Katherine's Prophecy

by Scott Wittenburg

  “Well, all I can say is I’m glad you did.”

  “Me, too,” she said, giving his hand the slightest squeeze.

  “Oh!” Lenny exclaimed as he suddenly let go of her hand and tried to hide his embarrassment.

  Emily smiled. Then she said, “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “Well, yeah. That question has suddenly come to mind,” Lenny replied.

  She looked at him uneasily and said, “I came to give you a lift home—if you’d like one, that is. And, to offer you dinner.”

  Lenny was floored. “Well, uh, that’s very nice of you, Emily. But you really don’t need to . . .”

  “No buts,” she interrupted. “I told you on the phone that I was going to try and make this up to you somehow. I know it’s not much, but . . . it’s a start.”

  Lenny was at a loss for words. The only clear thought in his mind was that he certainly wasn’t going to turn down her offer. “Well, thanks. I really do appreciate it.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Lenny.” She made a gesture toward the door. “I’m parked right outside. Let me help you with your things.”

  “That’s okay—I can handle it.” Lenny objected.

  “Are you sure? I noticed that you’re limping a little.”

  “They told me I’d have that for a while, but it doesn’t hurt a bit. I’m not suppose to run any marathons in the near future, though,” he quipped.

  She laughed—he loved her laugh. “Okay, then. Follow me.”

  When they were outside, Emily pointed toward the parking lot. “I’m parked over there, not too far.”

  Lenny walked beside her, feeling numb. It was cold and windy with a trace of snow flurries blowing around, but he hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to get a handle on what was happening and what to make of it.

  “Here we are,” Emily said as they approached the beige bus. “Hopefully, it’s still warm inside.”

  “Nice bus,” Lenny commented as she unlocked the passenger side door for him. “How’s she run?”

  “Fine, once you get it started. It floods-out a lot,” Emily replied.

  Lenny opened the door and got in. “I used to have a ‘67 Bug that did the same thing. VW’s are definitely a temperamental breed.”

  Emily walked around and got in then stuck the key into the ignition. “Cross your fingers,” she said, turning the key. It started instantly.

  “What year is this?” Lenny asked as Emily threw the gearshift into reverse and backed out.

  “It’s a ‘66.”

  “It’s in great shape for an antique.”

  “I know, and we’ve been through an awful lot together. I don’t know what I’ll do when it finally dies on me.”

  “Don’t let it,” Lenny told her, not really knowing why.

  Emily pulled up to a stop sign and said, “Do you want to take your belongings home before we eat?”

  Lenny thought for a moment and then replied, “Actually, I would, to tell you the truth. The only problem is that I live in Queens. All of the really decent restaurants are in Manhattan.”

  She glanced over at him. “I don’t mind. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been to Queens—I’d like to see it.”

  “You haven’t missed anything, believe me. Do you know where the 59th Street Bridge is?”

  “The Queensboro Bridge?”

  “Yeah, same difference.”

  “I’ve driven past it a few times, I think. It’s midtown, just off Second Avenue, isn’t it?

  “That’s right. Just drive east over to Third and then go north.” Lenny told her.

  “Okay,” Emily said then took a right onto 12th Street.

  While they waited for a light to change, Lenny observed the throngs of people walking the streets and gathered up the courage to ask his next question. He looked over at Emily. “Can I ask you something, Emily?”

  She glanced over at him and replied, “Sure.”

  “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  She hesitated before answering. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try me,” Lenny said.

  Emily took a deep breath. “I’ve been having some problems, Lenny. I can’t say anymore than that. I just want to say that I’m sorry for not calling you back—I should have. I just . . . couldn’t. Please accept my apology and leave it at that for now, okay?”

  There was that familiar edge to her voice; the one that said, “back off, don’t push me.”

  He said, “Okay, apology accepted. At least I’ve finally gotten the chance to meet you.”

  “Did your parents tell you that I met them?” she asked.

