Ben pt. 3 - Ben Gets a Call

The cappuccino - Anita didn't really want the foam anyway - fell. When her eyes closed and that dark door inside everyone, way in the back, way down at the bottom of the sightless places opened inside her, Anita's hand relaxed enough to allow the paper coffee cup to slip through her fingers. In the split second the cup fell half-way to the sidewalk, Anita's mouth went slack. When the cup hit the ground, before the coffee splashed her nice business heels, Anita's body was a thousand winking and tingling pin hole stars.

A gust of wind helped the spilling coffee cover both her feet and tore the words from the cabbie's mouth. She looked at him and let out a breath she'd, apparently, been holding.

"Hey, lady! Hey, you okay? You gonna sneeze or somethin'?" She heard him that time.

"Yeah..." she blinked, "I'm fine."

Anita's reflection in the window showed her a different woman this time. Her eyes looked glittery and alive, her bust line sat just right, not quite low enough to be slutty, and the natural pout of her lips made her smile, she liked that smile. She looked and felt sexy. So what?

"Avalon Tower, please?" she seated herself and crossed her legs.

She smiled that smile she liked all the way to her desk. When she saw the clock on her computer she added a chuckle to the smile. She was ten minutes late, and that was okay. She'd enslaved herself to her work for a long time. She was allowed to be late once.

As she settled into her chair she kept expecting the old maid in her head to start going over all the repercussions from signing into her HP desktop ten minutes late. Computer hard drives created permanent records, records that the company monitored. It may take awhile, but in the end this would come back around. The computer, and the reports it generated, were heartless things that turned a blind eye to facts like Anita's impeccable work record thus far. As her programs loaded on her computer she thought, if the computer doesn't care why should I?

----

"Morning Anita," Ben said as he strolled by her desk about forty-five minutes later. "Don't you just look... what's the word, what's the word?" he took a deep breath, expanding his chest, stretching his shirt a little.

"Sanguine, today."

"Good morning Mr. Strass. You've got nothing this morning. At one, you need to be at The Revenue to have lunch with a Mr. Tooki. I've arranged everything for our flight to Japan next week." Anita went through this routine every morning with Ben. Now, he would turn on his heel and walk into his office with a polite Thank You as she smiled at his back.

"Did you say Tooki? My goodness, it's like I'm working with Anime characters. Anyway, we're flying first class I assume, sweetheart."

Whoa, Anita froze along with everything around her. She forgot to breath. One single moment stretched like rubber band. And snapped back.

"Of course, Mr. Strass."

"Ben, please. Anita we've been over this before," then he winked at her and turned on heel. "Thank you, Anita." His office door closed behind him. He stood behind his desk and brought his right thumb up to his lips. He had some other meetings today. Meetings Anita didn't know about. For the last three years Ben held conference calls with some of the world's leaders. Dictators, Kings, Presidents, Prime Ministers: Anita coordinated these and kept Ben on point and on time. Other times Ben made calls on a phone Anita didn't know about. He set up lunch with poor farmers on the weekends. He'd fly them to the city wine and dine them and then take their land at such a low price it's a wonder Ben slept at night.

Today, Ben needed to get in touch with Jack. Jack owned a bar in a dump side of town. Ben was prepared to take the worthless lot off Jack's hands at what Jack would think was a deal. Along with the bar, Ben would slide in rights to all of Jack's land in a nearby rural county. He'd talked to Jack a few times and gleaned that Jack was a sharp guy. He'd be a hard sell, but Ben had negotiated contracts worth exponentially more money. He'd made deals with countries that eased famine, and filled his bank accounts. He'd get the bar and the land. Today, he would seal the deal.

He also intended to talk to Anita. He could think of no reason not to tell her. She'd think it strange that he was interested in farm fields out in the middle of nowhere. But when he explained to her how sometimes you had to follow your gut. When he conveyed to her how strong the gut feeling about this land was, she'd understand. He kept putting it off. She'd look at him and say good morning and he'd see those eyes. Something inside Benjamin Strass stopped him from talking to her. She'd give him her morning summary and walk directly into his office. He couldn't look at her innocent face any longer.

