From A Reader’s Book of Days, January 13: “,,,’the 1970’s had finally begun,’ the gay, post-Stonewall ’70’s, that is…” The inspiration if the word “Stonewall”. Note: This is like a jazz piece, where it goes around and around, looking for a story.
It was a human habit to keep things over the years. To collect, to pass on to future generations.
Casey never had anything to pass on. except his genes. His descendants were legion. From his first son of a Iroquois maiden to his most recent daughter of a Los Angeles CFO, Casey had fathered at least a quarter of as many children as years that he lived. In so many Ancestry files, he was a dead-end.
It just so happened that one morning as he sat in a coffee shop in northwest Seattle, that one of his descendants cam into the place. He knew, because blood called to blood, even though it was diluted over generations. He knew this young lady in the green dress and black pumps had his blood, because her blond hair matched his own.
He debated following her, or buying her coffee to start a conversation. He studied her, instead; a Rubenesque look about her. Finally, he got up and held the door open for her. She had his eyes, but darker skin from the middle of Europe instead of his far north. She murmured her thanks and shade out of the shop, coffee in her free hand, her other hand held tight to the straps of her bags.
He followed her to the skyscraper next door, and into the lobby. He waited close to her, wanting to speak, but not knowing exactly what to say.
He waited, watched which floor she got off. He got off the next floor, and took the stairs down.
There were three companies on this floor. He didn’t know which one to pick first. How could he find her now?
~~~~~~~~~~
Rebecca dropped her laptop bag and took a breath of relief She was afraid that blond stalker was going to actually follow her to her job. She wasn’t sure what to do if he did. Would she confront him? Hide behind the receptionist and call security?
“Hey Bekka,” called Mia, walking by.
“Hey,” What was he following her for? She couldn’t let him go.
“Want to get–oh, you have a coffee.” Mia was a small, oriental girl, Vietnamese and cute. She was already at the same pay grade she was, and she’d been here half the time that Rebecca was.
Well, that’s where cute gets you, Rebecca thought, not for the first time.
“You okay?” Mia asked.
“Just fine.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you later. I’m getting a coffee.”
Rebel settled in to her inbox after plugging in the computer. She checked over her last editing job of the report and sent it to the next department.
She had three reports to read over and either forward to the appropriate apartment or send back to the originator, if it was that bad. It was the end of the year, and all the reports she was getting needed to be expedited. Of course.