  Lenny chuckled. “Oh yeah. Thus, beginning the mystery.”

  Emily gave him a strange smile but said nothing. The light turned green and she stepped on the gas.

  “I assume you don’t live in the city,” Lenny said.

  “No, I live upstate, a couple of hours away.”

  Lenny suddenly felt bolder. “Where, exactly?”

  “A little town called Ashland Falls. It’s in the Catskills, not far from the Hudson River.”

  “Near Woodstock?”

  “Yes. The town, that is—not where the festival was. Bethel is about an hour away.”

  “I don’t suppose your parents attended the festival by any chance, did they?”

  Emily chuckled. “Thanks for the flattery, Lenny, but I’m a little too old to have had flower children for parents! Wrong generation, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re kidding! I had you pegged at being in your early twenties.”

  “You’re off by a decade, I regret to say.”

  Lenny stared at Emily, trying to imagine her as being thirty years old. It wasn’t easy. “Suddenly, I don’t feel quite as old as I did a minute ago. You’ve aged quite well, Emily, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t feel like it. I suppose now you’re going to tell me that you were a flower child.”

  Lenny chuckled. “Actually, I was the right age for it. But I didn’t make a very good hippie in the traditional sense. I was more of a quasi-revolutionary, if anything. Long hair was about as radical as I got. But in my little hometown, that was enough to get me a lot of stares and plenty of discrimination. Not to mention the pat assumption that I was dropping acid on a daily basis.”

  Emily laughed. “Well, I figured you to be around my age, so I guess that makes us about even on guessing ages. Where are you from, anyway?”

  “Smithtown, Ohio. It’s a little town located a couple of hours up the Ohio River from Cincinnati,” Lenny replied.

  “How long have you lived in the city?”

  “Too long,” he answered. “About eight years.”

  “You sound like you’d rather be somewhere else.”

  Lenny groaned. “I’m pretty burnt-out on the place, that’s for sure. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking lately about pulling out of here—as soon as I can figure out where to go. I’m having a real problem with that little detail.”

  “I see,” Emily said, keeping her eyes on the road.

  They reached Third Avenue. Emily turned left, heading north. The traffic was heavy as she navigated the bus through the maze of taxi cabs and busses, a look of intense concentration on her face the entire time.

  Lenny sensed that Emily was becoming more lax, and this he was grateful for. Her aloofness seemed to be abating the more they got to know each other, and he no longer felt as shut out as he had before. He was already attracted to her beyond description; and why shouldn’t he be? Emily Hoffman was as beautiful as she was intriguing—the stuff that dreams were made of. His own dreams, as a matter of fact—in the literal sense.

  “So you’re a photographer?” Emily asked suddenly. She glanced over at him and added, “Your mother told me.”

  “A hack photographer, you might say,” Lenny replied in disdain.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I take pictures, so I guess that makes photography my v
ocation. Only problem is, I can’t take the kind of pictures I want to take and make a living at it. It’s a vicious circle, really.”

  “What kind of pictures do you like to take?”

  “Basically, pictures that mean something; that tell a story or make a statement. It’s hard to explain. I like fashion photography when it’s done properly—everything perfectly in place yet spontaneous at the same time. But nothing thrills me more than getting an image on film that jumps out at you and needs no explanation of what it is or what’s its saying. Take an old dilapidated barn in a cornfield, for example. The barn sags and is rotting away—it looks as though the slightest gust of wind could come alone blow it over at any moment. That image says so much; how something that once had usefulness and purpose has been abandoned—left to rot and decay until that gust of wind finally comes along and levels it to the ground. I mean, isn’t that what’s happening in this world on a grander scale? Out with the old, and in with the new? And it’s not just barns and inanimate objects we’re talking about here. People, too. Old people, neglected people, and so on . . . I’m getting a little off the track now, aren’t I?”

  Emily stared at him, her expression conveying surprise and warmth at the same time. “That was beautiful, Lenny.”

