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 LUNCH IN THE PARK
   by Francis U. Kaltenbaugh
 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-


   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
       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
 ---------------------------------------------------------------------
 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 us theirs. email: francisk@f522.n2501.z1.fidonet.org
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