Bored, so posting old romantic garbage from the whisht

This is something I started on 5/19/07. It's crap, but I am bored and exhausted, so this is what I'm doing.

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Milton worked as an accountant for Bigs Department Store, at the edge of town. While Milton was not plain in looks, he was not strikingly handsome, either. He stood just over six-feet-four, and had a lanky build. His stature was more than likely a result of his love for fruits and vegetables, and a natural dislike for fatty foods. He also walked everywhere he had to go - which wasn't a lot of places.

When Milton went downtown that Saturday morning, the only thoughts in his head were of Emma. Emma who did not know Milton existed in this world, contentedly worked her job at the local market, sorting out produce. If Milton hadn't such an appetite for mangoes, he never would have laid eyes on Emma. Being newly out on his own, he'd only begun doing the grocery shopping about a year ago, and that was when he first saw her. He remembered it distinctly and often. She wore a cotton blouse with small, pink roses printed on it, a green apron and khaki pants. Her red hair was a wild frizz about her freckled face. Her cheeks were round, but not fat, and naturally pinkish. She had unusually long eyelashes, which she lightly mascaraed, and green eyes. When she counted fruit, her lips pouted and she wore a little frown, like something was troubling her. Milton found her to be the most radiant angel, and he instinctively knew her voice was of heaven's bells.

Up until now, he hadn't been able to develop a reasonable question to instigate a conversation with her. Most of the time he spent shopping in her section was spent stealing glances at the top of her head. Today, that would change. Today, he would ask about the specific origin of the mangoes. And why not? This was a legitimate concern. One has a right to know - if for no other reasons than political ones - where their fruit comes from.

All Emma ever did was work, go to the bank drive-thru to deposit her paychecks, and go home. At home, she spent her time with her cat, Rederick. She was shy, and she was content with her solitary life.

Being very methodical, she always counted oranges first each morning, as they were first in the middle produce aisle. She gradually wound her way around each case before working the outside aisles. By the time she reached the tropical fruit case, it was about nine a.m., and the market was filling up with customers. Keeping her eyes down, she counted and sorted, pulling a cart behind her to deposit outdated or bad food. She barely noticed the sound of footsteps coming right for her, and was startled when a man cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned, and had to roll her eyes upward to see the thin face of a man who was possibly her age or a little younger. His facial expression was unnerving, and she found herself fearing he might try to grab her and use her as a hostage. He did not reach for her, however, but instantly spoke in a rapid manner.

"I know you know mangoes, and I love you, so I want to know where these came from."

Emma froze. This man was obviously insane. She mentally searched the store for her manager, but remembered he was in the very back, doing payroll. The man waited expectantly for her reply.

"These are from Florida."

"Oh, good."

"Florida is okay?"

"Quite, yes."

"Well, then. Was there anything else?"

"Um, well, I uh, I'm Milton," he said, as he held out his hand to her.

"I'm Emma," she returned, as she shook his hand gently. She was pleased not to feel sweat or grit on his hand. "So, are you going to buy mangoes today?"

"Oh, yes, I do every Saturday."

"Okay, well, I have to get back to work."

"Sorry, and thanks!" He smiled. Milton had a spring in his step the rest of his shopping trip. Carrying his groceries in paper bags, he hummed to himself all the way home. Milton was a new man. He had just changed his entire personality by coming out of his shell after a year of anticipation. And now, Milton Frazier would have his lady!

Emma found herself quite distracted the remainder of the day. She even forgot to pick up her own groceries before heading home. As she only lived three blocks from the market, she walked home. During her normal sidewalk square count, she had to stop and re-start the count several times. Of course, she already knew the exact number of sidewalk squares. This was an obsession - but a harmless one.

Back at her small apartment, she prepared a tuna salad sandwich, and ate it in her favorite living chair; a Queen Anne, upholstered in mauve satin. It was the only piece of expensive furniture that she owned, and used to be her grandmother's. It was all she ever wanted of the estate. As a child, she would curl up in it to listen to her aunt play the piano at grandma's house. How Emma had always wished she could play "The Entertainer," like aunt Clara. But, alas, she could barely play a portion of "Chopsticks." Clara had kept the piano, until it grew so old it could no longer be tuned.

As Emma stared out the window, chewing mindlessly on her sandwich, her thoughts were of the odd, tall man who said he loved her this morning. He must have meant to say, "and I love them," instead of, "and I love you." Still, she couldn't help pondering the possibilities.

Rederick meowed at her feet, sniffing the tuna. "None for you; there's mayonnaise. Cats in this house can't have mayonnaise."

Milton ate his shredded wheat, and drank his orange juice next morning without reading the newspaper - not even the comics. He was busy playing out his next grocery trip. More specifically, his next conversation with Emma. In his dream last night, she had approached him with a mango the size of a bowling ball, wearing a beautiful smile. She glowed, and all sound stopped when she got within two feet of him. "Milton, I've been waiting all my life to give you this!" The timer on the stove beeped, and Milton took his bowl and glass to the sink, rinsed them and headed out the door. He was halfway to work before he realized it was Sunday.