George's awful encounter

I know this isn't stellar or anything... I've written much better. Feel free to tear it apart; you only get better with constructive criticism, right?

George’s awful encounter

 

George wasn’t looking for excitement on his way to work Wednesday morning. In fact, he was rarely looking for any kind of excitement at all.

He’d decided to stop at the subway station’s small, street-level coffee shop between morning trains to grab a coffee. One inconvenience in taking the metro to work was the 15-minute wait at the station between the East Line and the Downtown Line. At least it was cheaper than buying a car.

She was the first thing he noticed upon walking through the shop’s door. Short, red-haired, wearing green wellington boots and a raincoat dusted with pink hippos. He’d noticed her primarily because she was dripping wet and it hadn’t been raining when he left the apartment. George hadn’t brought his umbrella, and he found it particularly troublesome that it should rain just before his big meeting. If he bought a newspaper, he may be able to hold it over his head between the subway and his office building. Hopefully he wouldn’t get too wet.

Sighing, George got in line to order his usual coffee " two creams, two sugars. While waiting, he thought over the upcoming meeting. Good morning, my name is George Stack, the product’s coming along great, please don’t fire me. We’re thinking ‘Cool. Fresh.’ for a slogan. He weighed the benefits of revealing their slogan now to show progress, or waiting in case they found a better one. He wondered about the efficiency of the word cool to sell soap. His eyes wandered out the shop’s front window to rest on a rollerblading pair, holding hands in the sun. He wondered if they would buy soap that was cool. He wondered what kind of soap they used now. He wondered why it was so sunny outside.

Momentarily, he was confused. For some reason, he had thought it was raining out. George averted his eyes from the window, disconcerted, and focused again on the red-headed girl. She was still soaking wet.

“Can I take your order, sir?”

George started. He turned to see the cashier watching him expectantly.

“Who? Uh... me? Well... yes. Yes. Sorry,” George mumbled, reaching for the change in his pocket.

 George was always apologizing for something or other. He sheepishly ordered his coffee, paid, and shuffled over to an abandoned table. He was perfectly flustered and the day hadn’t even started yet.

Sitting with his newspaper (which he’d never wanted, he realized " he’d grabbed it to fend off imaginary rain), George tried to go over his product notes, but something nagged at him.

Why on earth was that girl sopping wet?

***

George was not in a good mood. The meeting had gone passably yesterday, but his boss had found a dozen other things to yell at him about in the following six hours. He had accidentally stapled his shirt to his report and had gotten ketchup on his nicest tie.

Sulking in the subway station’s gloomy basement level, he decided not to go up to the coffee house that morning. The cashier must still remember his stuttering apology from yesterday and would undoubtedly be unhappy to see him return. Instead, he stood at one end of the platform, hands in his pockets, leaning on a column with his back to the stairs. One of the fluorescent lights had burnt out, giving his corner an even gloomier feel than the rest of the platform. He stared out at the open rails, so unassuming, yet potentially very dangerous. He craned his neck out a bit, squinting down the dark tunnel. No sign of the train yet.

Scowling at graffiti that masked otherwise uniformly grey cement, George wondered about the girl he had seen.

He wondered how she had gotten so wet. He wondered if she had noticed him staring. She probably had. She had probably thought he was idiotic, creepy, or crazy " everyone he knew thought of George as some combination of the three. He wondered if she was crazy, too. He wondered, if she were to get to know him, if she would still think him a creepy idiot.

His musings were interrupted by a sharp blow to the side of his head.

George cried out in pain, eyes watering, and turned, searching for the cause of his injury. Rolling lopsidedly away on the industrial tiles, he noticed a battered raw potato, flattened on one end, presumably the one that had made contact with the side of his now-throbbing head.

“Oh! Oh no! Are you alright?” a voice cried. George looked up to see, lo and behold, the same girl from yesterday, scurrying over from the far end of the platform. She wore a straw sun hat and lavender dress, and was carrying a paper bag of potatoes with a long rip down one side.

“What in Sam Hill did you do that for?” George demanded, feeling wounded; he knew he was unpopular, but people usually stopped short at throwing vegetables.

“I didn’t hit you on purpose! I didn’t expect anyone to be down here. Usually the place is empty just before the Downtown Line comes in. I was just…” the girl trailed off, suddenly wary. She had a nice voice, kind of reassuring. George waited for her to finish her sentence, but she looked as if she wasn’t going to. Maybe she really was crazy.

“I remember you. You were in the cafe yesterday,” George said, changing the subject. “You were soaking wet.”

“Was I? Oh, I must have been swimming. It is getting warmer out, you know.”

George found this story to be very unlikely. Who ever heard of people swimming in a raincoat and rubber boots? He went to say so, but the girl had turned, apparently satisfied her victim was uninjured, had taken up her bag of potatoes in both hands and was heading for the stairs.

“Wait!” George called; she hadn’t yet apologized, or even muttered a polite see you before going.

The girl stopped.

“What?” she demanded, turning.

George stumbled. He sputtered. What had he wanted to say? Under this stranger’s chocolate gaze he was totally at a loss. She smiled, the kind of sweet look reserved for children, fluffy animals, and the elderly.

“My name’s Strawberry,” she chimed, and in a moment she was gone, sack of potatoes and all.

Author's Note

Any and all recommendations/criticisms/improvements are welcome. :)