Missing

By Eve Black

Monday Morning

"Honey? Have you seen my–"

"Tie," Rachael said, pointing at that thing under his chin.

"Oh… Thanks." Collin's smile was warm–Rachael’s was strained.

It was a morning indistinguishable from any other morning at McMichael’s. The suburbs had never agreed with Rachael while Collin, like a wildflower, seemed to thrive anywhere. Where was never big with Collin.

"You know, you're getting worst," Rachael admitted.

"Nonsense."

"Sometimes, I swear, you hardly even remember who you are."

"Well," Collin grinned as he finished dressing for work. "I'll always remember that you love me."

Maybe he would, but it had already slipped Rachael’s mind.

Exactly forty-three minutes later, Collin stool precisely where he always stood on the westbound platform at Fairfield Metro train station.

As the railcars pulled in exactly on time at 6:12 am, he glanced at his watch and grinned. "It’s going to be a great Monday."

He sat where he always sat in the third car from the front facing forward, reading the same daily his father had read before him. New York Times on the way in, and the New York Post on the way home.

You see, the foundation of Collin's world was routine. Thanks to that an absentminded Caspar Milquetoast like him could not only eke out an existence but actually prosper. Within the investment bank, where prudence and circumspection where vaulted, it made him promotable. Outside it made him dull and humdrum.

In some twenty-five short, odd years, Collin had risen from wonder-boy teller to bungling vice president.

Upon the bedrock of the conventional he had built his sandy castle.

The trouble with the habitual is once spoiled, it becomes so much quicksand.

Tuesday Morning

"Honey," Collin yelled from the bathroom the next morning. "Have you seen my… thingumabob?"

"Your what?"

"My razor."

"Razor? What would you ever be needing with a razor?" Rachael strolled into the bathroom smiling, continually appalled by the dashing figure her husband cut in gartered knee socks, baggy briefs and vest.

"Why to shave, Silly."

"Look in the mirror. What do you see?"

Collin stared into the medicine cabinet mirror. Something was different. But what? He looked younger, that was it. But why? Then it struck him there wasn't a lick of hair on his chin, cheeks or anywhere else other than the top of his noggin.

"Does that look like a face that ever needed a razor?"

"I guess not." This absence of recollection troubled Collin some. But he was on a tight schedule, so he decided to let it go for now. The problem was with Collin, once the moment past, it was forever out of mind.

Tuesday Night

That night after Collin's never-fail meat and potato diner and endless rehash of his petty triumphs and meager failures at the firm the Mr. and Mrs. finally snuggled into their bed.

"Ouch," Rachael shrieked, when Collin cuddled her. "I can't believe it. You forgot to shave again!"

"But I thought you said–"

"Your legs, Silly Goose. Now, up and get about it immediately."

"My legs?" Collin complained, still sliding out bed and padding into the bathroom.

"The lotion is in the shower where it always is and the shaver is there as well," Rachael yelled from the bedroom.

Closing the bathroom door, Collin took off his pajamas and turned on the shower. Before he stepped into the shower, he took a good long look at himself in the full-length mirror in the door.

Rachael as always was right on the button. His legs were matted with fur. Searching his memory, he did recall a time when they'd been otherwise. It seemed an awful long time ago, but he recalled that he had been happy then, almost carefree.

By then the mirror was too misted to see anything. He stepped into the shower and lathered his legs as he'd been told. Running the razor along his legs seemed familiar somehow. He only nicked himself a few times. Something he always did.

As he toweled off, he admired his legs, thinking, ‘Not bad.’

He slid into bed with an already sleeping Rachael, thinking how lucky he was to have someone like her.

Wednesday Morning

Wednesday morning, Collin awoke bright and chipper. He showered and decided to shave is legs yet again, just for neatness’s sake.

After he opened his top drawer and he froze. He glanced over at Rachael's bureau for verification, but no, this was definitely his drawer.

Inside the drawer were underwear with colors as varied as the rainbow. Each was light–almost weightless. Instead of what he'd remembered, his vests were coordinated and had delicate straps so that they draped his chest showing a sliver of smooth belly. Instead of socks, there were sheer stockings that ended somewhere mid-thigh.

