6 a.m. and her alarm clock calls wildly out into the mid-spring morning, bringing her sharply to a new day. She switches it off, pushes the fluffy, white duvet away from herself, stretches the night from her bones and leaves the bedroom. It’s a Wednesday, a work day and first things first, she puts the coffee on before heading for the shower. The day to come; trundles through her head; mixing with a crystal cascade and a thick, shampoo lather. The Drearnon Account must be complete by 3 p.m. and then of course, there’s the lunch date at noon with a prospective, new client, not to mention a meeting with the committee board members at 4 p.m. She might have to work overtime.
Once showered, she dries herself off, blow-dries her shoulder length, dark brown hair, puts on her morning gown and returns to the kitchen. A delicate waft of fresh coffee lifts easily about her. She reaches into the corner cupboard, taking out a bone white mug and she fills it to the brim before seating herself at the kitchen table. The coffee tastes divine, hot, rich and full of flavor, just what she needs to kick start her day.
Out through the window, birds are singing the on come of summer and the rays of the sun are eagerly gracing her beige, satin morning gown, clad back. She isn’t really feeling all that hungry. Perhaps she’ll just pick up something on the way to work. She flicks on the radio on, the local news at an end, the weather forecaster predicting another beautiful, spring day, partly cloudy with a high of 61 Fahrenheit, looks like it’s going to be a good day. By ten minutes past seven, she is dressed for a day in the office. She grabs her handbag, takes a quick, last glance in the hallway, wall mirror. Then she opens the front door, steps out into the fresh, morning air, closing and locking the door behind herself.
Even now, the street is full of life, cars, taxis and busses passing this way and that, people on their ways to work and to school. She turns right, follows the sidewalk for a good fifteen minutes, the sun rising higher all the time. Then she crosses the street, descending a flight of fifteen, stone steps, down into the subway, a train waiting for its human cargo. The platform is swarming with life. She pushes through the crowd, the doors open and only a few feet before her. Suddenly, she falls, a heel snapping and she’s on the ground, her handbag flying across the platform. And the train is gone.
She picks herself up, a young man coming to her aid. He gives her back her handbag, asks her if she is okay and then he leaves her to wait for the following train. All she can think about is; she will arrive late for work. She fumbles for her cell phone, calls her boss and tells him she will be at least half an hour late. Then she calms herself and patiently awaits the next train. Thirty five minutes later, she is at work, sitting down at her desk, going through a pile of paperwork and she curses her bad luck earlier that morning. The day passes though. She completes the Drearnon Account on time, makes it to her lunch date and to the shoes store for a new pair of high heels. She even makes her 4 p.m. meeting with her boss. She puts in two hour overtime before heading back home. Once home, she kicks off her shoes and enters the kitchen with three letters she took out from the mail box on the way in. Then she sits herself down for a peaceful five minutes, switching the radio back on.
There has been a terrible accident, the news reporter states,thirty-three dead and many more, seriously injured. The accident happened at exactly twenty-one minutes to eight that morning,on the westbound, subway train.
Continuation to follow soon … Gavin