This morning, I was walking to church and saw a note attached to a styrofoam Starbucks cup with some tea bags hanging down. The note read, "John- I found your passport. Give me a call, 602-358-4274." It was such an important message but left so innocuously, it made me wonder. What could the situation possibly have been behind this note? I made a resolution to try and get a novel done by the end of the year, but this seemed like the perfect prompt for a short story. So here goes-
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There's nothing like mid-January in the Northeast to sap your energy. You see discarded Christmas trees littering parking lots, icicles clinging to cars that are practically colorless, covered with sand, salt and whatever else is dumped on the roads to keep traffic moving. It's a desolate scene when you look out the window, but inside, attitudes still have the peripheral warmth of the holidays. John looks up from his computer to glance at the clock.

"I gotta get going soon. It's almost 3."
"You'll be fine John, just print your boarding pass and we'll head out in a minute," his girlfriend Maria responds.
"Dammit, it's an international flight, you know that's not possible. Especially with all this underwear-bomber ridiculousness. They're gonna take as long as possible to let me through security. Who schedules a meeting in Jordan anyway?"

The stress of a State Department relationship always seems to arise unexpectedly. You realize when you're given the opportunity, that it's not an ordinary position, and since it's something you've worked toward your whole life, it's a given that that you will accept whatever position you are offered. Who knew Maria would have such a hard time finishing her degree. The planned move to a job in Costa Rica had to be postponed so Maria could finish her Master's of Public Policy. I agreed to delay my assignment for a few months, but Maria's advisor kept pushing back her thesis defense to squeeze a few more hours from his last remaining student. Not that it was entirely out of Maria's hands, but she had also been dragging her feet in finishing up. So now, the Costa Rica spot is gone, and the only available opportunity is in Jordan. Amman it is. Who could say no?

"Did you see the pictures from the trip?" Maria called. "They came out great. I keep saying this, but I just wish we could freeze time as easily as it is to do with a camera. Oh... did you get your tea leaves from the kettle?"
"Mmmph."
"What?"
"Mmm... yeah, great pictures. Tea? I already have a mug. OK, let's go. I don't want to be late."

John and Maria pile John's things into the car, pull away from the coveted townhouse parking space, and pull out slowly. The hybrid electric car is eerily quiet as the electric engine powers the car completely from zero to ten miles an hour. Only the crunching gravel and browned pine needles crunch loud enough to let you know that the car is actually moving. It will be ten months before John can return again to the States. There are so many things left unsaid in the car, it almost seems necessary to roll the windows down to relieve some of the anxiety.

"Why did you did it?" John asks.
"The tea leaves? I thought they were old enough to throw out." Maria responds. Why does she do this? John thinks. She knows exactly what I'm talking about.
"Not the tea leaves. The passport. Why did you take my passport?" John wasn't going to ask the full question right away. It was already stressful enough.
"I... I didn't want you to go. I walked by your bag yesterday and saw it sticking out. I don't know, I just had it in my hands before I realized. Flipping through all of the pages, reliving our vacations through the stamps of customs agents. It was like a photo album. I couldn't let go of it."
"Most people would just put it back in the bag at that point."
"I know! I thought I would take it for a while and then put it back. I walked away after putting it in my purse. And then... I went for a walk. Around the new waterfront area. You know that new place that sells the fudge? I was walking up and down the sidewalk, thinking how I could make the last few hours with you manageable..."

John sighed. Maria was not taking this time apart well at all. But what could he do? There's no way he can request another post now. Damn Jordan. If it was some place he actually wanted to be, he could deal with it. But Jordan? The only ally the US has in that area. Doesn't mean the people there like us there any more. Why does the US care if a bunch of Israeli diplomats just avoided a terrorist attack. Any little event and the government gets scared. What kind of a place is that?

"I could go for some fudge right now. Man, that's one of the things I know I'll miss. That mess won't last in the desert."
"John..."
"I know, I know. So what happened?"
"I kept walking and walking... getting angrier and angrier. I needed a tissue and opened my purse. And that's when it happened. I saw the passport. I saw the flag on the pier. I hated it. I hated our country, thinking we could go anywhere, and do whatever. I hated watch lists and clearance lists and visa lists that wouldn't let me spend a whole ten months you. I hated my advisor and his incapacity to meet a deadline. And before I knew it, the passport was in the water. I..." Maria isn't even focusing on the road anymore. Why was she driving in the first place?

"Jesus. So that was your plan? Throw it in the water and hope everything flushes away into some oceanic drain? Why didn't you tell me you lost it? Why are we even driving to the airport? What's your plan now?" John can't believe what he's hearing. Maria told him the passport was in the car, but that she had ripped a few pages out. It didn't seem like a big deal, but now he knew exactly how tortured Maria had been the past few hours. "Get off here. Maria, get off the highway."

"What? We can ask the TSA at the airport... we can show them your license and your visa and... and..."
"Get. Off. Here."

Maria pulls off I-66 and eases to a stop. The same eerie green-policy-induced silence. You never thought the sound of an engine could have been missed so much.
"Drop me off at Matt's. It's right up this hill."
"John, we can..."
"Maria, do you know what this holdup is going to do to me? To my job? To the damn State Department? We switched from buying refundable tickets last week. And now, whatever travel changes come out of our own pocket. It's going to be 2, 3 thousand. NNgghh... I don't even care about the ticket. I'm done. My first assignment, and I can't even leave the damn country."
"John, don't go."
"I'll see you Maria. Drive safe." John gets out of the car and glances at the Hickory Muse sign identifying the complex of condos. I wonder how much the home-owners association paid for that, John wonders absent-mindedly. Matt opens the door and the two disappear.

Maria is in shock. She never intended any of this. She glances at the bag in the back and wonders when John will miss most of his things. She knows she can only hope for his call.

But there may be a chance.

"What if?..." She wonders aloud. Before she realizes it, she has turned around, floored it back to the highway and is looking for a parking spot by the harbor.

A few hours later, after repeatedly banging on the door and ringing the doorbell at Matt's place, she is too exhausted and soaked to attempt further contact. She hastily writes a note, wondering if John even knows her number by heart with all the stuff he has going through his head for work. She places the note on top of a cup of his favorite tea and pulls away, with only the grunge of month-old snow and ice providing the soundtrack of her exit.

"John- I found your passport. Give me a call, 602-358-4274."