An Unholy Sunday Afternoon 6 O'Clock

6 o’clock

They would be coming at seven.

The coats still sat on the floor, but Sophie finally realized how much time had passed and started to hang them up. They were coming at 7:30, a half hour later than usual. Georgia needed to visit her father in the hospital before coming. Everyone told her that she didn’t have to come, but she insisted. She said she needed to keep her life moving. Sophie thought that this was a little silly, considering that Georgia worked from seven in the morning to six thirty. Moving? Running, more like it.

Meanwhile, Sophie was at a stand still. The plates were already set out, waiting to be filled pre-cut cheese and expensive crackers. Sophie didn’t like hosting the group, it felt like everything had to be done exactly right, that if it wasn’t, the others would give her a dirty look. One time Frances gave her just that after noticing that Sophie hadn’t turned on the music. Sophie became paranoid from there on, always turning on the classical crap they pretended to enjoy an hour early.

What was it tonight? She didn’t even bother to check what composer she was playing. She made a playlist long ago filled with the music, and pressing play on the computer was refreshingly easy.

Wine waited, un-opened, on the counter, but she went in the fridge to find her personal bottle. She filled her over-sized glass with ice before pouring in a generous amount. It was her guilty-pleasure, ice in chilled wine before the ladies came over. Something about room-temperature drink made her feel uneasy, and she knew for a fact that most of the women drank far more than she did before their 7 O’Clock hang-outs.

She heard a knock at the door. The clock on the wall read 6:37, so who could it be? She walked to the door and looked through the eyehole. It was a man wearing a black suit. His hair was neatly parted and slicked. His eyes were hidden behind black glasses, and other than that he seemed quite handsome. Sophie didn’t have reason to be worried about the man in the suit, so she pulled the door open, not before fixing her hair.

“May I help you?”

The man didn’t answer at first, but instead he picked his head in past the threshold very slowly. Sophie politely pulled her body away from his head. When he stood straight again she asked him again.

“Sir, how may I help you?” This time he answered.

“How are you, ma’am?” She was taken back by the casual feeling she felt coming from the voice, such a contrast with his strict atmosphere.

“I’m alright, I suppose. How are you, sir?” She still held the door, although now she kept it a little closer.

“Everything seems fine. Are you sure that you are alright?” His answer confused her.

“Yes, I’m quite sure!”

“Well, thank you for your time, miss.” She watched him walk to the elevator and press a button. She realized that he was leaving and ran out into the hallway.

“Who are you?”

He gave a polite smile to her as the doors closed.

She walked back inside the apartment to find that it was 7 O’clock. How long was she talking to the man? She thought a minute or two at most, but twenty minutes had passed. She shut her door again and left herself to be alone. Everything was set, and she decided to push the man from her mind and endure the evening.

(7 oclock coming most likely on tuesday)