Very Short Stories/Snippets From Lives

Parsnip

Clouds hung over the city and dipped into the distance, blurring far off buildings in layers of gray. Snow piled high on the curbs of Moscow and packed tightly into the crevices of window frames. A cat purred inside a small dark apartment, watching from her perch as the occasional car ventured down the frozen streets, waiting. Somewhere, several floors below, a lock clicks, a door opens, and a man begins to climb the stairs, shaking droplets of melted ice out of his hair.

Alexander Ioanovich Pasternak, a freckled and square-spectacled man, violently tries to un-stick his house-keys from their keyhole; he succeeds with a huff and steps inside the door, his broad shoulders perfectly fitting the frame. The cat came running to meet him and he had to be careful not to trip over her as she weaved in between his legs. He sheds his long coat and heavy boots before sitting down at his small dining table, sighing as his aching feet were finally able to rest.
The warm lull of the house and his tired limbs were threatening to make him asleep at the table, head in his hands. The sharp ring of the telephone tore away his thoughts of rest and he dragged himself over to the counter.

"Hello?" He had a deeply grumbly voice which aged him beyond his years.

"Yes, hello, is this Sasha Ioanovich?" Said a shrill woman at the other end of the line.

"Alexander Ioanovich, yes, who is this?" He never liked people calling him 'Sasha,' unless you were Andrei, and this woman was certainly not Andrei, only one person was.

"I am Vira Mikhailovna, Andrei Antonovich's new secretary—"

"Ah! Of course!" He quickly changed his tone.

"—Yes— he asked me to call to remind you of your work meeting tomorrow, noontime. He didn't tell me where, he said you would know."

"Yes, I do, thank you. Is that all?"

"Yes—"

"Well then, good day Vera Mikhailovna, thank you again for calling." He didn't wait for her to say goodbye before he hung up. He never liked a phone call that wasn't straight to the point and lasted longer than a minute. He put a kettle on to boil and began scraping extra pieces of chicken into the cat's bowl, as the sky grew steadily darker.

Not twenty minutes later, frosted street lamps were aglow outside, and he was finishing his tea, sitting on the end of his bed. Several dress shirts and trousers were laid out in front of him, he couldn't leave tomorrow up for chance. He even left a note for himself on his nightstand reminding him to trim down his beard in the morning. He found he forgot the smallest things so easily, Andrei knew that, although Alexander (who would never admit to it as it would hurt his pride) knew there was nothing in the cosmos that could make him forget the days he's able to see his love again. Even if it's just for lunch.