  He was caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

  “What you just said, and the way you said it. It was just so wonderful, so . . . true!”

  He realized that he must have hit a chord; and though he had no idea what it was, Lenny suddenly felt himself much closer to Emily Hoffman. “Well, thank you, Emily,” he stumbled. “I sort of get carried away sometimes with my, uh, views on things.”

  Emily smiled and her eyes returned to the road. It was snowing steadily by the time they reached the intersection of 59th Street and Third Avenue. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper as they inched their way toward the bridge.

  “I hate this city,” Lenny mumbled half aloud.

  “So do I,” Emily said.

  He looked over at her. “What’s Ashland Falls like?”

  “It’s very pretty. Also very small—more a village than a town.”

  “Were you born and raised there?”

  She nodded.

  “And work there, too?”

  “Yes. I’m an antique dealer.”

  “That’s great,” Lenny said. “I admire anyone who’s into restoring the past—old furniture, historic landmarks, whatever. It’s a drag seeing old buildings leveled just to make room for the crap they’re throwing up in their place nowadays. It’s like watching a slice of history being destroyed that can never be replaced. The leveling of churches in particular really bums me out. Have you noticed the architecture of new churches lately? No steeples, no bell towers; just boring, single-story brick buildings that could just as easily pass as office buildings or department stores. It’s really amazing when you think about it, especially when you consider how bent on tradition most religious factions supposedly are. I mean, why don’t they dip into their pockets a little deeper and at least throw a damn steeple on their new houses of worship? Or better yet, hold on to the old church instead. Restore the thing; add on to it, or whatever. But don’t sell out just for the sake of newness!”

  Emily was staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. Lenny said, “I’m getting carried away again, aren’t I? It just pisses me off—pardon the expression. It’s gotten so I hate ‘newness’ in general. Everything’s going too damn fast. We need to put on the brakes here a little, don’t you think?”

  She nodded slowly in agreement.

  Lenny, fearing that he was beginning to bore her, decided to change the subject. “Do you live alone, or with your folks?”

  “Alone. My parents are both dead.”

  Lenny wanted to kick himself. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright, Lenny,” she said, appearing to be unaffected.

  “Do you come to the city very often?”

  She balked a moment then replied, “No, not really.”

  Lenny didn’t like the look in her eyes now. It was telling him to back off, and quickly.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said simply.

  They had reached the other side of the bridge. “Welcome to Queens,” he announced dryly. “My apartment isn’t far from here; just go left at the second light.”

  They could hear the rumble and clatter of subway trains overhead as they crept along through the rush hour traffic. When they reached the traffic light, Emily veered to the left, following the path of the overhead train trestle.

  “It sure is noisy, isn’t it?” Emily observed as a train squealed and clamored its way around the curve on its approach to Queensboro Plaza.

  “Terrible. My apartment is practically eye-level with the tracks and believe me, it gets very old having to endure this racket day-in and day-out.”

  They neared the intersection of Northern Boulevard and Lenny gestured for Emily to continue going straight. “Another block or so,” he told her.

  When they neared his apartment building, Lenny spotted his old Celica liftback parked out front and he silently thanked Willie Rodriguez for shuttling the car around for him while he was in the hospital. There was an empty parking space directly behind his car, so he pointed to it and said, “You can pull up behind my car there.”

  Emily slowed down and pulled into the space. “You have Ohio license plates. How come?”

  Lenny grinned. “I’m still an illegal alien here. I just can’t see transferring plates and having to pay those outrageous insurance rates. So I’ve kept my car registered in Ohio. I still have my Ohio driver’s license, too,” he added.

  Emily chuckled. “Preserving the past?”

  Lenny laughed and replied, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  Emily shut off the engine as Lenny collected his belongings.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ll just wait out here.”

  “I’ve got a couple of things to take care of. Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm?”

