Things Done

“Gwen, what about this one?” My mother raised up a hideous pink sweater my grandmother gave to me when I was about four years old. I made a face at her.

“What do you think?” I asked her incredulously. “In the box, of course.”

“Do you really want to donate this? Not only is it personal, but I doubt the less fortunate would enjoy this,” she said doubtfully, looking with distaste at the wooly wonder. She had never been one for my paternal grandma’s fashion sense.

“Maybe you’re right,” I acceded, “but they really have no choice. It’s warm, and it’s getting cold.” My mom shrugged and dropped the sweater into the donation box. She quickly picked up something else.

“What about this one?” she asked me, holding up a light jacket I remembered fondly.

“Oh! That jacket!” I hurried to take it from her. “Man, I loved this. Why haven’t I worn it again? Let’s see, the last time I had this on was about two years ago, when I went to that execution.” My mother scrunched up her nose, the distaste showing again.

“Oh, yes. The death row criminal. Your teacher was very excited about it, so we gave permission, but looking back I don’t think it was such a good idea. You said he exploded.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“Yes, Mom, he exploded. We didn’t see anything, though. And…wait.” An unwelcome memory returned, and I shook my head to banish the thought. “No, he’s definitely dead. Don’t worry, though. It didn’t affect me. Nor this amazing jacket!” I snuggled into it as I left the room to look for more empty boxes. Hearing a crackling noise, I stuck my hands into the pockets. I found a slip of paper that I didn’t remember putting in.

I unfolded it as I traipsed down the stairs in search of cardboard. I almost fell down the stairs when I read the contents. It had a time and place. A meeting-place. To further shock, the time was right now. Or, at least, in twenty-five minutes. I should have been wary of the fact that it, a note found in a jacket that I hadn’t worn for years, referred to today, but I was more afraid of missing the rendezvous. I had a feeling that it would be interesting.

“Did you find any more, sweetheart?” Mom called from the top of the stairs.

“Uh, no,” I replied, donning the jacket and stuffing the note back into the pocket. “Actually, Mom, I have to be somewhere right about now. Could you do the rest yourself?” Silence. “Or you could wait until I come back. I don’t have to pack everything today, you know. My roommate already knows I’m coming.” My mother came down the stairs as I was tying my sneakers.

“Oh, I know, honey.” She held out her hands to hug me. “It’s just that I find it hard to imagine a time where I can’t see you every day. Why are you moving out again?” She kissed me on the forehead.

“Mom, I’ve told you,” I answered, flashing her a smile as I stood up. “It’s kind of weird to be a sophomore in college and still live with my parents. I need freedom, not a curfew.” Her loving gaze turned stern.

“But you do know to not run around with those nasty kids, right? I don’t ever want any bad influences to be around you.” She wagged a finger as she chided me.

“In the nineteen years I’ve lived with you I think I’ve accepted the fact that I will never have cool friends,” I teased, giving her a quick hug. “Bye, Mom. Love you!” I shouted as I dashed out the front door. I had fifteen minutes, and I knew I could make it if I ran at least half the way.

The café the note dictated was well-known to me. I had never been inside of it before, but I always passed it on my commute to my university. I had, however heard great reviews of the place.

The jog over took ten minutes, so I was five minutes early to the meeting. I intended to sneak in and keep an eye out for the other person who was expected to show up, but the door had one of those annoying bells above it and a waitress instantly glanced in my direction. She quickly came over to greet me.

“Hello,” she said brightly, “are you Gwendolyn Meyers?” I looked at her, shocked. I didn’t remember ever seeing her before.

“How do you know?” I asked suspiciously.

“Your jacket,” she smiled. “We were told to watch for a girl with your jacket. Let me direct you to your table. Is there anything you would like?” I sat down at the stylish coffee table and picked up a menu.

“A blueberry muffin and a strawberry-vanilla smoothie, please,” I requested, glancing through the choices quickly. She flashed me another warm smile and hurried to the back.

I watched the door as I waited for her return and wondered who I was supposed to be meeting. The confusion had started to get to me; who would really be able to leave me a note in a jacket that’s been in the back of my closet for such a long time? What kind of weirdo would have been in my house, in my room? Or, to consider the improbable, what if the note had been delivered when I last wore the jacket? I had, in fact, stopped wearing the jacket because of the death that happened on that day, and what if the numb state I was in gave the note-leaver an opportunity? My prospects were immediately dimmed as I considered one of my former classmates or, worse, my Government teacher, as the anonymous author. They never had anything important to say back in high school, so why would they have anything interesting now? It was probably a stupid time capsule type of thing. Like a class reunion. I had resigned myself to a boring afternoon when the bell above the door rang out, drawing my attention from the depths of despair.

The newcomer was a panting boy who looked to be about twenty or so. He wore thick glasses and strange clothing. He looked as if he had just rolled out of bed and threw on whatever was clean, regardless of whether it matched or not. In the tepid May weather he sported a dark blue sweater and ski pants. I was about to label him as a weirdo when I noticed him glance around the restaurant as if he were looking for something. I completely froze when a waiter went up to him, just like the waitress did for me. Speaking of that waitress, she was coming from the kitchen with my order.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she apologized. “The batch wasn’t quite ready yet, so we had to wait a few minutes. It’s warm, though, so I think you’ll enjoy it.” I returned her smile.

“Um, can you also tell me more about this meeting? Since you seem to know about it and all. Er, how many people do you expect to come?” She looked at me with surprise.

“Oh? You don’t know? Strange. That man told us not to answer any questions because that would spoil his fun. Even with that, though, I don’t suppose that I know any more than you do. He came in and reserved the table. It’s as simple as that.” She gave a little shrug.

“Well, can you at least tell me when he made the reservation?” She narrowed her eyes at me. I could tell she was starting to question the credibility of the situation.

“Yesterday. He came yesterday.” I let out a whoosh of air. So it hadn’t been made two years ago.

“Thank you!” I replied, and smiled. She returned it a little shakily before leaving me to my food, and, apparently, secret messenger. I directed my smile to the boy being led by the waiter.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hey. Do you want to tell me why you called me here?” I liked to get straight to the point. The boy, however, gave me a strange look.

“Why I called you here? I think you mean to tell me why you called me here.” Now that he’s spoken a few words I catch a faint accent in his deep voice. Considering his words rather than the dialect they were voiced in left me silent for a while.

“If you didn’t call me, then who did? I sure didn’t call you here. I don’t even know you. I just got a note in this jacket I wore today, and—”

“Note? Me, too. I got it through Sarah and opened it like five minutes before it was time. I’m lucky the university is close by.”

We both stared at each other knowing something was off but not quite sure as to what it was. From the bizarre circumstances we were expressing it seemed like there was something in both our little tirades that made our cases unique. Who was this Sarah? Did she reserve this place while disguised as a man? Did she know the man who did all of this? I was so full of questions that I had no idea where to start and sat tongue-tied. The question in the boy’s eyes hinted that he felt the same way. Only the final trill of a bell brought us back to our senses. We turned to see who was there.

“Hello, friends,” a familiar man said, walking toward us in a sharp suit. He led another, thinner man to our table without the help of a waiter. “It’s so great to see you all again.” Edgar Edgarton flashed us all a great big smile as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.