There’s This Guy

      “Last movie night until May,” I said stretching until my back cracked.

     Karen had been quiet the entire film.  No questions about the characters.  No complaints about the subtext.  Total silence.

     “You ok?”

     There was no mention of my bad French and no complaints about the prominent color theme.

     She shrugged.

     “You aren’t sick or anything are you?”

     “So there’s this guy at work,” she sighed.

     “That’s a good thing, right?”

     “Meh.”

     “But you’re getting back out there.  Getting back in the groove.”

     “I don’t need to be back in the groove.  I’ve been out there.”

     “And?” I asked.

     “And, meh.”  She shrugged her shoulders and slumped a bit.

     “But this guy from work thing?  What about this?  Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

     “I don’t … I don’t really know, yet,” she said swatting away the questions with her hands.  “It’s just a thing.  It doesn’t really matter now that the world’s ending does it?”

     She had stood up and clicked the news app on the TV.  The infection numbers were steadily rising.  Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was in comfy slate gray sweats.

     “What are you going to do?” she asked.

     “Probably go to Mom’s.  Make sure she’s stocked up on supplies.  It’s not horrible.  They haven’t shut the world down yet.  They should, but they haven’t.”  

     I took a deep pull of wine.

     “What about you?”

     “Well, the guy from work is supposed to come over this weekend., but we’ll see.”  She got strangely quiet as soon as she said it.

     I felt the machines flutter.  It must have been written all over my face.

     “You can’t tell Tom,” she pointed at me.

     “Tell Tom what?  There’s currently nothing to tell.”

     “Thank you,” she said giving me a hug.  “Thank you.”

     The hug lasted a little too long.  My heart was beating hard enough that I knew she felt it through my chest. 

     “Deep breath,” I whispered.  She took a deep breath and as she exhaled, I stood to my full height and felt her back crack from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck.

     “I’m going to miss these hugs,” she said still hanging on tight.  “I like this.”  She nuzzled her cheek onto my shoulder.

     “Think of Connie, and Tabitha, and Caitlin,” whispered the machines.

     “I like this, too,” I said slowly breaking the hug. “That’s why it stays this.  Anything else gets messy.  And I don’t want to mess this up.  The friendship comes first.”

     There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

     “You once asked me how someone with such little arms could give such big hugs.”

     “Still haven’t figured that out.”  The machines whirred quietly.

     “That’s because it’s hard to hug somebody at arm’s length.  You have to let them in close enough to feel it.

     “I wish you could see what I see.”  She turned the tv off and dropped the remote on the couch.

     “I do, too.”  I looked in her eyes then turned to the door.

     “Let me know how this ‘guy from work thing’ goes.”  I stepped out the door and down the walkway.

     “Maybe,” I heard her say as I walked to my car.  

     By the time I turned around to wave good-bye, the door was closed and the interior hall light was out.  There was no question about the character.  There was no complaint about the subtext.  Other than the grinding of the machines, there was total silence.

The Push Back Part II

      Brisket, Mac & Cheese was packed with people.  I had a plan.  The process was simple.  Call ahead.  Put in an order.  Pick up the order.  Walk back to work.  Eat that tasty bbq brisket, Mac & cheese, or brisket, mac, cheese & curly fries.  Shut the door to my little office.  Nap for an hour.  Things usually worked out.
     That day was supposed to be a sit down meeting.  Normally you called ahead for a pick up because things were busy.  You always had your pick of places to eat in the restaurant, even on the busy days.  Every once in a while, I would change my mind and just eat in the corner or out on the patio, depending on the season.
     It was still cold out.  You could sit next to the window and watch the people walk by.  You could sit in the pit, the nickname the waitresses came up with for the center of the restaurant. You could also sit at the bar.
     Sitting at the bar was dangerous.  It wasn’t as dangerous as Lakeside or The Yard.  Lakeside and The Yard made the drinks strong all day, every day.
     At BMC it was like the corporation heads had come to the bar and specifically asked them to water down the drinks until after hours.  The days of the three martini lunch were dead … unless you knew the bartender.  Thankfully, I didn’t.
     That day the window seats were taken, the pit was packed, and the bar was barely visible.
     “What’s going on,” I asked the overwhelmed bartender.
     “It’s the Ala Tima Holla conference at the convention center.  It’s been nonstop for the last two days.”
     “Well damn!  Looks like the bills are paid and the food will be on the table this week!”
     “They’re tipping me like I’m one of their sisters,” She said leaning to shout whisper.  “Rent’s paid, too.  What do you need, Hun?”
     “Business lunch.  I’ll take a water for now.  If it falls to shit I’ll take a Jack and coke, a real one.”  I winked and she winked back.  I could always shut the door to my office and nap for an hour.
     The 50” tv above the bar was playing the local news.  The sound was off but that was ok.  The bar was a bit too noisy to listen.  Even though the 10 day forecast looked cheery, the scroll below the screen team kept showing more and more hard numbers of infections.
     A mask had already become part of my daily wear.  I wasn’t paranoid but I did have an 81 year old Mom that I liked to visit on the weekends.
     Chris Kilkirkland was right on time.  We had a solid discussion about open opportunities.
     “Your resume looks great,” he said digging into some tasty pulled pork nachos.  “Sadly, the Hartford location is kind of saturated.”  I felt my heart drop.  The machines were just about to kick into gear.
     “BUT route 8 could use a rep.  You’d pick a home location and then visit the other banks once a week.”  My heart jumped.
     He had a little cough.  I had barely noticed it earlier.  It hadn’t gone away in the 20 - 30 minutes we had been talking.
     “You’d work the whole corridor from Bridgeport to the Berkshires.”  He could see my smile through the mask.
     “Can’t say I’ll miss driving into Hartford every day.”  
     He coughed again.
     “I’m not sick,” he said putting his hands up.  “I promise.”
     Luckily my hands were still a little greasy from the brisket sandwich.  He offered a fist bump and I accepted.
     “I’ll be in touch next week with the paperwork,” he said picking up the bill.  “We’ll go from there.”
     “Once again, thank you.  I’ll keep my eyes open for it.”
     From the bar I watched him walk back to his car.  He had a spot right in front of the plate glass window.
     “How’d it go?” asked the bartender.
     I gave her a brisket covered thumbs up AND a wink.
     “You know what?  I will take that Jack and coke …. A real one.”
     She winked back.
     The process was simple.  I had a plan.  Walk back to work, shut the door to my little office, and nap for an hour.  Things had worked out.