Nova Lox - A clothing tale by William and Sylvia

It was the way she entered the building that amazed him.

She entered wearing only one she. And it was pouring outside. It had been all morning. I didn't see her step out of a car or out of a bus. She must have been walking like this for some time. "Where is she coming from?" I thought. Our small gossiping town would have known who this girl is. I would have heard about her by now. She must be new.

She picked up her pace through the lobby and passed by the bench on which I sat.
Dripping the entire way. She walked straight and took long strides. She wasn't walking fast, but she seemed to have renown in each step.
And she didn't notice me at all.

She crossed the hall and stopped right in front of the building directory. Her brunette head bobbed with its short above the shoulder hair cut.With her short, thin finger she ran through the lists of names and finally stopped on one highlighted in green. "Green" I thought, "that's one of the architects." It was at that moment exactly that a man on the second floor walked to the edge of the balcony and drop a box.

A shoe box.
There was a slam, and the he called out, "Kora!"

The woman stopped, turned her head gently, and found the shoe box that sat on the floor between us. I remained opposite of her near the front doors and she alongside the red oak doors on the western wall. She looked at the box and then lifted her eyes and looked at me. For a moment, it frightened me. That was, until she smiled and said, "Hi. I'm Kora." "Uh..um..hi" I stammered. "I noticed you've been eyeing me. Can I help you?" "Sorry no." I felt incredibly uncomfortable. "I just saw you walk in here, wet, and with one shoe." She was quick and returned with, "My mom always told me to make a grande entrance." She made a gesture with her hands to demonstrate "grande" and by doing this sprinkled more of the outside rain on the tile.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I asked. "What do you do here, Kora?" She walked rather dramatically towards the box. One might even say her walk was flirtatious. She swung her hips slightly and her movement ebbed and flowed as if to a Miles tune.

To be truthful, she looked childish.

She wore one show, was dripping water, and doing a strange dance with her walk. "Why," she answered, "I have given you my name and I don't know yours. That's kind of rude." And then gave me a raised eyebrow and half a smile. "I'm John Kritz Fraiser." "Wow, so formal. Fraiser, what is that? German?" "Dutch, actually." And then she said, "Ah, well. Oui oui!" I don't think she had any clue of what Europe looked like.

Kora held the box in her hands and walked towards the bench, box in her hands. I could see whoever dropped the box was still waiting for her to open it. His shadow lingered behind his red curtained office. She reached the bench and planted herself in it.

When she opened the box, I felt a great rift in our conversation. She was now sharing a moment with the man upstairs and not with me. There was a ruffle of the red curtains in his office.

He was watching her.

In the shoe box was indeed one red high heel shoe; identical to the one she was wearing. As she placed it on her foot we returned to our conversation.


FIN