The Trouble With Dreaming

Panting, legs pumping, arms swinging, rushing up stairs that had nothing to do with me. I had nothing against stairs, not even these stairs; in general. In that moment I hated them. As if it was their fault.

It wasn’t bad enough I only had a half hour for lunch. Now I had to rush up seven floors to talk Daniel out of ending his selfish life. It wasn’t even enough I was going to finish my day hungry, with the accompanying headache.

Funny thing about names, we never think about how they affect us. Names flow together, getting lost in the sea of conformity. To save us the pain of anonymity unwitting parents saddle us with “unique” monikers. It wasn’t enough my own parents afflicted me with the name Alton. No, I was also developing a stitch in my side to help Daniel, God damned, Brown. He better appreciate it.

But he wouldn’t.

I was walking to this wonderful little dumpling place when I saw someone on the ledge one floor below the roof. I wasn’t going to stop. I was fixated on needing to beat the crowd. If I got there, sat, and ordered right away… Yup, I had just enough time to wolf down the delicious Asian ambrosia then get my exercise for the week running back to the office six minutes late, avoiding write up.

There wasn’t even a crowd yet, just two cops. If I timed it right they might be chanting jump on my way back. That would lend my tardiness an excuse. I just might savor my lunch. My eyes lowered, and I heard one officer say Daniel’s name.

Daniel and I aren’t friends. But it would take a week of mourning then a month of training before someone replaced him. We did the same job, so guess who would be covering his work.

I entered the right office. Looking out the window I was surprised by what I saw. No news crews, so much for being a hero. Also the person on the ledge was a woman. I was shocked, but she was just a little too pretty for me to be annoyed. My stupid tongue delivered my best line.

“You’re not Daniel Brown.”

“No. I’m Danielle Brownsmith.”

Guess I heard wrong. Names, like I said.

“Well, don’t jump.”

“I’m not. I’m daydreaming. Sometimes I like to eat lunch here.”

She gestured to the brown bag with its contents spread on the ledge beside her. Damn it. I was missing dumplings for this? How could the cops be so wrong? I looked her over and decided opportunity was knocking. Continuing my suave delivery I said the first thing that came to mind.

“Danielle, would you like to go dancing with me sometime?”

I knew from her look she was a woman that liked dancing. A slow smile spread across her lips and I knew she was going to say yes. Why did I ask that?

Shit! I don’t know how to dance.

#shortstory #comedy #writing