The shrill ring of the bedside phone disturbed A.J.’s sleep the following morning. He reached over to answer it only to discover the computerized woman announcing his wake-up call.
Stretching his tattooed arms over his head, he winced upon hearing his joints pop. "Damn," he muttered under his breath then groaned as he realized the less-than-comfortable way he’d fallen asleep.
A.J. rolled over only to hear the muffled crunch of paper beneath his body. His mind quickly awakened acknowledging what that sound meant and he shot up as if the bed had suddenly combusted into flame.
He grabbed the two pieces of blue paper gently and, as carefully as possible, ironed out the damage he’d just caused by rolling on top of them. In doing so, he found himself staring at the words, once more, reading the text. No, that was too generic.
A.J. had acknowledged during the first read that these weren’t mere letters or words. This was the result of someone pouring out her soul, admitting her every emotion. And she did it for him. It was something he had yet to come to understand.
A knock on the door of his suite interrupted his reverie. "Bone, man, you up?"
A.J. sighed as he flipped off the television silencing the Foxy Brown’s video for "Hot Spot", then straightened his boxers and threw on the hotel bathrobe. He opened the door to see Howie standing before him. "Morning, D," he grumbled.
Howie frowned at his younger friend. "Are you okay?" He followed A.J. into the room.
"Yeah, just let me get a shower and I’ll be fine."
The older man switched the television back on, watched A.J. go into the bathroom, and heard the shower running. He shook his head as he saw Britney Spears toss her blond hair with a smile. "Didn’t you get any sleep last night?"
"Not really…" A.J. called from behind the closed door. "Hopefully the shower will wake me up. You can hang out and wait if you want."
"Yeah, thanks. The others will meet us downstairs for breakfast in fifteen minutes." Howie reclined on the bed noticing that Britney had segued into the latest offering from Limp Bizkit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the letters lying on the bedside table.
His curiosity and respect for A.J.’s privacy battled before curiosity won and he picked up the two letters. His brown eyes widened as he read the words. ‘Who wrote this?’ He took a glance at the single initial below the poem. "J? Who is J?" he wondered aloud.
Howie’s mind was so focused upon the letter that he hadn’t heard A.J. turn off the water or enter the room. "What are you doing, Howie?" He saw the blue stationary in his friend’s hands and snatched it away. "What the hell? Can’t I get any privacy? You’re suppose to be my friend and I can’t even trust you to leave my personal things alone."
Surprised at A.J.’s outburst, Howie was flustered. "Sorry, A.J. I didn’t know."
A.J. stuffed the paper into the pocket of his
backpack. "Just…just leave it alone, D. Forget you
read it…at least until I figure it out."
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