Only on Tuesdays

I woke up just before noon, feeling incredibly well-rested. I was confused and surprised to find myself in a bed, under a ceiling, with no clothes on, until I remembered how I had ended up there. I reached around aimlessly for Lorraine, but I found the rest of the bed empty. Very distinctly, I remembered us having fallen asleep wrapped up in each others' arms, so how she had escaped without me noticing was beyond me.

Then I recalled having briefly been roused from my deep slumber so that Lorraine could get up and take a shower. I had hardly stirred, only let her go and fallen back asleep. It couldn't have been long ago. Thirty minutes or maybe an hour. Perhaps she was still here.

But the water wasn't running in the bathroom. I got up, forgetting about my injured ankle. It felt worse now than it had last night, and I knew I had badly messed it up. Spotting the robe on the floor, I grabbed it and put it on to cover myself, then approached the bathroom door, knocked for a few seconds, and opened it. Empty. I thought then about taking a shower myself but decided against it. I still smelled like her, and I liked it.

Sighing, I walked around and found the heater with my clothes on it. I put them on, then proceeded to wander around the hotel room a bit longer, as if Lorraine hadn't left and was just playing a game of hide-and-seek with me. However, that wasn't the case. She was gone forever. She didn't want me, and I couldn't blame her. No one gets into a real relationship with a hobo, not if they have any dignity. Last night's episode was one thing, but even that hadn't happened to me often, and no other similar instance could come close. Of all the women in the world, none could ever compare to Lorraine.

A folded piece of paper on the kitchen counter caught my eye, and I picked it up. When I finished unfolding it, something fell out. I reached to pick it up, but started reading the note instead and completely forgot.

Axel, I can't thank you enough for what you've given me, the note began, in the kind of penmanship that only existed in computer fonts and documents like the Declaration of Independence. What had I given her? I could think a lot of inappropriate answers to that question, but somehow I was sure that wasn't what she had meant. Unfortunately, I must move on. I would love nothing more than to spend another day with you, but I can't stay here. Please try to find it in your heart to forgive me. Perhaps our paths will cross again some day, but, until then... take care. Love, Lorraine.

The ink was fresh. I stood stunned for a few moments, then I remembered the thing that had fallen out of the paper. I saw it lying on the ground; a ten dollar bill.

I picked it up slowly, almost uncertainly, and held it. Is this for me? I thought stupidly. Of course it was, but why? She had bought me lunch, graced me with her beauty, her talents, her presence, spent the night with me, and now she was paying me. I didn't understand in the least.

I pocketed Lorraine's note, and, feeling like a thief, the money along with it.

On my way out, I noticed that in the center of the kitchen table was the bouquet of daisies, their petals showing a perfect, crisp white in the morning sun.

Later that night, I lied on my bench at the park, my eyes closed and my mind wandering, but always coming back to the same subject. I tried desperately to understand Lorraine, to decode her message, and her motives.

One thing in particular stuck out in my mind. After Lorraine and I had made love, we lied awake, too exhausted to move, but not enough to sleep. I asked her how a girl of her young age—though at that time she seemed to be the same age as me, if not older—had become such an excellent musician. To this she replied, "Everyone has a hidden talent. You only have to figure out what it is."

If I had a hidden talent, then what was I doing on the streets?

I put my hand over the breast pocket on my coat, into which the ten dollar bill had been put, still yet to be broken. If I had been a normal bum, by now the money would have been long gone and I would have had a good hot meal in me, or maybe some booze.

But something stopped me. She stopped me. I knew that ten dollars had a purpose, and it wasn't beer. "You only have to figure out what it is..."

I felt something fall on my knee and sat up quickly. The sparrow that had landed on me didn't even flinch. It just cocked its curious head and stared at me with its beady, black eyes.

Smiling at the small bird, I put a hand out to it, which it pecked at then climbed onto. I brought my hand only a few inches away from my face and looked at the sparrow, who still appeared as cool as a cucumber. I started to laugh softly and it blinked. "Are you my hidden talent?"

The bird tweeted and I thought, Maybe you are.

Not entirely sure of what I was doing, I got to my feet and immediately collapsed, my right ankle twisting painfully beneath me. The bird flew off my hand, frightened, as I clutched my swollen ankle, stifling a cry. Then it came to perch on the end of the bench, looking down at me sympathetically.

"Guess I won't be finding my hidden talent tonight, huh?" I chuckled bitterly, pulling myself back onto the bench. The sparrow moved to make room for me. I inspected my likely broken ankle, handling it gingerly. My foot was bent an atrocious angle, and I thought that if I didn't set the bones correctly, my ankle would heal wrong, and I'd never walk the same. Regardless, I didn't have the strength required to endure the pain setting my bones would cause.

I lied back and closed my eyes to the night. The last thing I heard was the flapping of a bird's wings as it flew away. I would sleep alone tonight.