My Day in Court, Part II

Click here for My Day in Court, Part I

Chele was happy the court ordeal was over.

And she ran out of that courthouse like it was on fire.

She had to, because she kept looking over her shoulder, imagining the baliff coming fast after her, hollering,“Stop. The judge changed his mind. He made a mistake. Come back to court.”

Not on your life, buddy. Her paperwork, her signed proof of ticket dismissal, was in her left hand.
And that copy of Auto Weekly magazine was in her left.

She found her car in the parking lot a block from the courthouse, and hurriedly got inside. She put her key in the ignition, then froze where she sat.

Did she really see that old woman in the courtroom, or was it just her imagination?

She didn’t know.

But she could see the woman, the twinkle in her eyes, the bend of her back with age. She remembered feeling the creak of the as the woman sat down next to her. Chele remembered the high copper shine of the pennies in the penny loafers on the old woman’s feet. She remembered the feeling of the woman’s thigh flush against her own. That’s just how close the old woman had sat to next to her.

Did she imagine it all?

Hard raps on her car window startled her. It was the parking attendent.

“Ma’am,” he said. “If you hurry out of here before six, you can still pay the daytime rate. Otherwise your parking fee will be 10 dollars.”

Chele cranked her car. She looked at the digital time display on the console. It was five forty-five.

She paid the attendant and left, still looking over her shoulder, hoping the baliff didn’t come out hollering for her to get back in the court so she could pay her fine.

And still wondering if the old woman, if any woman, had even sat next down to her.

Chele shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. “I’m going to go home, get changed, and go running. That’s what I’m going to do. Nothing like a good run to calm my nerves.”

Chele got home in thirty minutes. That was good, considering the state of downtown traffic in the DMV. It’s amazing how smoothly traffic flows when there are no accidents, or better yet, when there are no drivers slowing down to look at accidents.

She thought she would be at the courthouse for only half a day, as she figured it should take no longer that a few hours to pay the ticket, or negotiate some type of payment plan for the ticket. She’d plan to come home, have a late lunch and go for a run.

And there was still a little time for a run, even though it was late. She liked running at dusk, just before the streetlights came on. And there was time to get that in. She couldn’t run as long as she like, though, but something was better than nothing.

Chele changed into her running gear and grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. She grabbed her keys from the table, but stopped when she saw the copy of Auto Weekly laying there.

She really needed to return it. And now was just a good of time as any.

A quick search on google maps showed that Arcadia Drive was in the nearby Arcadia Springs subdivision. It was the newest subdivision in the area. It contained McMansions, and Chele remembered the protests against such housing development in the area. As usual, big money won out.

Common sense soon took over. People stopped protesting once the area attracted newer and better stores for shopping.

Chele herself was in love with the new Target store.

She decided not to print out directions, and upon driving around the Arcadia Springs subdivision, she immediately regretted not doing so. Every roadway was named Arcadia: Arcadia Lane, Arcadia Way, Arcadia Avenue, Arcadia Circle, Arcadia Street, Arcadia Way.

Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia!

Everything accept Arcadia Drive.

Chele hit the steering wheel with her fist. “I give up. Can’t say I didn’t try. And that’s all I can do.”

Just as she was resigned to giving up looking for the correct street, there it was: Arcadia Drive.

She made a quick left turn onto the street and slowed her car in an effort to find street address 123.

“114, 116. . . all even numbers.” She turned her attention to the other side of the street. “119, 121. . . there’s 123.”

She slowed her car to a stop in front of the mailbox.

The two story brick house was well kept and quiet. Several ferns hung from the porch rafters, and wind chimes rang softly with the breeze. A black Mercedes sat at the top of driveway, and a blue tarp covered car was further down the driveway.

And flowers similar to the one the old woman wore in her hat lined the front of the house, interspersed betweened perfectly trimmed bushes.

“I am really tripping,” Chele muttered as she stared at the flowers. She grabbed the magazine and got out of the car. She was just about to place it in the already open mailbox, which already contained mail, when the front door of the house opened.

“Hey, who’s the lovely young lady around with my mailbox? Are you stealing my mail or making a delivery?”

Chele looked up at the sound of the voice.

The delicious vision of a man walking towards her made her knees weak.

“I’m Ralph Jones,” he said, his baritone cutting through the silence of the afternoon. “And you are?”



Afterword.

*silence*

Does Chele need me to put in another call to the IT department?

LOL

Well, well, well...

Go Chele.

*lee jumps up on cubicle desk*

I said "GO CHELE!"

Stop standing there like a punk, and tell that dude Ralph Jones what your name is!

"My name is Chele... shawty."

(I think that would cause dude to turn around and go right back in the house. )

Get your MACK on, Chele! Get it, girl!

LOL.

Interesting.

I am enjoying writing this little story. All from silly writing prompts. But it seems to be going well. I absolutely love flash and short fiction. I have about 5 novels in my head right now, but I can't say I like writing long form stuff too much. But this short and quick fiction? Loved-ed it!

Stay tuned for part III sometime next week :)