Blind Date

My gal pal Peggy jigsaw puzzled herself against Dan up front while I pinched myself into a corner in back. Plopped my purse between me and him. It was chock-full of supplies because trust me, you never know what you might need when. Especially on a blind date. A Snickers bar, nail file, Pepto-Bismol (for Peggy, not me).  Bayer aspirin, feminine products, change for the phone. Kleenex, Band-Aids, Certs (for Thomas, not me).

            I probably should say something at some point, I figured. So I don't come off as a total witch.  I squirmed inside my seatbelt. Rested my head against the window.
            “Thomas,” I said. “That’s kinda formal. What’s your family call you?”

            He picked at a zit scab inside his ear. “Toe-Joe.”

            I cough-gasped. “Think I’ll stick with Thomas.”

            Peggy twisted to face us. “So, Thomas. What’s in the leather case?”

            Thomas grinned which made his eyes even smaller. He yanked on the strap to draw the mystery into his lap.

            “My dad’s camera. It’s real expensive. He loaned it to me for Photography 101.”

            Peggy cooed. “So you wanna be a photographer?”

            He shrugged. “Just thought it’d be cool to get pictures at the Coliseum since all those people died there during the Who concert.”

            I watched Peggy’s face go funny. Then she made the bark-up-a-hairball noise that usually preceded her hurling.

            Dan reached back and wiggled his fingers. “Beer me, Toe Joe.”

            Peggy’s cheeks puffed out and her chin kept bobbing up and down. I leaned forward and massaged her shoulder.

            “Thomas,” I said loudly. Firmly. “We’re calling him Thomas tonight. Right, Peggy?”

            Thomas pressed a bottle into Dan’s hand.

            “That’s against the law, you know.” I said.

            “Like everyone doesn’t do it,” Thomas said as he opened one for himself.

            An hour later the sun had gone away and so had the beer.

            “Pitch those empties out the window, Toe.”

            I spoke over the roar of the wind rushing in. “So, you’re litterbugs too?”

            Dan chuckled. “Yep. We’re living large. Aren’t we, Toe?”

            “Thomas!” Peggy and I shouted.

            Five minutes later Thomas started having some kind of fit. He twisted this way and that. Bent forward and swept the floor with his hands.

            “Crap!” he said. “Stop the car!”

            Dan squinted at the rearview mirror. “Why?”

            “Turn around, man! I mean it!” Thomas said. “I think I threw my dad’s camera out with the bottles. We gotta go back.”

            Dan spun the car around in the middle of the road. Peggy clutched the grab bar with one hand and slapped her other over her mouth. Dan punched the accelerator and I gulped as the speedometer needle ratcheted toward the radio.

            “Speeding’s against the law too,” I said.

            Ca-clunk!

            “What was that?” Peggy gripped Dan’s arm. “What if— What if it was a cat? Or a—” She blanched under her blush. Started making the clicky hairball elimination noise again.

            I tapped Dan’s shoulder. “Go back,” I said.

            Dan’s eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. “No way.”
            “I’m telling you, turn around.”

            “Why?”
            I fished in my purse. Handed Peggy a baggie and Thomas the pack of tissues.     
            “’Cause that ca-clunk was you running over his daddy’s camera.”

           

Crushed--Part III

“’That you are, Missy.  That you are.’”

            I clasped my hands and rested them on the notebook in my lap.  “The end,” I said.  
            Jake chuckled.  “That was good. Funny.  Now read another one.  Please.”

            I fanned through my stories. “What’re you in the mood for?   Animals? Memories of childhood? Spiritual? Poetry?”

            His eyebrows raised.  “Poetry?”

            “There’s not much, and I’m not sure how good it is, but occasionally one issues forth.”

            Jake looked at the rusted Alfa Romeo, almost consumed with weeds, across the street.  At least, he seemed to.

            “Sad,” he said. “Read me something sad.”
            I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”

            “Yeah.  The saddest thing you’ve got.  I haven’t cried since I don’t know when.”

            My breath wheezed.  Oh, Lord.  Anything but this.  I spread my fingers over my heart.  The place that is so tender toward a man who will weep.  Not loud with nose blowing.  Just a crystalline tear or two bound to commit suicide off a chin.

            “The saddest thing I have is—" I bent toward him. Spoke softly. “Come closer.”

            He leaned. I felt the warmth of him. I imagined it was pulsing so I pulled back a little.

