Ella
Walking through the park might be the best part of my day. I start my day that way and end it the same. I cut though the lush green walking path in an effort to ground me a little. Feel at one with the earth. Or something like that.
It adds a few moments to my walk. But that means less time on the subway, and less time at home in my shoebox of an apartment. Where no one but my cat Bilbo waits for me, demanding fancy feast and copious cuddles.
Gray skies make for a gloomy day but I still take on my way home. I wander through the footpath, admiring the flowers dotting the landscape. A glitter of something catches my eye right before I step off the path and onto the street. Bending, I swipe my skirt between my legs and lean over to check it out. A smart phone.
“Someone dropped their phone.” I announce to no one. Actually, I look around the path as I pick it up, trying to spot who it might belong to.
No one is in sight so I pick it up, hoping to find a way to return it. I shove it in my messenger bag and head towards the subway as a few fat raindrops fall. I rush through the tunnel and hit the subway entrance just as it turns to a downpour. Shaking the rain off my peasant's blouse, I laugh as I brush a hand through my damp hair. It will be ruined now; instead of the silky smooth layers my flat iron tamed it into, it will curl up in waves I can barely manage. Oh well.
Finding a seat on the car just before the doors close, I wonder how long the rain will last. Then I wonder if I left my bedroom window open like I usually do. Bilbo likes to converse with the neighborhood cats. Never leaves, though. Sits his chunky ass on the window sill, doling out his thoughts to any tomcat that stops to listen.
When my phone rings, I suddenly remember finding the lost phone in the park. Instead of answering my phone—knowing it could be only one person--I pull out the large smart phone, frowning at it. Wrapped in an expensive looking leather case, it doesn't look damaged. Touching the screen, a request for the access lock code comes up. A sleek metallic logo is the background but I don't recognize it.
“Let me try just once.” I cock my head, considering a code; going with the obvious, I hit four zeros.
It unlocks.
I laugh out loud, oblivious to the other passengers side-eying me for the triumphant giggle. Just as I swipe to the contacts section, looking for some answer as to who it might belong to, the car whooshes to a stop. Grumbling, I shove the phone back in my bag beside my own. Seeing the missed call on my screen, my mood sours even more.
“Of course.” I mumble, snaking through the crowd to head home.
Taking my time in the rain without an umbrella, I look like a madwoman. I don't care, of course. I love the rain, something about it refreshes me. Walks through lush parks, strolls through the pouring rain, anything that makes me feel alive, connected to the earth, it somehow soothes my soul.
New York is loud, congested, crowded and everything is in shades of gray. I moved here two years ago for all the wrong reasons. I stay because I found a job I love teaching dance, something I would never find back home in Ohio. I don't like much about the city, but I'm finding a few things I do. Like the hot dog stand at the end of my block which I stop at for dinner.
“Evening, Ella.” Morty, the vendor, stands safely beneath his huge red and white stripped umbrella, serving the few of us crazy enough to brave the rain.
“Fine night out, huh Morty? Give me two of the usual, please.” I dig cash out, adding a nice tip as he makes my cheese covered hot dog dinner for me.
Passing me a bottle of soda, he tries to give me change like always but I wave it away and dance through the puddles. When I push into my building, I let out a whoot of laughter as I shake out my ruined hair. I carefully pull the cheesy goodness of my hot dogs out from beneath my jacket. Score, no ruined buns or watered down cheese.
“Evening Mrs. Gardner.” I shout as I pass the door on the bottom floor. She pounds back an answer and I smile, taking the two flights of stairs to my place.
Once I get my key to stop sticking, I shove into my apartment, dancing around Bilbo as he tries to tangle himself in my feet. Smart cat. Trips me up, makes me feel guilty for stumbling over him so I reward him with snacks. Not today, Bilbo. Not today.
Dropping my bag at the couch, I set my food on the counter, taking my jacket off to hang it over one of the bar stools there. Although I gripe about my place, it's clean, in a decent neighborhood and it is all mine. From the pastel painted walls to the mermaid themed bathroom. It's not Springboro, but it's not so bad.
I kick off my flats and step from my skirt, peeling out of my leggings and bodysuit. Snagging my night shirt off the hook I hung it on this morning. It's not a night shirt, really. It’s the one memento I hold on to from he-who-shall-not-be-named. A worn old jersey he let me wear our first weekend together. Ah, memories. Yech.
“You better not be on that counter, Bilbo!” I shout as I head back down the hallway, just catching him darting down from said counter. Little jerk.
Two tiny nibbles are gone from one of the buns. I tear off the chunk and toss it at him, sticking my tongue out when he looks at me as if that's not sufficient. Grabbing my drink, I head to the couch to settle in for a night of terrible television.
Just as I turn on my current obsession, Outlander, my phone starts to ring. I have zero intentions of answering it, but it reminds me of the lost phone. I grab both, making a face at the number I should just block flashing on my screen.
Tossing my phone aside carelessly, I cross my legs as I take my first bite of nitrates and sodium phosphate dinner. Careful of the cheese dripping down my thumb, I put in the lock code I can't believe someone foolishly uses. The phone comes to life, and I set it on the pillow resting between my crossed legs, staring at it.
“Gotta find out who it belongs to if you want to return it, genius.” It is not uncommon for me to converse with myself. Sometimes in two sided conversations, in fact. Gotta be better than talking to Bilbo.
Sliding my thumb over icons until I find the contact list, I look for some answers. Lots of contacts fill the list; none say home or office or even a wife or husband. Deciding perhaps there are answers in the email, I go there. Its password protected, however, and the simple code that unlocked the phone does not let me in to emails. Darn.
“Someone's missing a phone. I would call my phone if I lost it. Looks like we wait.” I shrug a shoulder and turn back to Outlander.
Except, I can see that fancy smart phone sitting beside mine on the coffee table. Something about the two of them sitting there makes me itchy. Curious. I reach out, snatching it back up again. Swallowing back a bit of guilt, I go to the photos. Hotel rooms. Hotel fronts. Lots and lots of hotels. What the shit? Fancy places with elaborate suites. Amazing views. A few shots of swanky bedrooms with beds that look incredibly inviting.
“Who is this guy?” Not sure why I decide it's a guy.