  “That’s all right. I’ll just start the engine if it gets cold. Take your time.”

  It was obvious that Emily was determined to remain outside and that bothered him, for some reason. She seemed to be withdrawing again, and he wondered why.

  “Okay,” Lenny shrugged. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He opened the door and pulled his suitcase and overnight bag out along with him then closed the door. He glanced back at Emily before turning around and making his way toward the steps. Her expression had been more than a little apprehensive.

  Lenny climbed the steps and took out his keys then unlocked the door and entered the foyer. He noticed that his mailbox was empty and assumed that Willie had already gotten his mail. He went through the inner door and stopped at the first door on the left then knocked on it. A moment later Willie Rodriguez opened the door and greeted him.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in! Welcome back, man!”

  “Thanks, Willie.” Lenny said, shaking his hand. “And thanks for taking care of everything for me. I owe you one.”

  “No problem, man. I’ve got your mail inside; I haven’t been up to your apartment yet. Come on in.”

  “I’m sort of in a hurry, Willie. I’ve got a dinner date.”

  Willie grinned slyly. “Hey, you don’t mess around! Did you decide to get back with Julie?”

  “No, it’s not Julie. It’s uh, someone I met at the hospital.” Lenny hedged.

  “Alright! That’s my man—making the best of a bad situation!”

  Lenny laughed. “Can’t keep a good man down too long, eh?”

  “No doubt! I’ll get your mail for you.” Willie said and then disappeared. A moment later he returned and handed Lenny his mail.

  “Thanks, Willie,” Lenny said. “I’ll get back with you soon.”

  “Okay, man. Good luck with the bambino!”

  “See ya,” he said and then turned and walked down the hallway to the s
tairway.

  When he entered his apartment, Lenny was immediately greeted by stale, musty air. He went over to crack open one of the windows and spotted the beige Volkswagen bus parked on the street below, white smoke billowing out of its exhaust pipe. He pictured the beautiful woman of his dreams sitting there inside and suddenly turned on his heels and headed back out the door.

  “That was quick,” Emily said when he stepped inside the bus.

  “I just had to get my mail from the super,” Lenny replied. “He took care of things while I was in the hospital.”

  “Sounds like a very thoughtful person.”

  “Willie’s a great guy—I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”

  “Do you have many friends here?” she asked curiously.

  “No, not really. I’m sort of a loner, actually. I guess you could say I value my privacy.”

  “Am I intruding on your privacy?” Emily asked.

  Lenny cast her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? I can’t think of a better way to celebrate my release from the hospital than this! Which reminds me . . . Have you got a particular restaurant in mind?”

  “You know this city a lot better than I do. I was hoping you could suggest something.” she replied.

  “Well, there’s a nice Italian restaurant not far away that’s pretty decent—if you don’t mind not eating in Manhattan, that is.”

  “Sounds fine to me. I love Italian food.”

  “Great. Just keep going straight on this street and I’ll show you where to turn.”

  “Okay,” Emily said, checking her rear view mirror before pulling out.

  “Looks like we might get some accumulation,” Lenny commented, noticing that the snow was beginning to stick on the pavement.

  “It’s certainly cold enough,” Emily said.

  “I’ll bet it snows a lot up where you live, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “Especially in the mountains.”

  “Do you ski?” he asked.

  “I used to, every once in a while. But anymore, I just like watching the snow fall and walking around in it. It’s so relaxing.”

  “I know what you mean,” Lenny said. “It hardly ever seems to snow in the city, which is yet another reason why I’m getting so disenchanted by this place. The day before the accident, it snowed really hard for the first time this winter, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to go out and mess around in it—you know, sleigh ride or something like that. But I realized that there wasn’t anywhere to go, and it seemed like such a waste. This city is like a prison. You start to feel like you’re locked in and can’t get out. It’s so . . . unreal here. Or maybe it’s too real. Hell, I don’t know. I just know that I have to get out of here; it’s not where I belong.”