The Sticky Note Chronicles

“An’ so Professor Scriptor kicked ‘im out of tha class,” The redhead said with a bemused smile on her face. Stirring her coffee idly, she stared at the slightly generic expression of her boyfriend.
He was cute, with tussled brown hair and a fit body. Her attraction to him was simply that of he was nice, would listen to her, and would make the other girls in her college class jealous that she had such a good looking boyfriend.
“Hey, Andrew?” Norah said suddenly, her hand pausing from the straw that was twirling around the steaming latte in front of her. The mid-September day was warmer than it had been lately, but still the air of fall had begun to settle in on the Northern city.
“Mm?” He asked, his steely eyes meeting hers, the blank expression rising slightly as his attention was called.
“Do ya… listen, when I talk?” She asked, scrunching her eyebrows slightly.
His eyes widened slightly, “Yeah, yeah, of course I do!”
They had been dating for the past seven months. Mainly because neither of them had the reason, nor the heart, to break up.
Their relationship was generic, a fairly healthy sex life and regular dating. Neither really complained, but lately…
The Irish woman had been thinking, something’s missing.
She was already twenty years old, meaning within the next ten years she had to build a career, and find someone worth spending the rest of her life with.
Andrew – obviously – wasn’t him.
She sighed slightly, beginning to stir the drink in front of her again as their table fell silent in the packed café.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Rain pattered gently against the window, the purple curtains drawn to view the city in a grey overcast. Drops of rain hit the window, dancing down the glass in strategic patterns, joining with other raindrops; missing this one, finding this one; dripping, unnoticed off the edge of the banister.
An auburn haired woman stood, leaning against said window that was stretched to take up a third of the wall, reaching both the floor and the ceiling to create a vast, open view of the outside world.
People ran with multicoloured umbrellas, below, running from the rain, catching a taxi that would move, inch, slowly through traffic to their destination.
“Yeah, mom.” She said in a bored tone, listening to the woman’s thick Irish accent spout advice, news, gossip – something at her through the receiver of the phone. The red phone was held to her ear with a limp hand, the twisted cord leading down to the red box in her hand, held against her hip which was cocked in a bored fashion, the long cord leading to the about six feet away.
“I know I’m not gettin’ any younger! But I still haven’t found, ya know, tha one.” She explained into the phone, making air quotes even though she knew her mother couldn’t see her.
Pretending to listen, she held the phone between her shoulder and her jaw and moved across the apartment, taking the phone with her. “Mhmm,” she would hum into the phone occasionally.
Reaching the kitchen, she opened the fridge and snatched a Heineken from the box. She set the red phone box on the counter, sliding herself up to sit upon the marble surface and stare blankly at the mysterious picture before her.
She had moved in two weeks ago, and she still hadn’t really seen Mel. They had been in the apartment at the same time, but either one of them was sleeping, or one was busy writing and essay.
They seemed to keep missing each other.
She glanced at the sticky note from that morning,
What’s your favourite food?
-Mel
Thinking momentarily, she scrawled down at the edge of the paper,
Alfredo and shrimp pasta

Their note passing had become a regular thing now. Every morning a new note with a new question was left somewhere in the apartment where she would find it, she would answer it by that evening and pose her own question.
But she had been mischievous and hid her sticky notes more carefully, more out of view.
But the mysterious Mel seemed to be able to find them with ease, her own answer scratched on the note in blue ink, and left on her door every morning.
“Norah!”
“Ah!” She slid off the edge of the counter, clattering to the floor in a very ungraceful manner. “Oww, what?” She hissed into the phone, rubbing the base of her spine in pain.
“Did you hear what I said?”
The auburn haired woman rolled her eyes, “Yeah, of course. Thanks mum, I gotta go an’ get something to eat. I’ll talk to you later?”
There was a sigh, “Sure Norah, love you.”
“Love you too, bye!”
She hung up the phone with relief. She loved her mother to death, but for some reason, the woman seemed to be able to say the worst thing at the worst time.
Sighing momentarily, she got back up, grabbing one of the green sticky notes off the counter and scratching on her question for the day.
If you could live anywhere in
the world, where would it be?
-Norah
Seemingly satisfied, the pale woman sat back and opened the top off the beer, drinking the sour liquid slowly before letting out a content noise and going to sit on the couch.
Flipping through the channels on the television idly, she nodded off around midnight, three empty beer bottles on the table in front of her.

The white door to the apartment closed quietly, the sun just beginning to peak through the half-closed curtains on the windows. Mel stared at the city beginning to rouse from its slumber – or lack thereof.
The brunette jumped slightly when she heard a choked cough from the couch. Turning, she faced the familiar redhead, who laid unconscious on one of the white couches.
Glancing around the scene, the television on mute, images of an early talk show moving idly, lucidly on the screen. Three empty beer bottles on the coffee table.
“I knew you were Irish.” The tall girl murmured to the slumbering redhead.
Walking over to the couch slowly, quietly, as to not wake the girl, she studied the expression of the sleeping beauty.
Her features were rounded, smooth. Her skin was pale, freckles dotting every part of her exposed skin. Her dark red curls were matted slightly, hanging in her face as she let out another choked snore.
Mel stifled a laugh – not a very graceful sleeper.
Moving across the back of the couch, she leaned down, brushing a few of the red hairs out of the girl’s face. Her touch was careful.
She paused, and stared at her expression.
Pursing her lips, Mel stood straight up, jumping over the couch to the space between the seat and the table. Snatching up the bottles she made her way over to the recycling bins and placed them carefully inside.
She turned back, facing the living room. She shook her head slowly, picking up her bag and writing a note quickly on a pink sticky note.
Carefully, she stuck the note to the redhead’s forehead – it would be there when she woke.
And she would read, in the loopy, neat cursive in blue pen,
Don’t drink all my beer
-Mel