            “Killing Her Softly,” I said. “It’s about Millie’s sister.  When she . . . “

            Jake’s hand swept the area near his feet.  Found Millie’s hind end.  He circled her tail with his thumb and middle finger.  Followed it to its end.

            “Will she be okay?”

            “Millie?  I think so. She’s crashed and besides, she’s—“

“Deaf. Not completely, but almost.”

            “Right,” I said. “Do you have tissues in your bag?”

            “Are you serious?”

            “Oh, yeah,” I said.  “Very.  Plus, I’ve never read this one out loud to anyone.  I might—“

            He fished a little plastic package of Kleenex out of his bag and tucked it under his leg.

            “Okay.  I’m ready.”

            Jake ended up needing three tissues. More for shredding than mopping.  I just kept smoothing and refolding the same one.

            “I can’t believe you read that,” he said.

            I huffed. “You’re the one who asked for it.  Said you wanted to cry.”

            “Well, that should certainly do me for a while,” he said.  He tilted over the side of his chair and groped.  Found a dog leg.  Held it captive until she pulled it away. 
            “Poor Millie.”

            I snorted. “Poor Millie?  She wasn’t there.  It’s more like, poor me.  And poor Joel.”

            I relocated to the grass.  Stretched out.  Put my hat over my face.  Let the sun soak the rest of me. Low humidity.  What a gift.  A rare one in this town in summertime.  Or maybe in any town, in a valley, with a river.

            Jake extended his legs and his foot brushed my side.  I scootched an inch to the right.

“Are you afraid?” Jake said.

            I sat up. My hat fell to the side.  I propped myself on my elbows.

            “What do you mean?” I said. “Am I afraid.  Afraid of what?” How do you know? How can you tell?

            “That you’ll have to do it all over again. With M-i-l-l-i-e.”

            My elbows gave out and I hit the grass. Shoulders then head. I squeezed my eyes shut.  Felt my heart flinch.  When I answered, I could barely hear myself.

            “Yes,” I said. “Very.  For me.  For all of us.  But mostly for Silas.  They sleep together every night now.  Share his pillow. Sometimes they spoon.   It’s so . . . “

            Salt hit my sinuses. I sucked air into my nose.  Spoke in a whisper on the exhale.

            “Terrified.  That's what I am.” I haven’t told anyone that.

            I could tell he, or some part of him, was near.  I peeked through my lashes.  Watched his hand hover.  Felt it land on my shoulder. Shut my eyes again.  Noticed my breath wait,waiting, behind my breastbone. It’s so . . . warm.  Just shy of hot.  Pat, pat, pat. I hesitated, then put mine over his.  Just for a second.  Then I got scared.  Snatched mine back.  Don’t. 

            I scrambled to my feet.  “We should go,” I said. I faced the house.  Cupped my hands around my mouth. “Silas!  Come on.” 

           Jake stood, unsteady then firm.  His eyes, no, probably his ears, searched for me.  His brow furrowed. Are you mad? Hurt?  Probably have no idea what’s wrong with me.  It was hard to watch him peer intently at a car instead of me so I slid my foot in and out of my flipflop, to help him echolocate. 

He adjusted his position. “You don’t have to—“

            Behind him, the screen door slapped.  He startled. 

            I bent to pick up my notebook. “Actually, I do.  I have to start supper.  He has karate tonight.”

            “Tomorrow then?” he said.

            I shook my head slowly.  Like he can see.  “I—We can’t, Jake.” I said. “It’s the weekend.  We do family stuff.” I recognized guilt in my tone.

            Silas came up behind me.  Scooped up Millie’s leash and flicked his wrist.

            “Wake up, girl.  Time to go.” Millie blinked up at us from her camp chair cave.  Her tail struck the ground but made no noise.

            Jake turned in the direction of our voices.  “Okay.  How about Monday then?”

            “We’ll see,” I said.  “I’ll try but . . .”  Be unpredictable. Don’t guarantee anything. Here’s your chance, a brick, for you to build a wall with.

            “Bye, Jake,” I said.  Silas waved.  I caught his forearm.  Pressed it to his side.

            “Thanks,” Jake said. “For coming.  For the stories.”

            Silas and I headed for the street.  “You’re welcome, Jake,” I said. “Have a great weekend.”

            I don’t think he heard.  When I glanced back he was halfway to the house.