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Chemelyn Clavaro tugged her gray and white uniform back into place, as she stood up from her kneeling position. With a sigh, she tossed the trussed up bag of waste into her cart, and took a final survey of the room. She was thankful that she had paused to do so, when she noticed that she had left the spray bottle of glass cleaner on the bathroom counter. Chemelyn retrieved it, and settled the bottle into her cart as she pushed it towards the door. She let herself out, and wished good riddance to the last guest which had stayed in that room. Whoever it was, had been a slob.
Chemelyn made her way back out into the long corridor, carefully locking the freshly cleaned room behind herself. The next door that she came to, was unlocked. Chemelyn clucked her tongue at the occupant of the room. “Good thing I’m just housekeeping, and not a thief!” she thought to herself as she rounded up the used fluffy white towels that had “The Fremont” written in blue on them. She continued her mission of cleaning the room; replenishing the supply of towels, the toilet paper, and emptying the trash cans. Chemelyn plugged the vacuum into the wall socket, and it quickly sucked the smidgens of dirt from the luxurious tan carpet. Just as Chemelyn was about to clean up an empty bag of fat free pretzels, and several other pieces of trash, she noticed a pile of papers and a pen left on the bed. Considering she had to make the bed, Chemelyn decided to stack them neatly on the table next to it. She shuffled them into place, when something caught her eye. The sheet of thick, soft beige paper which lay on top of the stack had an interesting address to it’s reader. before she could curb herself, Chemelyn’s eyes wandered over the paper. She slowly sank onto the bed as she began to read.
“Dear Future Friend,
I like to refer to you that way. Future Friend. Isn’t that what your mate is supposed to be? Your friend? I think, your best friend. Where are you, Oh Friend of Mine? I am lonely with out you. I lay awake at night, thinking of you. What do you look like? How do you act? Do I already know you, and am not aware of it? Destiny, Fortune -whatever you choose to call it- is toying with me. She seems to know that hardly a day passes when I don’t wish for a confidant. My head and heart scream, ‘Send me someone, already!’......“
Chemelyn laughed at the author’s obvious impatience. Who was the letter to? It sounded as if the author did not know to whom he was writing. Was it a ‘he’? She read on.
“.....Only AJ knows about these letters, and if the others knew , they would have me committed! I get such satisfaction writing to you, telling you everything happening in my life, and most of all the obscure things that make my thoughts swirl in abstract patterns. I may not know you, but I am sure that one day, you will read these notes of mine. I dream about our wedding night, when I will give them to you. But when I dream, it is so odd! You have no face, none at all. Come to think of it, I can’t even see you, I just sense your presence. Oh, do come into my life soon!
~Howie”
Chemelyn sat utterly still. Howie. Howie was the author’s name. “How can one man be so sweet and sentimental?” she sighed. “I’ll be your Future Friend - gladly.” Reluctantly, Chemelyn laid the paper back on the top of the stack on the table, and made a valiant effort to finish cleaning the room. Her eyes kept wandering towards the letter. Each time, she would avert her eyes, and focus on her work. And each time, her gaze would inevitably shift back to the table. Finally, realizing she would never get any work done, Chemelyn strode to the table, and picked the letter up, reading it once more. An idea popped into her head, and she was astounded that she had come up with such a plan. A smile gently curved her lips, and Chemelyn rummaged through the night table’s drawers, searching for the pad of hotel stationary that she knew would be there. At long last, Chemelyn’s hand emerged with the desired item, and she swiftly took up the same pen the the author - Howie - had used to write his letter. After a moment of thought, Chemelyn began to write.
“Dear Howie,
You do not know me. I was cleaning your room when I stumbled upon-”
Chemelyn tore up her first attempt, and began again.
”Dear Sir,-”
Chemelyn ripped up this paper as well. Finally, she sighed, and began to write from the heart.
“Dear Future Friend,
Will you be my future friend? I think that I have fallen a little bit in love with you. I read your letter. You may be disrought that a stranger stepped into your thoughts without an invitation, but it felt like I was stepping into my own. Who are you? That is unfair of me. By now, you must be wondering who I am. I believe that perhaps I could be your confidant that you are searching for....but only if you will be mine. Oh, the lonely world that we live in. Your name implies that you are a man. Are you? How could that be? I have never known a man to be as sweet as you are in your letter. One could not fake this tenderness with which you write, of that I am sure. Please, write to me. I will leave you with a post office box. I hope that you will......oh, how I hope.
~Chemelyn”
Chemelyn signed the letter, and wrote her post address below it. She lay the letter on the pillow, and wished with all of her heart that this man would find it. Chemelyn gathered her things, and left, locking the door behind herself.
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