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LUNCH IN THE PARK
  by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
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  Melanie was late for work, again, and very upset, with herself,
her surroundings, and life as she knew it. Once again, it wasn't
her fault, but the boss would of course -- blame her.

  Her last lover and part-time fiancee, when the mood struck
him, had barged into her apartment at 3:52 am. Drunk, over-amped,
and horny, he wanted to discuss her taking him back -- again. This
was the third time she took away his *only* key to her apartment. He
had argued with her till 6:31 am; when, in his asinine inimitable
style, demonstrating his anger, he smashed an ashtray into her neatly
arranged nick-knacks. Then he stalked out slamming the door for
emphasis, knowing it would upset her elderly neighbor. She would hear
about it.

  After the subway ride, her bus, which would get her to work
fifteen minutes early -- broke down. She was thirty minutes late,
and *hated* to be late for anything. She demanded others be on time
always, herself included, and would berate herself endlessly, whenever
late for anything.

  "Damn!" she thought. Her portly and greasy boss was standing
there, hunched over her work area -- inspecting her work from
yesterday. She glanced at two of her co-workers, produced a twisted
smile and silently nodded.

  Denise, watching Melanie as she entered, turned to Lori seated
next to her and rolled her eyes. "Look at her. Black! Always
wearing black everyday, can ya believe her? Gawd!"

  "Little behind schedule are we -- AGAIN?" the boss asked. He
turned to follow her, as she hurried past him. He was showing his
best stern look for the benefit of the others, but it didn't mask
his lust for her.

  She muttered, "Stupi . . . hole."

  "What! Didn't catch that?" He blurted.

  She couldn't wait any longer. Needing relief since leaving her
apartment -- all the way to work. "Damn Super! Damn Toilet! Damn
Ex-fiancee!" And then her boss, hanging around waiting for her grand
entrance -- just so he could make a scene. His way of trying to
pressure her, a little more, pushing without touching -- knowing she
would *give in* -- eventually.

  When she was done in the restroom, she gingerly opened the door
a crack, peering out to see if anyone was about to enter. She only
needed a few well rehearsed moments . . . . She walked out and he
wasn't in sight; ignored stares from co-workers and settled in to
absorb herself in her work, feeling more at ease. Losing herself in
the little accomplishments of a job well done, she felt better.

  Caught up in her work and having lost track of time, she turned
around to glance at the clock, and noticed two things at once: it
was lunch time and the boss was standing by the door -- waiting.
Used to the ritual, an excuse ready, she was surprised to see him
walk off with the new girl in tow. He grasped the girl's arm with
his pudgy little hand as he opened the door for her. Surely he was
bending her ear with all the advantages of working here -- especially
with him.

  Each girl had received the same indoctrination, except, he was
obsessed with Melanie. "You know what they say about girls who wear
black," he had told her many times, with a stupid smirk. She let out
a sigh, relieved at not having to play the daily game of wits,
explaining why they couldn't take lunch together. Another trip to the
restroom, and then she'd be better able to face the lunch crowd.

  Upon reaching the crowded bustling street, she ignored all the
trash and litter from humanity, and accepted it as a bright, cheerful
day; a great contrast to the windowless rooms where they worked. She
decided to skip lunch again, instead, she would go to the nearby park.
A lovely day, some sun, a little reading and relaxing in the park
would make her feel much better; she even had some tidbits stashed in
her purse, rationed and leftover from last night, when she had visited
friends from a neighboring apartment building.

  The park bench was hot from the sun, almost too hot. She squirmed
a lot as she sat there, finally the heat became warmth and she felt
it spread comfortably. Her black knit-bag served triple duty: purse,
an often needed carry-all, and sometimes home. In it, she finally
found the book she wanted, SNOW CRASH, by Neal Stephenson. Reading
would help her escape. A few minutes later, she fished into her bag
and pulled out the leftover morsels, looked around cautiously, and
quickly consumed them.

  Dan saw her as soon as she came through the park entrance. In
this bright sun, he wondered, "_Why in the hell would anyone be
wearing all black!_" Full length skirt, almost hiding her knee-high
black lace-up boots, see-through black blouse with black bodice
beneath, black shawl draped over her back, and a black knit-cap --
that was completely hiding her waist-length blonde hair from view
completed her ensemble. He especially noticed the very large black
bag she carried. "Looks like a damn black laundry bag," he muttered;
"gotta be somethin' worth my time there."

