The story so far:
When Jane awoke Thursday morning she was nervous, not that she was usually calm, but this time it felt different. Jane, who was notorious for daily accidents such as pouring her coffee over the rim of her mug, the spill splattering to the kitchen floor from the counter top before she could reach the paper towels, was out of coffee this morning. How odd, when was the last time she forgot to buy coffee grounds? Jane, who had a habit of shouting up the stairwell to remind Billy and Sue that the bus would be here in five minutes, “Hurry up kids, you’re going to be late for school,” realized that the two were already gone. She took a peek in the fridge; they hadn’t forgot their lunches. Did she sleep in? She looked at the clock on the oven.
“Four in the morning?” No, that couldn’t be right. She went to her bedroom, ready to trip—as usual—over the broken rubber sole of her slipper that often caught her stride, but this morning she was barefoot.
The bedroom clock was flashing, a minute past four. The power must have gone out last night. Watch. Watch. Watch. “Where’s my watch?” she hummed. She went into the bathroom and found her watch beside the sink. “Seven thirty.” That was fine. Jane noticed a note taped up to her mirror. I was written on a sheet of blue-lined notebook paper, the edge frayed.
Mom, don’t be mad. I was looking at your schedule book last night and saw that you had a lunch date today. That’s great Mom! Billy and I took off for school early so you could get ready, here’s my lucky red lipstick. Remember, you’re beautiful and smart and everyone who meets you thinks you’re amazing. Good luck. Who’s Howard by the way? Tell me about it later, okay? Love ya!
P.S. Power must’ve gone out last night and I didn’t have a chance to change the clocks. Later.
“Sue,” Jane said aloud to no one. “Give me a break.” The last thing Jane wanted in her life right now was another unsupportive unemotional man, but when she looked in the mirror, she saw someone she hardly recognized. Pale. Her skin looked dry and old and her hair was limp and sprouting strains of gray into her once shiny chestnut brown hair.
“Okay Sue,” she said aloud again. “I get it,” and after she showered and dried her hair, she blushed her cheeks and swiped Sue’s lucky red lipstick across her lips.
Howard wasn’t particularly handsome, but his bright blue eyes drew attention away from his receding hairline, and his smile, soft and familiar, brought a sort of comfort to Jane. She didn’t feel nervous anymore, but rather like she was meeting an old friend and couldn’t wait to hear what he’d been up to all these years. But what had she expected? She of course didn’t think this was even remotely related to a date. By all means, they were here to swap alien stories. Even when she put on that lipstick this morning, deep down inside was actually trying to impress anyone but herself? For all she knew this Howard guy, this complete stranger, was married or gay or, even more considerably, ready to roll into a series of dampened pillow case nightmares, space invader conspiracies, and depressive middle aged philanthropies of alien abuse support systems. This was ridiculous. This wasn’t a date. This was Psych. 101, self-help, weirdoes connecting with weirdoes.
“This was where my father used to take me when I was a young boy,” Howard said. He sat at the table across from Jane with his hands folded together and resting atop the synthetic floral print tablecloth.
“It’s not particularly atmospheric,” he continued gesturing at the framed newspaper clippings that hung on the wall and the collection of miniature glass figurines of pigs and owls that decorated the windowsill. “But it always made me feel better when I was a kid, after those nights…well, you know I’m sure.”
“I think,” Jane said.
“I just didn’t want to be alone, you know, not even for a second. I was scared shitless, pardon my language,” he smiled, “and I was utterly famished,” he said.
“Starving? Yeah, I remember that. It was like I hadn’t eaten for a week. My mom used to think I was crazy, asking for seconds or thirds of pancakes. I don’t even think I ever really liked pancakes.” They both laughed, and Jane suddenly felt anxious, though more butterflies than her usual tense and dizzy feelings.
“You have a scar,” Howard said.
“Hmm?”
“A scar,” he reached toward her and, after a moment of hesitation, retreated and touched his own face. “I have the same one beneath my eye.”
Jane shivered.
“Are you cold?” Howard rose from his seat hitting his knees against the bottom of the table as he stood, and reached behind his chair for his coat.
“Oh, I’m fine really,” Jane said. She couldn’t remember the last act of chivalry a man bestowed upon her and felt discouragingly clueless on how to respond. She shivered again and Howard, she noticed, smiled that comforting smile again.
“Here,” he said wrapping the coat around her shoulders. “At least until you warm up a bit.”
“Thank you,” Jane kept her gaze on him. “Thanks,” she said again trying to seem a bit more casual.
“So,” Howard continued at he sat back down in his seat. “The scar,” he said. “Let’s talk aliens.”
'Two Steps: It's time' statistics: (click to read)
