She tore up a palm sized page and wrote her first initial on the bottom of the note. She placed it gently on top of the pillow on the other side of the bed before slowly closing the bedroom room.
Someone asked her if she'd ever got tired of writing. She remembered saying that writing a small note to a person could mean something to the person reading it even if it was just a casual Hallo. But words were not just a cluster of letters, she saw them the way a painter constructed an object with a stroke of a brush on a canvas.
On Billie's case, it was more than a casual fling but a regular once a week thing that none of them wanted to stop this routine just like the first time they'd met. He was passing by a coffee shop where she sat facing the glass window writing on a journal in the nest of laptop users and caffeine. Soon after she knocked on his door, sat in each other's company listening to the sound of rain before they fell asleep and she'd be the one to leave in the morning.
Ben was still in her thoughts when she nodded and passed people dressed up in business attire who noticed a woman walking her bicycle out of the glass doors of a high rise building in the heart of the city. The sun was out but she didn't feel like putting her shades on, not with the cerulean sky and light breeze combing her braids. Instead Billie placed the strap of her helmet securely under her chin, her senses went back to live at the scent of Ben's cologne in the crook of her arm. She smiled as she recalled every detail when they were alone.
Ben was different than the rest of the world, he was a tree to her restless soul. But before she could put happily ever after, she must put an end to a daunting chapter in her book.
For starters she put on the shades before she hopped into her bicycle as a temporary shield of what she was about to unleash.
Veronica was tired to the bone she couldn't wait to take her shoulder padded dress and thick soled shoes off of her as soon as she walked into her house not to mention the handbag that could nudge someone right in their middle.
She carried a mailed envelope, a habit of checking her mailbox day in and day out hoping for a sweepstakes letter with her name on the plastic window on the front of the envelope. She looked on the back at an unknown address in Los Angeles, CA. She pondered to recall who the sender might be as she only knew a few and three of them were not living. She read the name a few more times until a picture of a little girl in flaming hair with green eyes with too many questions who loved to sing and read her stories came into her mind. It felt like a lifetime ago the last she'd heard from her before Veronica moved back to Atlanta. Veronica prayed the girl had settled down with a God fearing man and kids in a house with white picket fence. She looked up to see her next door neighbor waved at her, a woman of her age who was always calling her to visit but that's how it is in the little paradise she lived in, neighbors were friendly and treated people like family.
Veronica waved back and proceeded to the front steps of her porch as that white woman never made any sense every time she tried to talk to her. Veronica hoped that God would forgive her for thinking she'd rather be dead than having to lose her mind in her coming years not that her joints were anywhere better at her 65 years of age. She wouldn't want a stranger to help her putting her undies seeing her lady parts, oh no she wouldn't. She'd rather die in her bed with the good sense that the Lord had given her. As long as she knew her name, her address and her social security number, that's all she asked, thank you Jesus. Now if she could just get through the front steps in her big old shoes without a scratch, she might make it before her favorite game show starts.