Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Prompt from Twitterlit: "I found the note taped to my door when I got home from work"
Whatever does it mean? There taped to my door was a handwritten note. “Elsa, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can’t we talk about this, please? Meet me at Luigi’s at 7:30! I can explain. David.”
Who is Elsa? That was the first question that popped into my head. Why is there a note on my door for her? And, of course, most importantly, what did David do? Obviously he must be some sort of idiot, can’t even get the right door.
Struggling with the groceries and my purse, I somehow managed to get into my apartment. Stumbling into the room, oranges falling to the floor, I nearly tripped over Salt and Pepper, my two cats, mewling because I was late and they were obviously feeling neglected, and were wanting dinner. As I make my way into the kitchen and pull out a couple of cans of cat food , I glance at the clock, 6:45. That David is going to be disappointed when his Elsa doesn’t show up. Well it serves him right. Idiot! Why do I even care?
Picking up the remote from the bar I turn on the television and then make my way to the bedroom. I slip into a pair of sweats and my Brown Alumni sweatshirt. Salt is wending her way around my ankles, appropriately appreciative having filled her belly. I reach down and rub between her ears. Then I run a brush through my hair, put on a pair of slouchy socks and head back to the refrigerator. Dinner.
I pull out a frozen burrito and unwrap it and put it on a paper plate. Opening the microwave I look at the clock, 7:02. Poor guy, he must have seriously been distraught to put that note on the wrong door. But, hmmm, I don’t think there’s an Elsa on this floor. Pretty sure not. The apartment next door is empty. 205 has those two actor guys in it. There’s that old Jewish woman in 203. 202 has that old bald guy and 201 is the young married couple with that baby that cries all the time. There’s only three apartments upstairs and two of them are empty. The third has that couple of Nigeria, I think or somewhere like that. Wow, I wonder if he got the entire building wrong. No wonder he’s having problems.
I take one bite of my over cooked burrito and throw the rest in the trash. Maybe I should go down to Luigi’s and tell this guy he’s left his note on the wrong door. I could order take out. That’s ridiculous. It’s none of my business. He could just call her cell phone and talk to her. It’s really not any thing for me to concern myself about. Besides, by the time I change and walk down to Luigi’s it will be past 7:30.
Pepper comes over and laying on his back starts tapping my leg with his front paws. When I try to pet him he bats at my hand. Stupid cat! 7:10. I flip through the channels.
I get up and walk back into my bedroom. Honestly, I need to go out and get something to eat. There’s nothing here. If I happen to pass by Luigi’s and see this David, who I probably wouldn’t recognize anyway and who will probably be gone by the time I get there. I’ll give him his note and tell him he had the wrong apartment. I like the food at Luigi’s. Sweats off, I pull on a pair of black jeans and a red sweater.
Salt and Pepper are looking at me in a reproachful way. As if to say, how can you be leaving us, again?
I slip on my jacket and put my driver’s license and ATM card in my back pocket. Pick up the note. I’m just going to get some cannelloni and I’ll be back. That’s all I’m doing. Just going out for a little something to eat.