Norman Balmoral: First meeting

As always, Norman was the first architect to start work. He had his morning walk from 36th and Hamilton Streets -- nearly two miles -- and arrived before 8:00 in the morning. The office was completely empty and he did his most productive design work and reviews before most of his colleagues arrived two hours later. He felt so good about his work on this particular Monday that, at 9:00 a.m., he went to the office lounge to have his breakfast. But he wanted to wash his hands, so he went to the bathroom across the lounge.

He opened the door and this young woman stood at the sink, her back to him. Startled by the presence of this woman, little more than a mass of red hair and a blue and white paisley dress to Norman, he stammered "I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't know anyone was in here," as she turned around in a furious flash and demanded of him, "please leave at once!" He had a split second to see her face, very pretty, round green eyes and white skin, lots and lots of freckles. Something about the tilt of her head and her posture made his heart skip a beat -- he didn't quite know it, but he found himself backing up and closing the door, not sure of what to say.

But he had to go to the bathroom now! She seemed to take forever in there, and when she did finally come out, she would barely look at him. What was the problem, he wondered. It was a simple mistake -- she didn't lock the door, he didn't knock. Why be embarrassed? But he had to go, so he went inside without really looking at the girl. And a girl she was, so childish in demeanor -- that was it, he thought. The tilt of her head, the posture -- this was a young woman who hadn't yet grown up. Still a child.

When he came out of the bathroom, she was there -- again, her back to him. He resolved to break the silence, but the high pitch in her voice when he addressed her made it clear, she didn't want to speak with him. Why not? The high pitch of her voice came down an octave and she seemed more like a normal girl. Norman began to smile. Perhaps he could charm her? He didn't know, but something, an inner voice perhaps, something told him he should try. He sensed something magical in this girl, perhaps the dexterity of her fingers as she manipulated the coffee grinder, the coffee machine. Perhaps the quick and efficient way she scratched her head and then straightened her hair. Perhaps her quick parenthesis of a laugh when, surprised by her own humor, she called him a "blue suit." Perhaps it was her name -- Agnes Limerick. He liked her name. It went well with this wispy red-haired, green-eyed, freckled girl.