Word Count: 498
Cozy at home – Saturday April, 17th
The familiar thud – rolled paper against wood – woke me up. I blinked two times and wiped away the sleep. Quickly I slipped out of my warm bed and went in the hot coffee – smelling kitchen to pour myself the black elixir in my big weekend cup. I decided for three warm samples of the delicious pastry collection I had bought on my way home from Greenpoint yesterday night. I loved my fully automated kitchen. With the first bite of the croissant in my mouth – Fortunato Brothers are the best – I opened the front door to reach for the Saturday edition of the Ledger. Brrr, it had become chilly overnight.
I choked on the buttery piece. There was an airmail letter in my post box.
Back under my cover, I placed the coffee beside the pastries and the newspaper on my night stand. Carefully I opened the blue envelope.
Alex, April, 08th
Today I start my last mission back to Africa and then I'll head for normal temperatures. I don't know yet how I will get home. I haven't made any plans, but I've met many interesting and independent people who'll help me to leave the region.
I hope that you'll wait for my return. Deep in my heart I hope we'll meet midway. I want to see you as soon as possible.
I miss you so much,
The nervous prickling I'd felt at the front door changed into cold showers during reading and now my whole body trembled. He still missed me. I sank deeper in the pillows and giggled like a school girl. April, 08th…exactly one month after he wrote the love letter. That was a good sign. God, I'd felt so different the last month. The first stormy billows of 'in love' hadn't passed away. They had grown to painful but joyful waves.
"I also want to meet you as soon as possible," I whispered. Nibbling at the blueberry muffin I inspected the envelope a little closer. 'Back to Africa' عدن Aden stood on the post stamp. After finding out Bobby's whereabouts I tried to learn more about the countries around the Gulf of Aden. I discovered that Aden was a seaport of Yemen and the historic center was built in a volcanic crater.
111-19, 67th Road, Forest Hills, NY. Bobby used my home address. My eyes snapped open. Why hadn't I noticed this right away? Was he safe? Would he really come home? I sniffed at the letter but there was no scent. I could only smell my coffee. Leaning the letter against my bedside lamp, I reached for the newspaper. I made myself comfortable, the Ledger on my knees, the scone in my left hand and the coffee in my right. What a wonderful Saturday. I couldn't wait for perfect Saturdays with Bobby by my side, sharing hot chocolate, the newspaper and feeding each other sweet pastries. I was happy, really, really happy.
Soon, very, very soon.