  He was starting to feel it -- bad, and needed to take care of
business fast. The prospects in the park looked slim to Dan -- Sally,
the bag-lady, a few winos, and the continual refuse from humanity --
the homeless. Most of the people who worked in the area avoided the
park like the plague. He was getting desperate. She was there,
obviously on lunch break, a working girl, and should be an easy mark.
A bicyclist approached and Dan tried his luck . . .

  "Hey man! Got some change? Gotta make a phone call bad. Lost
my wallet," he pleaded.

  "Get bent!" spat the bicyclist, as he sped by.

  "Yuppie punk! Yo mutha . . ." Dan mumbled, not enthused enough to
continue without an audience to hear his torrent of rhymed curses. He
looked to Melanie sitting on the bench.


         Hawk circles in the distance -- pretending not to
         study its prey, while intended victim, absorbed in
         its own microcosm, is oblivious to impending danger.


  Melanie relaxed; alternately scanning her book and then her
surroundings -- always aware. You never knew what to expect in this
part of the city, and this park in particular. Looking up from her
book, she noticed a big, apparently ownerless, tabby nosing around
some fast-food bags laying beside a trash-barrel. She liked cats.
Big ones. Leopards in particular, and often thought of herself as a
big black cat -- reincarnated; female and as deadly as needed for
survival, wherever she found herself -- including this urban jungle.

  She was enjoying her lunch: languishing in the sunshine, her book,
forgetting her problems, and escaping into her little bit of solitude,
distanced from the derelicts and other refuse in the park.

  She thought, "Every time I tell 'em I'm a big black leopard, the
guys always tell me, `You mean panther.' What do they know." She
started reading again, then laughed quite loudly from a passage in
her book.

         Flying -- in ever tightening circles, hawk moves
         directly above unsuspecting prey, as victim concerns
         itself with its own needs, desires, and patterns of
         existence -- unseen.

  She pulled her travel alarm from her bag checking the time. "Back
to the grind -- gotta hurry back to work." She slide her book into her
purse, rummaged in her bag, and got up from the bench. She could chance
being late -- twice in one day! by crossing the park and taking the
safe way back to work, hoping traffic would allow her to J-walk. Or,
using the underground pedestrian walkway, which would get her back to
work in plenty of time. Dangerous at times, and pretty dark with all
the lights busted, but she had learned to endure it. "Oh well!"

  Dan moved very near, slowly working his way behind where
Melanie sat. Far enough away, figuring she wouldn't notice him
studying her. "Be easy, real easy. Shit! she's bookin'." He made
a move.

  Heading for the underground walkway, she looked around and couldn't
see the guy she had spotted before. She breathed a sigh of relief and
walked more quickly, knowing she should avoid any confrontation.

  She felt so much better after relaxing in the park, reading,
listening to the birds, buzzing -- much better than she had for days.
Such a fine day. It really lifted her spirits. She would have to speak
to the Super as soon as she got home. "_Gotta make him fix that damn
toilet and stop the leak in the sink. The leak's driving me crazy!_"
She entered the underground pedestrian walkway.

         Wings sweep back, diving -- hawk plummets to attack!
         Outstretched talons reach for a tender neck -- easy prey.

         Claws spring forth, a cat's-paws -- countering hawk's
         deadly grasp. Feathers become very ruffled.


  She took several deep breaths to counter the adrenalin rushing
through her and to stop shaking. Melanie had to step over the
prostrate form, took a few steps away, then hesitated. In the dim
light of the underground walkway, it took a minute, but finally
found and withdrew some tissues from her purse. She wiped her
straight-razor clean then tucked it back into her wide belt. As
she threw down the soiled tissues, hating to litter but had to
hurry, she heard a final rattle and gasp.

  "Damn! I'll be late for work -- again."

                              {DREAM}

Copyright 1995 Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
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Francis is a writer who enjoys exploring, looking under the rocks of
humanity and checking the darker side. When not looking under rocks,
you can find Francis in cafes, restaurants, and bars trying to find
the elusive glue to paste a book together. Electronic publications
are great and Francis knows there are Aliens out there, who have
received and are reading electronic magazines -- and should soon be
sending some of their electronic publications to us.
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