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I'm on the 44th floor of the Woolworth Building, Manhattan, and patiently watch the first snowflake attempt a safe landing. It dances for a moment near my window, until spiraling down between a throng of boots, and a yellow cab, miraculously surviving metal and flesh, only to melt in a haze of concrete. The weather forecast calls for a killer snow. I think it is a scout, warning me, before others come as a cloud of white locust. I'm searching my Blackberry screen, and see this monster climbing the coast, preparing to engulf the skyline. But perhaps this storm is an instrument of God, to save my marriage. I'm starting to feel like a snowflake, wanting to disappear in a crowd. My wife and children wait for me at home in the Catskill Mountains. I need to tiptoe my way around everyone here, and escape the eyes of Cindi Wickens. If only I could melt away into the fabric of this city, and disappear from the sin that haunts my steps.
It's Friday 3:32 PM, the last weekend before Christmas. Laughter flows through my wall from a conference room where my associates gather for one last vodka and orange juice, exchanging gifts, and parting kisses. I tug on my dark fur-lined coat, and clutch my suitcase, until my knuckles turn white. I turn out the lights, and watch the ashen sky divide shadows across the mahogany desk, until the picture of my family reflects a milky mirror. Their smiles deny the struggle of our marriage, as if nothing changes. Love is locked away in it. Sea blue eyes look at me, as their anchor in shifting tides. My proud miniature model boat is in the shadow. If only they knew how far I have taken them adrift on choppy waters. If only they knew the lust that has been drowning my heart, and sinking my soul. I hear the laughter from the other wall, knowing it drowns the sound of my weeping.
I close the door gently, as if it needs my tenderness. Walking to the next door, I do my best impression of a sad mime, my lips sealed, eyes looking past them, while I hold up the briefcase.
"Richard!" My boss, Chuck Webb cries. "Not so fast buddy. One drink for the road." He holds up an orange picture, and with it, the sound of clinking glass.
Laughter pitches down, as some of his drunken elves turn their heads, listening to boss man, in a Santa suit, making his plea. He doesn't look like Santa on top, with a balding head, droopy eye's, and a round bronze face. "We're all friends here? Com'n!"
"I need to get ahead of the storm."
I check my Rolex. It's 3:35. When I look up, I get caught in the eyes of Cindi Wickens. Her dark blue eyes grow moist. For a moment I try to absorb her pain, but realize this is her snare. She is near the fake Christmas tree of silver icicles, dressing her red shoulders, and clinging to her blonde hair. A green elf hat with a white ball dangles from her. I see her lips trembling. She does not move. But I must! She is beautiful for an elf, and I can feel the tug of excitement rising. She has my eyes for a moment, so I close them from entering my heart.
I can imagine my wife and the kids tackling me at the door, snow falling down my shoulders. They fall on me, and won't let go. I feel my wife's delicate brown hair stroking my face in the glow of our fireplace. I see her eyes, wild with excitement. We throw snowballs, and drink hot chocolate. We dive on pillows, until feathers fly! When I close my eyes, I'm almost there.
I step away, and leave an empty door of laughter. I walk the glowing black marble floor, like I have been released from death row. The gold hue of the elevator reflects my image beneath the vaulted lights. My hair has a touch of gray, my eyes blood shot blue, but I'm starting to like what I see, as the ding, ding happens, and the door darts open. I don't look back, to crumble as a pillar of salt.
I Am lonely for now, disappearing into the fabric of horns, whistles, and lights of a restless city, turning white in a cleansing snow. But I won't be lonely for long....
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