"Bother," he said, refusing to get flustered–something he'd mastered at the office. He chose one–a delicate pink match–donned them and a pair of black stockings.

He opened his closet. "Thank God," he whispered to himself–at least the suits hadn't deserted him.

This, however, did not last. Each morning thereafter, he would open his closet and his timeworn attire was there and not there. The apparel seemed oddly altered seams and stitches in places he couldn't recall.

His white shirts seemed to embrace and accent the flab that had seemed to have blossomed on his chest overnight. His nipples looked dark and swollen through the fabric.

The trousers were snug at the waist and round his upper leg, hanging baggy from there on down. The seam in the seat seemed to have its heart set on homesteading in the nestle of his buttocks that had also ballooned.

He vowed to keep his jacket on all day.

Scrutinizing himself in the mirror though, he realized it didn't really help matters all that much.

Thursday Evening

As soon as a tired Collin staggered through the front door, Rachael grabbed his arm and escorted him right back out to the sedan again.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he started the engine.

"It's Thursday, Cookie" as if that explained everything.

"Oh," he nodded, as if that made everything crystal clear.

"You remember it's across from Oscar's Deli."

"Right." They drove in silence, Collin laboring to recall what was so damn special about Thursdays.

They walked up a flight of stairs and into a large room with folding chairs along three walls, a mirror from corner to corner on the remaining one and a splendid parquet floor.

Sitting on one side were eight men in varying stages of middle age declination. On the other were three equally unremarkable women.

"Hello!" said a portly woman, who rushed over to greet them. "I’m Glenda. And you must be little Colene. Such a pretty thing too!"

"I–" Collin stammered.

"I can't believe you've never danced before. We'll fix that." Then she clapped her hands and shouted. "Everyone, pick a partner."

The men jumped to their feet and stampeded to corral a heifer–any heifer. Collin froze when he saw an elderly cowhand, his eyes fixed on him sashaying his way.

Luckily, Rachael roped him first dodging what would have been Collin's most-embarrassing-situation.

"We'll start with the pillar of social dance. The Waltz."

Collin actually remembered a little of that from their wedding. He also seemed to recall something about Rachael's poor battered feet afterwards.

This time it was different though. His mind seemed sharper somehow–the order and precision of the steps coming naturally. Instead of clumsy, there was a lightness to his movements that he knew wasn't there even those many years ago.

One other thing seemed different. He could have sworn that it was he who had lead Rachael.

"Excellent ladies and gentlemen," Glenda beamed, forty-five minutes later. "Five-minute break then the Tango."

Rachael put her finger under her husband's chin and lifted his head. "A moment ago, you were all smiles. Why the boo-boo face now?"

"Well… I was having such a good time."

"Not tired?"

"No." That surprised Collin. He should have been exhausted.

"Colene!" Glenda yelled coming over. "Darling, you were beyond marvelous."

"Really?"

"You'll be a pro in no time."

"Thank you."

"But really, you ought to give the other gentlemen a chance."

"Sorry." ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘I have been selfish–hogging Rachael all to himself.’ Turning to his wife he asked, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," was her response only Collin didn't hear it. Out of nowhere, some rapscallion lassoed him and yanked him out onto the dance floor.

Rachael relaxed, as her radiant Collin was swept gracefully about the dance floor for the remainder of the evening.

Friday Morning

“Honey?” In Collin's hand dangled a somewhat bedraggled brassiere. “What’s your brassiere doing in my top drawer?”

“Very funny, Colene. Look at the tag. What does it say?”

Collin squinted at the worn label. “36A?”

“That’s right it’s an A cup.”

“A cup?”

“Yes, Pet. I’m a B cup. That, Luv, is yours.”

“Oh.” Collin didn’t really have that much trouble slipping into the contraption. After all, he must have seen his wife do it over a thousand times.

At the beginning of the next week, Collin had spied something way in the back of his wardrobe that had scared him. And it wasn’t Narnia. It was a jaunty blue pin-stripe jacket, obviously well-tailored and quite expensive. But that’s not what made him shiver. It was the matching skirt that bothered him.

By Friday, there were no pants to be had anywhere within his closet–all had been rousted out by stylish skirts.

