Chapter 27: The Perfect List

The months passed, the weather chilled, and Ginger found herself more and more depressed by life’s events. 

She spent New Year’s eve alone in the office, patiently processing items in her work queue.  A desk near her remained empty.  That position, the one vacated for what had now been several months, had not been filled.  It was not something she thought about often, though occasionally she found herself gazing towards teh empty chair, eyes blurred and glassy, daydreaming.  The winter had driven her away from her strict workout regimine.  In all, hating the cold weather as she did, Ginger’s routine had compressed into not so many variations and left her in a dull place on that morning when she met Tom Drake.

The way they met could never be forgotten — just a casual joke about a comic strip which Tom had made desperately in an attempt to hear laughter, something he had not heard since he started this new job.  Ginger had been so blown away by him, his presence.  But her remarks to a colleague after departing his desk captured the essence of the attraction Ginger felt towards this new man in her life.  It was not looks, nor fashion, nor money.

“He was absolutely fucking hilarious.”

She maintained that sentiment in the front of her mind for days and weeks to follow.  As for Tom’s words, they could be likened to that of an unusually warm sunlight piercing previously dreary skies and firing their powers into the frozen earth, infusing it with hope once again.  And it was in that way that they came to know one another.

The season corresponded to the progression.  By the time they had caught each other in the rain, Ginger was already shaken by the force of her feelings for Tom.  They had stood there on the trail for what felt like hours but probably wasn’t.  Breathless and horny, Ginger extricated herself and rushed home.  The doorman of her building — ever nosy– regarded her and raised an eyebrow when she entered in her disheveled state.  Later, she stood under hot water from her shower, shivering from the night.  As she towled herself dry, she could not dislodge Tom from her memory.  He appeared on every cue, in positions hypothetical and longed for– a force, a shadow, a wraith. 

When they were lucky, they found themselves in the break room, in the hallway, even in the foyer of the mammoth office building itself.  Each time they broke into simultaneous grins — smiles that they could niether supress nor understand.  And once they began talking, they did not stop except for external events which forced their departure from one another.  They spoke of music — a taste they shared almost universally.  They spoke of literature, for Ginger was “by far the hottest girl who actually reads books” that Tom had ever met.  He could not be shaken from her; he could not imagine something he might learn that would distance him from her, this woman he had come to know.  In the past, any manner of qualities could have shaken Tom from a potential suitor.  Too many stories of ex-boyfriends or lovers; a lack of manners at the dinner table; an over-zealous glorification and appreciation for sports.  Ginger never veered near any of those or others. 

They had not kissed since that night on the trail.  Though Ginger remained animated and agreeable, she subtly resisted Tom’s charms, making small excuses which he did not think to question or fear.  Sometimes he wondered of her distance but attributed it to the fear found in all young women.  But what they lacked in carnal knowledge, they compensated in words.  Never before had Tom felt so comfortable sharing his life with someone.  Never before did he feel he was accepted and encouraged in the way Ginger did.  And then there were those amazing moments…. 

Those were the moments when Ginger said something that resonated so deeply with Tom that he did not know how to react, how to behave, even what to do in response.  He felt so stunned because Ginger had said such a thing that made him believe no one on this earth could have said anything more true or more real to him.

When this happened, Tom responded with a word which embodied how it made him feel:

“Perfect.”

And they both knew it was.  Undeniably and unbelievably, perfect.  After just a moment’s pause, her reply was always the same.

“It is perfect.”

The frequency of the perfection was staggering.  After they departed, Tom could not help but grip a pen tightly between his fingers and begin to write.  He scribbled big, round bullet points and filled page after page with depictions of Ginger’s charm, her words, her promises and all that he hoped would come true.

Ginger did not know about the list, and she did not know that Tom had fallen in love with her.