Longings
It was 6 AM when Neal Caffrey got up that morning. He took a little extra time in the shower, while shaving, and when fixing his hair. He wore his best suit and tie, and made sure to shine his shoes. That day was the one most typical men dreaded -- the first day of work. Yet Neal Caffrey was not your typical man. To him, the job was easy enough, it could practically get itself done. It wasn't narcissism, no. It was just confidence.
He took one look at himself in the mirror before leaving the apartment. Adorned in a sweater vest, he looked a bit geeky, but in his own cute way he pulled it off. His hair had that slight curl to it, and his liquid turquoise eyes were vibrant with excitement. It was the beginning of something new.
Seven-thirty AM and Neal was already on the A train headed to Washington Square East. His class was at 8:15 AM and he was only a couple of stops away.
Neal couldn't help but stare as a man walked onto the train cart. Was he-- well, someone forgot their pants this morning. Neal had to refrain himself from laughing at that moment. The stranger looked perfectly fine waist up, dressed in common business attire, but there was obviously something missing when you looked down a bit. The man just held onto the pole for support as the train picked up speed again, completely oblivious to the stares and whispers surrounding him. He looked as if he was just getting in from the night before.
Why did Neal feel like this was some sort of omen? His eyes quickly fell down, and he let out a small sigh of relief. I'm good. At least he had his pants this morning...
...
"Jacques Lemaître was a French painter back in the 1850s. What almost seems stereotypical for most artists, his works weren't very much well known while he was alive but after his death, they became quite popular."
Neal sighed. He was wrong. Sparking these college students interests was like trying to light a fire without wood. But then again, art history isn't perhaps the most interesting topic. Most of them look like they're here because they wanted other classes were already full. There's got to be someway to get their attention...
"Didn't he have metamorphopsia?," asked someone in his class.
Someone who shows life! "Yes, yes he did," Neal asked him.
"No wonder his paintings were so fucked up...," mumbled the student, but he was still heard.
"Well you may feel that way, Mr. Kostopoulos, but to others it's value can pay your tuition ten times over." In response, the Mr. Kostopoulos just gave him a blank stare. He looked like a bored teenager who at any moment would pull out their ipod and just say "whatever."
Then realizing the time, he said, "Alright guys, you can go. See you next week."
His students quickly scurried to pack their things and go. Seems they had much more important places to be. While just as Neal had put all his papers away in his brief case and was ready to go home, his boss approaches him.
"Mr. Caffrey, I'm going to need to see those lesson plans of yours," he told Neal. He was a very distinguished-looking middle aged man.
Damn, Neal had never been the person who stuck to a rigid schedule. He just went along with the flow. It always went somewhere, right? That's precisely why he didn't exactly write one. There was a flexible outline in his head, but not on paper...
"Oh man, I must have left it on my kitchen table! I've been working on it over the entire weekend. Tell you what, I'll have it on your desk tomorrow." White lies never really hurt anyone.
Giving Neal that look, he said, "Alright, alright..."
With that, Neal grabbed his coat and left. Yet instead of taking the subway back to his apartment, Neal decided to walk back. The next train didn't arrive for another twenty minutes, and he didn't feel like waiting. The apartment wasn't that far away.
Walking onward, he became lost in his own thoughts. Neal hadn't forgotten his promise to Kate; he was going to make things better. This job was just the start of it. His starting salary was definitely much more generous than his last job's. With that, soon they could fix things up around their place, maybe even buy a few nice things here and there. He always knew Kate wanted to go to France, and he wanted to take her there some day.
While walking along 6th Avenue, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. What exactly was it? A rolex watch. Neal's eyes couldn't help but fixate on it. It was exactly the sort of thing you'd picture the elite, high-class men to be wearing. It's white gold dazzled underneath the fluorescent light. Then his eyes fell down to the price tag, and it was like someone had just bursted his fantasy bubble. His reaction was a mixture of dispiritedness, frustration, and disappointment. Must be one hell of a watch. Neal kept walking.
What am I thinking? We'll never go to Paris. I'll never own such a watch.
Was it so wrong to desire things you could possibly never have? He silently thought to himself... How did the rich do it? Inheritance? Innovation? Felony? Whichever it was, Neal Caffrey longed for the finer things in life.
...
Stepping into his dreary apartment, Neal was greeted by Kate.
Eyeing his appearance, she said, "You look like one of those old professors," referring to his apparent glasses and sweater vest.
"Occupational hazard," he tells her, half grinning. She laughed softly.
"So how'd it go?," Kate curiously inquires.
"College kids are difficult, but I think with time I can get the hang of it." Hearing a sound coming from the kitchen, he asked while gesturing to the adjacent room, "Who's in there?"
"Mozzie. He came by a little while ago looking for you."
Neal started walking over to the kitchen to greet his old friend. They'd known each other since college. Unfortunately - for fortunately depending on how you look at it - Mozzie had gotten involved with a lot of white collar crimes over the years. The man had dropped out of college, but he had a nice piece of change in his pocket. Although, because of that, Mozzie was often coming and going. One moment he's there, and the next he's gone in order to remain out of the FBI's sight.
His friend got up out of his seat and exclaimed, "Neal! It's time we christen your new place," denoting the bottle of wine he'd brought with him.
Neal just smiled in response.
...
"...and that's how we forged The Scream," Mozzie had told his two curious spectators, both equally as tipsy as he was.
"Amazing... and it's still hanging in the museum today?," Kate asked him.
"Ye--," he began to tell her but was inconveniently cut off by his cell phone. He quickly reached for it in his pocket and answered the call, while walking off towards the living room. His voice sounded a little distressed.
Kate turned to Neal, "Who do you think that is?" She was almost like a nosy child in the manner of which she asked.
"I have no clue," he told her, but all the while he had a pretty clear conception of just who it was. It was most definitely not a friendly affair.
Mozzie shut his phone and walked back into the kitchen. "Sorry about that. I hate to leave so abruptly, but something's come up. It's was nice seeing you both again."
"It was nice seeing you as well, Mozzie. You should stop over more often," Kate said friendlily.
"Take care, Moz," Neal said as his friend was leaving through the doorway. And as Neal closed the door, he silently thought to himself that he was glad he wasn't Mozzie tonight.
Finally! It's here! And it took forever! Ah, I'm so slow with this...
--Cynosist.