"Do you see ink on my sleeve?"
My head snapped up as I quickly folded the paper that had been sitting out in front of me and shoved it in my pocket. He repeated the question, and this time I grinned and shook my head. "Nope. Why would you ask that?" He gave me a once over, trying to see if I would retract what I had just said. I watched as he turned and walked away to retrieve our coffee. Travelling is always tiring, hence the black coffee for me, but little things make it worth the trouble. Forget the wrestling aspect of the job and the entertaining. If I didn't have those I think I'd just do it for the coffee shops you see along the way. Connecticut was fabulous for coffee.
"You look tired," Carlito remarked as he sat down, setting my coffee in front of me and his own drink in front of him. Forgive me for wasting time, but I just had to say how cute I think it is that I managed to turn him onto low-fat lattes. I shrugged in response. Tired? I always look tired. I know. "No, really, are you feeling okay?" In truth, no, I was not. There are too many things to write about in my life to mention every little thing, but then there are the things I would rather not talk about. I don't think I trust paper enough to tell all of my secrets.
"Yeah," I lied, covering up the butterflies in my stomach with a smile. "It's early, and I didn't get much sleep. Three maybe four hours. Then we went to the gym and had a meeting. I'm just tired. Don't worry about me." My rambling seemed like forever as I spoke, and the longer forever took the harder my pulse was. I looked down toward the table and yawned. As I brought the mug to my lips I could feel his eyes trying to rip a hole through me. I wanted to tell him, "Sorry honey, that's not going to work. You shouldn't waste your time." But I sipped my coffee instead.
Ten awkward minutes later, pleasantly filled with chatter about stories on CNN that week, we headed out the door. I put my hands in my pockets, like I usually did when I was casually strolling. I'm saddened to say that while I'm quick enough to make a smart comeback and quick enough to surprise my opponents, this former champion is not smart enough to remember something like putting a paper in her pocket. My eyes widened as my hands shot out of my pockets to pat myself down from hip to thigh. Unbelievably, my eyes got even bigger when I came up with nothing. I grabbed hold of Carlito's arm and began to shake it.
"I knew you weren't feeling well."
"No, I think I left my...my phone in the café. Just wait right here. I'll be right back."
Panic could barely cover what was running through my veins. Disgust, stupidity, etc. Those were a bit closer to the target. Awkwardly I ran down the sidewalk and back to the café. It was actually more of a waddle in heels but I was rushing nonetheless. Being a woman with dignity I was hesitant to drop to my knees in front of tens of strangers, but that does not mean I didn't. No one can understand how much I needed to find that paper. I mean need. I was on my knees and crawling under tables but I came up with nothing.
In front of countless strangers and a love interest, I hung my head and did the walk of shame. So stupid, so ridiculous. I went on with my day though.
Trish sighed as the hand on her forehead slid down to cover her lips. Some people just had a knack for natural disasters, and she was one of them. Oh yes, old habits die hard. She never wanted to believe that saying but it definitely applied to the situation she was in. No matter how many times she tried and no matter what method she tried, she couldn't go to sleep. She was sure that her days would be sleepless unless something positive regarding the letter happened.
Of course that was highly doubtful. It vanished in thin air. It could be in the hands of a waitress or some stranger that just saw it on the floor. Some kids could be dissecting it word for word and mocking it in their own journals. The worst part about it was that she herself hadn't read further than three sentences. They were normal questions and statements. "How are you? I'm doing fine." That kind of deal. But by the length of the letter and the name on the envelope it was impossible for it to be good news. Impossible.