Misty Meadow's Secrets

Misty Meadows’ Secrets

Low-lying ground fog being pushed by a gentle evening breeze hugged the lamp posts like old lovers. It wrapped around the base of the posts as if they were old friends remembering their intimate moments of yesteryear. Slowly, swirling at the base of the lamp post, its only vulnerability was the changing wind currents influenced by temperature and moisture content in the air. The two weren’t strangers to the entanglement. It was a familiar dance of seduction, the pulling and pushing by invisible sources.

Sitting along the walkway graced by the dim evening lamp light, set a lonely bench that glistened in the simple lamp’s glow. The moisture-rich evening air kissed the cold metal ever so lightly condensing and depositing a light layer of dew on its aging surface. Penetrating the fractures and splinters of the ole friend that welcomed many visitors both day and night, the bench had become accustomed to time’s intrusion. As a place of repose, Misty Meadows Park coveted the secrets shared by both the occasional stranger and the bewildered entangled who might find themselves labored from the day’s work or emotional strain. It was those seeking a moment of solitude that the location sought most. With handkerchief in hand, the evening’s traveler wiped away enough of the dampness to allow them to set, to escape, to contemplate the events that haunted them. And, so were the two who entered the park late burdened with information, slumping under the weight of life to be delivered at the confessional.

The call came late in the afternoon, but the meeting wasn’t a questionable happening. It was an inevitable, predestined meeting held back by providence until the time was right. Now, in the shadows, they came. One to accept, one to deliver. It wasn’t to be a negotiation, but rather surrender. The delivery of truth calls for strength and determination.

There weren’t any attache cases or bags or even notes, only a verbal exchange between two acquaintances, not to mention fellow politicians. This meeting, the first, wasn’t scheduled on some calendar or desk blotter. No, the meeting was as impromptu as two lovers’ elopement. Nothing was planned, it just needed to happen.

“Slow the car and pull over to the curb. I want you to park and stay in the car until I get back. I don’t need a bodyguard, nor do I need an escort. I’ve been doing this long enough to know when the time required me to step in.” said the man in the back seat.

The conveyance wasn’t such that a Senator would normally have been seen using it. It was a casual, common car with no frills, no bells or whistles. From the moment the call came, it was understood that neither the participants nor supporters, were to exude or project who and what they were when venturing out to Misty Meadows Park in the late evening hours to expose. No, neither of the politicians was to be recognized, therefore, the drivers were briefed on how to downplay their presents during the outing. Under no circumstances were either of the men to be referred to by their name or position. It was as if they changed their clothes and become the common civilian.

“Under no circumstances are you to leave the car. I’ll be fine!” stated the passenger as he pulled on the door’s handle and pushed it open to get out. It wasn’t his first rodeo nor would it be his last. Within moments of him leaving the security and safety of the small four-door conveyance, he’d meet with someone he’d vowed never to see in person unless there was a problem concerning their mutual interest.

For the two senators, meeting at the small, intimate park at this late hour could only mean one thing. It meant there was trouble brewing. And, if it was brewing, there had to be a way of turning the burner off under the pot. If not nipped in the bud soon, the problem could escalate into a full-blown story leading to more questions than either man wanted to answer.

Pressing the window controls to lower the driver’s side window a few inches, the bodyguard doubled as the chauffeur called out to his employer. “Sir, do you have your protection, your pistol? Do you need to borrow mine?” he asked as he motioned as if he were removing the handgun from its holster under his left arm.