really tell if it's a question or a statement...
"I'm looking for...a Phoebe Miller." She frowns, and my hope dwindles.
"Sorry, hon. Just missed her."
"Please ma'am. Is...is there any way I can get her...address?" She shakes her head, and I panic. How am I supposed to find her now? "Ma'am, I'm desperate. Phoebe's my girlfriend, and I--"
"I'm not allowed to disclose any information about our employees. Rule number 32 in the book. I'm sorry sir." She slips a business card across the counter and winks. This lady's a sly one. I mouth a "thank you", and start trudging towards the doors. I flip the card over:
The apartment complex is right in front of the building.
Number 875.
Good luck.
But as I approach my car, there's a tow truck dragging it away. "Hey, man! That's mine!" I shout, and the truck driver rolls down the window. "Sir, that's my car you got there."
"And?" He points with his thumb to the bed of the truck. "I'm just doin' my job, kid. It'll be seventy bucks."
"But--" SEVENTY BUCKS?
"Hey, look. How else am I supposed to make money?"
"Sir, this is probably going to sound like the most cliche thing your ears have ever heard, but I'm trying to find my girlfriend, and without my car--"
"Seventy bucks, and it's all yours, buddy."
I grumble and pull out my wallet. Mental note: Fallon owes me seventy bucks. I hand him the money, and he jumps out to retrieve the car. I flip my cell phone out: 6:35 PM. Shit. I dart across the street and dodge traffic as the tow truck guy shouts at me:
"Hey, don't you want your car back?"
"Just leave it there!" I holler back, still sprinting, hurdling over objects. Cars honk, but I still dash by, the pollen from the flowers splashing all over my hand. At the apartment complex, I shove open the glass door, and the desk clerk stares at me. I can feel the sweat trickling down the back of my flannel shirt. Gross. I slip into the elevator, and press the number "8", trying to catch my breath. Man, I need a cigarette.
Once the doors open, I jump out, frantically looking for the number 875. I flit to the end of the hallway, spotting Phoebe's apartment. Out of breath, I knock weakly on the door. I hear shuffling on the other side, and the door opens. Her eyes are wide. "What happened to you? Looks like you've been running a marathon."
"MerryChristmasIloveyouverymuch." I thrust the now wilted flowers at her, panting. "Ican'tbreathe."
"Mike..." She frowns. "Come inside."
"Areyou...madat me?" Now I can somewhat speak normally.
"It's Christmas." Phoebe steps aside. "Now get in before I change my mind."
I grin, still breathing heavily. "I love you, babe."
"...I love you too, Mike."
♠ ♠ ♠
Merry Christmas, Phoebe!