When he first got the garment on it felt risky and breezy. However, simply the act of getting ready for work put that triviality out of his mind. Doing it properly took forever. First, there was the curling iron then the foundation and concealer followed by eyeliner and mascara, ending with his lipstick and lipliner.

When he was finished, he smiled at himself in the mirror satisfied. ‘Sure,’ he congratulated himself. ‘It takes longer. But it's worth it.’

His high heels clacked sharply down the stairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen. “Good morning, Rachael.”

“Good morning–“ was all she got out before she burst out laughing.

“I’ll take it off right away.” Collin was saved. ‘Thank you Lord,’ he prayed, ‘For not making me have to wear a skirt to the bank.’

“You’d better. Imagine, fishnets to the office! Now go right back upstairs and put on a sensible pair of black hose.”

“But I thought–”

“Best hurry. You don’t want to miss your train.”

“My lord,” Collin squeaked, rushing upstairs to change.

Exactly forty-four minutes later a winded Collin watched his train leave without him. He shook his head sadly. He might have made it, but that skirt and heels tripped him up.

‘This,’ he concluded, ‘Is not going to be a great day.’

Collin had never been so how-do-you-did at the institution in a long time. Everyone seemed glad to see him and be his pal.

“You’re late again, Colene,” said someone whom Collin knew worked for him but whose name he could get a grip on.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hurry.” The cad actually padded his butt, scooting him down the long line of teller stations to an empty one. “Now, get busy.”

“You don’t understand–“

“Look, what the bank demands is a little less of your daydreaming and a little more of your elbow grease, Missy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

After the man left, the pretty young lassie next to him said, “Don’t you pay him any mind, Luv. He's like a little boy. That's just his way of saying he wants to get inside your pants.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that man has worked his last day here at the bank.”

“That’s rich, Colene. God, I love your sense of humor.”

Collin was surprised how quickly it all came back, even after twenty-five odd some years. He counted out his cash drawer and readied all his paperwork for the day ahead. He kept waiting for the people around him to recognize him–that he wasn’t just another teller, but the vice president–but nobody noticed.

He was about to leave when an old crone banged on his window with her cane. “Well, are you open or not, Sweetie?”

“Good morning. May I help you?”

The rest of the day went by like a blur and then he was on his way home.

Friday Evening

“Darling!” Collin yelled as he rushed through the front door. “You won't believe what happened to me at work today.”

“I'm in the living room, Colene.” The voice that came from there was like Rachael’s and not like Rachael’s. It was still wonderfully welcoming and soothing but pitched far lower than he recalled.

It made Collin tremble. Slowly, like a man treading the last step up to the gallows, he set foot in the living room.

“Rachael?”

Suddenly, someone hugged him from behind and lifted him off his feet, swinging him round madly.

When Collin finally got his wits about him, he lay cradled in the arms of some man he had never seen in his life.

“Surprised?”

“Indeed. I don’t know who you think you are but–”

“You didn’t think I remembered, did you?”

“And I don’t know who you think I am but–“

“It's our twentieth anniversary.”

Collin stared into the man’s face floating above him and gulped air like a fish out of water.

It is our twentieth anniversary, he realized. Twenty years of loving marriage to Rachael. Two decades and he’d completely forgotten. How could I have forgotten? Maybe there was still time though. He could get some flowers–roses–and candy–no pearls–and what was their favorite restaurant? Did they still have a favorite restaurant?

“And you’re still as young and beautiful as the day I married you. I love you, Colene.”

And before Collin could set the confused gallant straight, the bounder kissed him long and hard on his month, leaving him speechless for more reasons than one. When they finally parted, Collin opened his misty eyes and gazed into those of a someone who was familiar somehow and that loved a certain girl named Colene now more than he ever had.

“Please,” Collin murmured, trying hard to hold on to the last thread of who he had been. “I have to tell you something… Rayne.”

“Later, my dove there will be time for talk.” Rayne carried his wife up the stairs and into their bedroom–bedecked with roses and candles–and lay her on the crisp white linen.

An eternity later, Colene lay tangled in the damp sheets, cradled against the warmth of the man that had just fulfilled her every desire and passion–making her feel real and alive.

“Now, Colene,” Rayne grinned. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“It’s just that…” Colene smiled. “You know… I seemed to have completely forgotten what it was.”

- End -

Number of words: 2433