The Reporter and The Photographer

IV

Abigale

I pushed myself up from the floor, and walked over to the telephone. I picked it up slowly, and cautiously. "Hello?" I asked. I wasn't used to phone calls; I had just moved here.

"Hello, is this Abigale Dougless?" The deep, ragged male voice spoke. He sounded polite, but I wasn't on to trust people."Yes, this is she." I replied.
"I would like to call a meeting Le Petit Vingti, uh the newspaper company." He said. He probably added the last part because I was American...

"Alright, but there is something I must inform you about sir. My camera has been stolen." I said a bit embarrassed.
I could hear a exasperated sigh from the other line. "We will discuss that there. I want to see you here at noon, no later than that alright!" He said. "Yes sir." I agreed.

"Good night Miss Abigale." He told me.
"Goodnight sir." I replied. With that he hung up the phone. I went back to my spot in the floor. I looked at the memories sprawled all around me. I hurt me that I had not one professional photo of my father.

A knock a the door snapped me from my thoughts again. "I just cannot catch, a break." I groaned. I stood up and trotted to the door. "Yes?" I asked as I opened the door. Tintin. I rolled my eyes. "I thought I told you to leave me alone." I sighed.

"I thought you might like these back." He said and held up the shoes I'd left in the market. I nodded and he handed them to me. "Might I ask why you left them?" He asked.

"I run faster with out shoes. Especially those." I told him. "How about you come in, have a cup of tea? I haven't been very neighborly." I asked him.

"I would love to." He replied. I opened the door further. Tintin and his dog walked in. "Excuse the mess. I hate unpacking." I said, once again embarrassed by my actions. "It's quite all right. " he said. He started looking at the photographs on the floor. I sighed and walked over to the kitchen area. It was only across the room so avoiding Tintin was hard.

I started to boil the tea bags, in a copper kettle. "Are these all yours?" I heard Tintin ask. "Yeah. I took them all with that camera I lost today." I informed him. "That camera must have meant a lot to you." He said. "Well yeah, my father gave it to me." I said and looked down. I felt a tear run down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away.

Soon I poured the tea into a mug and put ice and sugar in it. I handed Tintin his. He took a sip and looked at strangely, like it was alien. "What? it's tea." I asked.

"It's cold and sweet... What kind of tea do you make?" He asked slightly surprised. "Sweet tea." I replied. Then I realized I wasn't in America anymore. "Sorry, that's just how I'm used to making it. I honestly forget where I am sometimes." I said apologetically. He nodded it off.

"I could get used to your America customs," He smiled and held up his mug, "shall we toast to this sweet tea?"

I raised my mug and touched it against his. "To sweet tea" I added. Tintin left not 20 minutes after. We talked about our careers, but that was it. I still wasn't ready to call him a friend.

He still was a ginger headed pipsqueak to me.