Life Has its Moments

Break In

"Hey Imogen, you don't happen to have your birth certificate, do you?" Mike asked one november morning befor school.

"No why?" She answered after swallowing a mouthful of orange juice. "What? Do you like need evidence that Catherine gave birth to me?"

He smiled and sarcastically answered, "No but the Immigration people do."

"Oh, why do you need it."

"I said the immigration office-"

"Yeah but why?"

"The Canada thing and since I assume you don't have an international passport and have never being out of the country, you might need one."

"Well what makes you think I haven't a passport or haven't being out of the country?"

He paused and looked uncertain, "I don't know, but have you?"

"No, but...,ugh forget it. We'll be late for school."

"But you haven't answered the question," he replied as he put back a carton of pineappe juice back in the fridge and she got up.

"I don't know. I guess my mum has it."

He frowned. "But she's not around."

"Yeah I know. So what do we do? You could ask the hospital I was born in," she suggested after thinking and balanced on her crutches.

He considered it for a moment and replied, "They won't give it I'm sure."

"Well looks like we're gonna have to break into my house."

They both laughed at the idea but he was secretly considering it before dismissing it.

After he finished rinsing the cups, Imogen examined him and said, "You know you can drive a woman crazy with that," she pointed at him.

"What?" he looked down at himself.

"The sleeve thing."

"There's nothing wrong with my sleeve," he retorted defensively. "I just rolled them up." He was wearing a white suit shirt tucked in a black trouser.

"Exactly!"

He raised his eyebrows "Seriously?"

"Yeah, if you look carefree, they love that."

"Really," he asked in a more amused voice than a question. "So it's better than to wear the suit jacket?"

"Yeah I guess. But sometimes a tuxedo is best. There is something known as the tuxedo effect which affects women and maybe,who knows, gay men."

They were now outside the door and he had to carry the waiting wheelchair to the car. He dumped his jacket on a standing Imogen's head and picked it up while she followed him to the car. He then got both their backpacks and sped away.

Mike fetched a pair of paper pins, bobby pins- which he begged Imogen to give him before she got out of the car- and a plier. What he was going to do with them was a not a mystery.

Switching off his computer, he stuffed the things into his trouser pocket. He dropped his backpack/laptop back on the couch in his office and walked out, locking the door firmly behind him. There was unspoken competition between he and some others under him and he really didn't need any asshole coming in and stealing any of his ideas or jeopardizing anything.

"Uhh Renae, I'm going out for about an hour or so, okay? Watch the office, okay?" He said to his typing secretary with a smile.

"Sure, Mr Dawson," she returned with another dreamy smile and watched him disappear down the corner.

When he left, Renae continued with her work until she had to get up to go to the bathroom.

Mike's boss was coming to talk to Mike but noticed his office was empty and so was his secreatry's station. He smiled, dug into his pocket and fished out a single key like he had been waiting a long time for such moment. And he had indeed.

He slowly opened the glass door and pushed the heavy thing inward, making sure no one could see him and slipped in.

The office was slighly dark due to the closed blind and switched off lights. He didn't do anything to improve the lighting. He found the his way to the desk and sat on the chair. He sighted a cute framed picture of Mike and a teenage girl. He sighed and looked back, noticing that Mike's jacket was propped against the back of the chair. Immediately, he removed it and picked it up. Closing his eyes, he brought the cloth to his nose and took a long sniff. He exhaled with a smile and an airy, "Oh my Dawson! Why do you have to be as dreamy as Jack Dawson?"

Mike exhaled as he watched the house from his car which he packed about a 100 feet from the building.

"Alright, here we go!" he said as he got out of the car and closed the door softly.As he walked towards the house , he tried to remember what he had read on the internet about how to pick locks and how he had done it in college. Hopefully, it was the standard lock.

His hands gripped his left pocket and a million thougths ran thorugh his mind.

What the hell am I doing?

I Should've come at night.

How the hell am I going to find those papers?

Where do I start?

What if I get caught?

He found himself in front of the door, heart pounding. Thankfully no one was passing about. As he brought out the tools he realized his palms were sweaty and shaking. He inserted the bent paper clip into the key hole and used the pliers to get a good grip.

Ten minutes later, there was no positive result, only a broken paper pin and a stuck bobby pin. Tired sweaty and frustrated, he propped his elbow on the handle , which bent and since his weight was resting against the door, it flew open, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Ow!" he got up and rubbed his shoulder. When he understood that the door had been open the whole time,he stood there stunned and stared with a 'huh!'

Still rubbing his arm with an uncertain look on his face, he shut the door slowly and quietly. He looked around, his breath loud against the silence. It hurt him knowing that this was where Imogen lived her whole life. The house looked empty, scarce of furniture.. Just a few chairs and a small TV. Where there was supposed to be a dining table was empty and the kitchen area was void of anything except the built-in cabinets and a small fridge which was on. That was weird since no one had been around for a long period of time. He just assumed that it had been left on by mistake so he decided to switch it off. But when he looked inside the fridge, he was surprised to find there were three cans of beer and a cheap bottle of vodka- half full. Very Strange. But he still continued to believe that it had been there ever since Catherine left.

He really needed to use the toilet but he needed to find those papers. A disturbing thougth at the back of his mind kept running, suspisions of someone lliving in the house.

The next room he reached wasscattered with clothes and shoes in almos every inch. Still quiet, he decided to just commence with what brought him here. But where could he start in all that mess?

The dresser looked inviting,but the first few drawers had nothing but trash in them. However the bottom drawer had a few papers and he decided to look through them just in case but he doubted they were there.

He was just neatly stacking the papers back into the drawer when there was a scream behind him. In fright, he realeased the papers, letting them fall to the ground and quickly turned around, rising from his crouching position.