ladyfirestarter (
ladyfirestarter) wrote2007-08-26 11:30 pm
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Every so often, Charlie's called to the home office in New York. She tries to arrange a day or two extra before and after the scheduled meeting, just to walk around and see the city.
The desert has become her heart's home, but ... once or twice a year she starts to sicken for the sight of skyscrapers and yellow cabs, the way some people sicken for mountains or the sea.
It's a brisk day in early September, cool and breezy, ideal for walking.
The desert has become her heart's home, but ... once or twice a year she starts to sicken for the sight of skyscrapers and yellow cabs, the way some people sicken for mountains or the sea.
It's a brisk day in early September, cool and breezy, ideal for walking.
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He scrubs one hand through his hair, and looks over each shoulder, just to be sure. New York is full of things other than just people, and you never know who could be listening in.
"It doesn't do anything to me, but to a human being, it can... change things, in significant ways."
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Charlie's standing motionless on the corner of 32nd and Broadway.
"Change things," she repeats finally.
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He wishes he could see her now, to gauge that silence.
"I was thinking it that night, but I didn't bring it up, because I wasn't sure. And the more I think about it, I'm convinced it could -- Charlie." He lowers his voice. "I don't know if it could put out the firething, or even if you'd want that, but I think it might stop it from hurting you."
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As the DON'T WALK light starts to blink its warning, she starts across, walking faster than before.
"Permanently?"
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He waits.
"What are you thinking?"
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"Not so much thinking," she says, with a small shaky laugh. "I don't ... I'm not sure what to think."
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"There's no clock ticking. All options are on the table. Particularly the first one."
Prometheus stops to take stock of where he is. New Yorkers don't do this. Almost instantaneously, a man with a fanny pack taps him on the shoulder. A woman, also with a fanny pack, waits behind him. Prometheus cups his hand around one ear as he turns to face them.
"Excuse me," the tourist says, "you don't happen to know where the -- what was it called, honey? The thin, pointy building on the intersection."
"The Flatiron Building," the wife provides.
"Yeah." The tourist looks up at Prometheus hopefully.
"The Flatiron? -- 'Scuse me for a sec." Prometheus holds out an arm behind him. "Go that way, maybe seven, eight blocks. Can't miss."
The tourists beam. "Thanks!"
He dips his head. "No problem." His crosswalk goes red.
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Charlie sounds startled.
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That's amused, rather than annoyed.
"And seven or eight blocks north of the Flatiron Building? We're practically on top of each other."
Half a beat.
"Don't touch that one."
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The crosswalk changes. He steps into the street. "This is going to be a recurring theme, isn't it. The there-but-for-the-division-of-the-multiverse thing."
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Another pedestrian gives her an odd look at that, and walks on.
(Later in the week, the line will show up on www.overheardinnewyork.com.)
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A pause, then: "Sunny day, sweepin' the -- clouds away!"
The words fit: New York could have been painted by Vermeer today, if he were more given to outdoor scenes. The light shimmers over a vivid sky-and-stone palette.
"On my way to where the air is sweet."
Prometheus would look like Gene Kelly, given a little more rain and a little more room to dance. He cranes his neck, only half paying attention to where he's going.
"Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"
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"You are a loon."
She can picture him, dancing along the sidewalk, the crowd of pedestrians eddying around to give the crazy man a wide berth -- kind of like that sudden bubble in the crowd two blocks down, on the other side of Broadway --
-- wait.
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She's slowed down a little, studying the movement of the crowd.
It can't be. It's a coincidence.
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He sails over the sidewalk, not even pretending to hold a phone, just talking out loud and smiling.
New York is heady. He's only observant as far as it keeps him from walking into people.
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One way to find out.
"How did the other one go? It's time to get things started...?"
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"On the most sensational! Inspirational! Celebrational! Muppetational! This is what we call the Muppet Show!"
A grin, to punctuate the emphatic hand gestures. "I did that right, didn't I?"
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She can see him now, as pedestrians scatter before the noise.
Coincidence, as so often happens, has been cancelled.
"Prometheus?"
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"What?"
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"I see a Starbucks, and somebody wearing a leopard-print jacket, and... and..."
If the passersby needed any more proof of this fellow's unhingedness, his sudden stillness is more than sufficient.
"I see a redhead standing there waving at me." He knits his brow. "But that doesn't make any sense."
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"The redhead's wearing jeans and a grey button-down shirt," she says cheerfully, "and she can see you now."
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"The redhead may not want to be seen with me, considering the ruckus I was making a moment ago. It's a very fetching look on the redhead, though, I've got to say."
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