Page 4 - Interior_SPRING SUMMER FALLING_2021

4 | FRANCESCA PE NN

I hear his low chuckle. The low timbre of his voice moves through the stairwell as
he murmurs goodbye on the phone. His amber eyes catch me standing there
looking like a complete idiot before I could run. It would be the exact person I
considered seeking out later in the day. But now that we are face-to-face, my idea
solidifies into an actual goal.

I see the slight surprise in his eyes; but to his credit, he recovers quickly.
“Uh…Hello,” he says to me with little to no recognition of who I am present
anywhere on his being.
If that isn’t embarrassing enough, I should not even mention that he is wearing
a thick coat and a backpack, carrying a laptop bag, and a thermos. He somehow
managed to take the same death-defying journey up the stairs I did without

breaking a sweat – no, it was worse – he did it without being winded! His hair is
still perfectly styled, and he had nary a wrinkle anywhere on his person. Flawless.
He looks and smells great. This is the first time I’ve ever been this close to him.
Now wait, don’t get ahead of yourselves and start rolling your eyes. Judgmental
much? Why would anyone less than a stalker be standing in the stairway early in the
morning waiting for someone? I didn’t plan on waiting for this man in the staircase
so I could be the Ali Larter to his Idris Elba. Well, that wouldn’t work for several
reasons anyway. He is the white one, and I am the black one, for one. And two, I’m
not crazy. No, I am here for a completely different reason. I plan to ask him a
question; I just didn’t plan on him catching me in the stairwell because – hell – I
didn’t plan on still being here, but I must reiterate…I. Almost. Died.

“Hi. You’re Mr. Zidane, right?”
His eyebrows climb towards his hairline at the mention of his name.
Now that my body is normal, I can’t help the nerves that were starting to creep

in.
“Can I call you Henry? I only ask because I’m really bad at accents, and I think
my using the English variation would be better than me butchering the
pronunciation every time.” You’re blabbering.
“The pronunciation of names and items from different cultures never come out
right for me. My tongue is inflexible.” I stick it out as if he can see my tongue’s
inflexibility. I power on. “Henry, I can say, but … Hen…see! That was terrible, and
I’m sorry.”