+J.M.J.+

Conversations with a Mecha Named Joe

By "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

'Tis the season for digging up half-forgotten fics…I was digging around in the black binder where I keep my WIPs (works in progress) when I ran across this little sketch of Cecie and Joe (Obviously this is pre-"Runnin' Loose", pre-"One of THOSE…!" and decidedly pre-"Shadows…"). And since it was a rainy November day, I thought I'd finish this lyrical little piece and toss it out into the world. These sketches are roughly supposed to follow the months of the year, so perhaps this is the November chapter…

Disclaimer:

See part I

IV: Rainy Day in Rouge City

I'd just been to the Public Library on the Lower Deck, doing some research for a historical novella set early in the last century, about the time of the Taliban conflict; I'd had a long morning of looking at ancient vids of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001, back before the rising waters flooded Manhattan--hard to believe people actually walked those streets that now lie underwater.

One thing I'd failed to consider, which is going to oblige me to substantially rewrite some of the scenes I've already written, was the climate change: The rain didn't come as often as it does now, a factor which I grew strongly aware of as I headed home. The drainage pipes along the huge concrete pilings supporting the Lower Deck were clanking with runoff water. People on the escalators coming down were lowering umbrellas or their shoulders and hair were gleaming with wet drops.

I reached into my pack and drew out my umbrella as I mounted the escalator. As I neared the top, a light wind blew the spray of rain against the lenses of my mirrorshades. I put up the umbrella against it.

Main Plaza was almost devoid of people when I reached it. The cloudy sky had darkened, which brought out the neon lighting, now softened to pastel shades from the rain. The few passersby scurried past, out of the rain (clearly the Orgas who had forgotten their umbrellas).

A warm, soft breeze blew up under my umbrella. If it had been the cold breeze we'd had most of the month, I would have been objecting, but the air felt invigorating and refreshing. I stopped and lowered my umbrella, letting the drops fall on my face in tiny wet kisses.

"What are you doing without your umbrella up on a day such as this?" a suave voice asked me.

I looked about. Joe stood alongside of me, under the shadow of a black satin umbrella he carried, his free arm akimbo, his curled fingers on one hip. He regarded me with his brow lightly gathered, but with his lips curled in a mischievously bemused smile.

"Oh, I'm just flirting with the raindrops," I said.

He moved in a little closer. "Would you not prefer to flirt with something more satisfying and reciprocal?" he asked. He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a neatly folded linen handkerchief, which he held out to me. "Your glasses are all wet."

"Thanks, they needed to be cleaned anyway." I took the handkerchief and blotted my lenses to oblige him before I handed back the handkerchief. "It's a nice rain for a change, not the cold plonking stuff we've had so far this month. It's the kind of rain you don't mind to feel falling on your face, like it was kissing it."

He took the handkerchief, looking at me with warming eyes. "Would you not rather be kissed by something more satisfactory?" he asked. He had edged in closer to me again.

I put my hand out gently, pushing him back, but hand drew away almost lingeringly. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick to the rain drops."

He looked away primly, his eyes hooded, one delicate nostril flared in disdain. "So you toss aside my caress for the caress of some more falling water. Very well, it is your decision."

"All right, you win, pesky," I said. I pulled him back by the wrist and gave him a friendly peck on the cheek.

His smile returned and he touched the spot where my lips had touched him. "Your kiss is that of a passionate woman,' he remarked.

"I'm full of surprises," I said.

More to come…