Witness by Jamie Wilkinson (short novels in english .txt) 📖

and he frowns slightly, “What’s wrong?”
“Um I- Well I have to go.” My words trip over each other. I desperately don’t want to leave.
“And where is that?”
“Indoors. I hadn’t actually planned to stay outside this long.” I state.
“Well then by all means.” He holds a hand up in the direction of the doorway.
I stand there beside him for a moment, awkwardly, knowing I have to leave but terribly not wanting to.
“It was nice talking to you.” I declare, feet still glued to the spot.
“To you as well.” He adds, “We’ll see each other again. Soon.”
His final words to me are comforting, but not comforting enough. As I make my way towards the grand doors I feel the same unsettling sensation as being torn away from the warmth of my bed every morning.
Upon my arrival back at the table I get a stern talking to from my mother, but not stern enough to cause a scene, that will have to wait for when we arrive back home.

-

As orders of specialty foods continue to be passed out my father stands up and begins his speech.
“Good evening and welcome. As you all know I’m Howard Hurst and tonight is a very special night for not only myself, but for everyone present. To start I’d like to express my gratitude to all of my workers, associates and supportive family, my exquisite wife Cheryl and beautiful daughter Paige,” He looks down at my mother then at me, “I couldn’t have accomplished as much as I have without any of you here tonight. And I’m not just being modest when I say that. Before we indulge ourselves in this lovely meal, compliments to the chef, I’d like to thank you all from the bottom of my heart, especially Martin Bryant, Abram McLeod, Roger Redmond and Gilbert Reed; both great friends and associates of mine who’ve organized this event down to the last detail.” He pauses, “Well I guess that about sums it up. I hope all of you greatly enjoy your meal and time spent at the party, and, well, let’s eat.”
As my father concludes his announcement I’m preoccupied by the dark eyes of the handsome character examining me from the other end of the dining table, so far away, yet so close; both sets of eyes locked in place. As all glasses are raised in a final toast he continues to stare and so do I. It almost seems that our conversation has not quite yet ended.

Most of the guests have finished their meals and are once again scattered throughout the ballroom, some have also chosen to return to their home. There is slow classical music playing softly for those who wish to make use of the dance floor; my parents are two of those people. They leave me to sit alone for the sole reason that I have not yet finished my dinner.
I use my fork to draw patterns into leftover Alfredo sauce after the remainder of my noodles have been pushed to the side. I begin to trace a flower, but the sauce retreats back into the crevices of the design before I can manage to complete it.
For the past ten minutes I’ve been doing this and I am almost certain that Parker has left, but I am proved wrong when I suddenly feel the same presence sitting in the once empty seat beside me.
I turn to meet his eyes.
“Did you enjoy your meal?” He inquires.
“Yes.” I respond instinctively.
“Not by the looks of it.” He glances down at my half eaten dish with a grin.
“I guess not.”
“Listen,” He starts abruptly, “When I said we would see each other again soon, I didn’t mean now.” The grin again. “I meant tomorrow. Would you like to come visit me tomorrow, one o’clock?”
I can feel the words ‘I don’t know’ tingling on my lips but a definite answer emerges victorious. “Yes.”
He grins, a wide tooth bearing grin, “Excellent.” He picks up my unused cloth napkin and pulls out a pen. Slowly in lanky cursive letters he writes down an address. “Here,” He places the cloth in my hand, “I’m sure the party planners won’t mind you taking home a souvenir.”
I smile, “Of course they won’t.”
For a moment the smile lingers on my face as Parker stands us, breaks our eye contact and walks away, but then quickly fades. I take a look at the white satin napkin and process the information written upon it.
89 Orchard ave.
There is a strong sense of regret that rises somewhere inside me as I reconsider my situation. It isn’t even common for me to visit people I’ve known for the majority of my life, let alone those I’ve known for about half an hour. Would my parents approve? Of course they would; Parker Fielding, a well respected son from a well respected family with an excellent chance of taking over Fielding & Co. sometime in the future. That doesn’t mean I would tell them about my plans to see him.
I take a look over at my mother and father, clinging to each other, slow dancing, happy. How excited they would be to find out about my new friend. Just the thought of them makes me miserable.
I fold the cloth three times then conceal it, with no plans of ever showing it to anyone else.
When I turn quickly to see if Parker is still visible somewhere in the ballroom, he is nowhere to be found and though I feel some relief in this a sadness begins to grow and well up inside of me; that I am utterly alone. I can already see that this whole situation is going to be one big problem for me; of course I had been alone most of my life but very rarely had I felt lonely, and never to this magnitude either. Sure I’d had the occasional friend and still do, and sure I was living with my family and still am, but I was never one of them. Being alone was, more often than not, enjoyable to me; I mean, since I didn’t want to associate myself with those around me I preferred being alone.
I could feel now, that things were about to change, and quickly. The sense of loneliness that now weighed heavily inside of me came from the fact that I liked being around Parker. And I wish I didn’t.
I bring myself to my feet and walk away from the dining table, away from the dance floor, away from the ballroom and the forty-some guests remaining within it.
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Publication Date: 02-27-2011

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