IntShoWriMo 2014: Day 2

Today’s Prompt: Kristin Pedersen and Russell Ebert meet before he inherits money. One of them is killed.

                                                                                           — Courtesy: creativewritingprompts.com

Word Count: 1,234

My memory of that day is as clear as day. The waiter’s name was Pedersen and I could tell from the way he looked at me, through me my face didn’t juggle his memory. Not that I expected it to. I was only, how do they say it, playing my position. He had the same low haircut. There were a few grays in there but the similarity was good enough for rock and roll. Same chiseled chin, deep-set eyes just like the high school picture I acquired. Don’t ask me how.

He walked briskly past me. I reached out and tugged at the tail of his cheap waiter’s jacket and held on.

            “Don’t you recognize an old friend when you see one?” I said, flashing my winning smile.

He stopped and turned to face me. “Not like I can remember everybody and I’ve met hundreds since I started working here.” He raised his hands, palms facing up, curved his lips and shrugged. “The job.”

I shook my head slowly from side to side. “It’s that. But I’m not talking yesterday not even last week. I’m talking years.”

            “How many years are you willing to wager?”

He was taking the bait. Nibbling at it at the edges, eventually he was going to swallow the line and get stuck.

            “I’d like to think your face got lost in the sea of faces I meet everyday in this room. Hell, I can’t even recollect faces I came across yesterday besides the regulars, that is. And here you are taking down memory lane several years from now.”

            “1992,” I said. “We were part of a team.”

            “Oh?”

            “’92 in high school. Strikes a chord?”

Pedersen ran his fingers through his hair. There wasn’t much left to explore. The dude was going bald.

            “A football team.”

            “I’ll be darned,” he said.

            “Ugh, ugh.”

            “I still can’t place your face or name. Wait… I think it’s coming back. Ernest, wasn’t it?”

            “Damn right it is.” I lied. God help whoever the real Ernest is.

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Eneh Akpan

June 2nd, 2014