What's in a Name? (1)

I haven't seen any fiction on this site, but I thought a short story might be fun.  I hope it brightens someone's day.

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It was going to happen today.  Today he was going to get her name.  It was a simple goal, and he’d been planning it for five weeks. 

But maybe it hadn’t been five weeks because that sounded kind of pathetic.  He only saw her on Sundays.  It wasn’t as though he’d been watching her every day for five straight weeks.  Actually, giving it more thought, this was the fifth Sunday, which meant it had only been four weeks since the first one.  Four weeks really wasn’t pathetic at all.

He wondered how many Sundays she’d been sitting in that pew before he noticed.  The Sunday he did notice was seared into his memory.  He generally kept his head down after Communion.  That week, a woman with a walker had nearly run him over.  She came from the other side of the aisle, faster than most people who didn’t need a walker, and he’d barely stepped back to get out of her way in time.  As he looked up, he’d locked eyes on the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Her eyes were highly amused by how close his toes had come to being clipped by a walker. 

He returned to his seat, but his eyes kept returning to the woman in the front pew.  He was captivated by her graceful movements and the blonde curls dangling under the back of her veil.  Every Sunday, he chose the same seat.  Since he liked the seat a few rows back and to the left of her, it was easy to see her.  It was too easy because sometimes he got distracted from the Mass watching her sing, trying to pick out her voice in the congregation, trying to make sure there was no ring on her finger.

She’d turned around to share the peace of Christ when he decided that today was the day.  Her smile was so full of joy it was irresistible.  He’d invented a good plan the week before.  He’d tell her he’d been seeing her in her usual spot from his usual spot – common ground – and say he’d like a name to go with the face.  Once they’d been introduced, he could start saying things like, “Good morning, [insert name here],” and “Did you ever notice how much that statue of St. Padre Pio looks like Dr. Kenner, [insert name here]?”  That was a history professor.  If they talked at all, he’d be able to tell from her reactions if she was interested in real conversations or preferred he stop at “Good morning.”

It would all start with getting her name, and the time had almost arrived.  She wouldn’t leave until the recessional hymn ended.  As the organ’s final note faded, he watched her pick up her sweater and her purse before he turned to his right.  The timing would be perfect.  He stepped into the aisle and bent a knee.  A family right behind him had exited their pew at the same time.  A girl of about five was still demonstrating a proper genuflection to her even younger brother.  Their slow, deliberate movements were very cute but also in his way.  The young woman was halfway to the door already.  Knocking over a toddler to catch up to her would not make a good impression.

He waited for the boy with the tiny bowtie to get to his feet and followed his snail pace knowing he’d have to wait until next Sunday to get a name.

To be continued…