Ben turned and put his left hand down on his desk. He stood with his thumb against his lips and looked at the picture on the wall. He hung that picture himself not long ago. He stood and stared and thought about the farm fields and forgotten patches of forest out in Collin's County.

The phone in his pocket vibrated. As if waking up, Ben shook his head and blinked his eyes. He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the clock before accepting the call. He'd been standing next to his desk for thirty minutes. Nothing this morning, Anita told him. Now the phone, JACK showed on the screen.

"Jack, buddy. How's it going?" Ben said.

"Good, good. Have you thought about the numbers we talked about?" Straight to business. No time for Ben to butter him up with idle yet praising chitchat.

"Yeah, you know, I have been thinking about that. Working some figures," Ben paused for a beat. Jack didn't fill the space with desperate monosyllabic words like: yeah, yeah, yeah. 

"Anyway, listen, why don't I fly you into the city Friday afternoon and we'll do lunch Saturday? We can really get some gears turning on this thing."

"I run a bar. We're open on weekends. How about you tell me whether you like those figures, because they break my heart but I'm a realist."

Damn, this guy was good. Stubborn like one of those pharmaceutical company lawyers. "Okay, okay. I've got to do lunch today at one. I'll call you after. Let you know if the paper work is in the mail or not."

"Good."

Ben would pay what Jack wanted and Jack knew it. Ben could afford it, certainly, but he was a business man. Can't blame him for trying.

Ben pt. 3 - Anita Gets a Coffee

Anita gave a quick glance at herself in the closed rear Taxi window. An almost unrecognizable sigh escaped her, she'd done a good job with the makeup but still, she wasn't satisfied.

“Where to, lady?” the cabbie must not be having the best morning either.

“The Daily Grind, if you could,” Anita replied. The taxi sped away from the curb into the sea of horns.

"Can you wait here a minute while I get a coffee?" she needed a coffee this morning. The burnt thick coffee waiting at the office just wouldn't do. She checked her watch again, plenty of time. As long as Anita was there before the boss she'd be fine. She had to tell him about the calls in the night.

"Fine," the cabbie said. He hocked back a good one and spat on the ground as Anita turned away.

The coffee shop, The Daily Grind, wasn't crowded and the smell of roasting coffee beans filled Anita with a much needed moment of bliss.

"What do ya want?"

She hadn't made it all the way to the counter yet, but James - the mighty name tag declared - spoke loud enough to turn the heads of the few patrons in the shop. Her lips turned down in the way that causes frown lines. Anita coughed into as much smile as she could muster. "I'll have a caramel cappuccino, please."

"Want foam?"

Screw you, James! Just make the damn thing! She sucked that all back in with a sigh and held her breath.

"Well?"

A moment too long, apparently. She really wished he'd quit bouncing on his feet that way. Was that tooth pick rolling from side to side in his mouth really sanitary?

"Sure, thank you," Anita studied the big board behind the counter. She added and re-added her price plus tax, then, systematically, deduced how much cash she had; down to the penny, plus gratuity, of course. Oh, but her hands worked against each other. Why couldn't James just do his job. Probably a felon, best gig he could get. Especially with those eyes.

"Your change. Hey, your change here," he dropped the coins in her hand as if he couldn't wait to be rid of it. That was fine with Anita, she couldn't wait to be rid of him either.

As soon as the door shut behind her a gust of wind assaulted her from the left side. She turned head so that her chin rested on her right shoulder and held her coffee up high, as if in salute. The gust stopped as abruptly as it started. She ran her hands through her hair, mourning the loss of the curl she'd put in it. Matches my eyes now. This thought ceased to exist the moment it was born. From the corner of her eye a section of the corrugated fencing that flanked The Daily Grind caught her attention.

The Daily Grind had yards and yards of chair link interspersed with corrugated sheet metal fencing. No Trespassing, Keep Out, Under Construction: a myriad of signs adorned this fencing, along with all the other blocks around the city that are under construction on a fifty-year plan. Along with signs, these fences were the canvas for urban artists. Graffiti, from the crude amateur scrawling to the talented works of timeless import, covered mile after mile of this surface across the city. Anita passed by these fences on these streets, this street, countless times. When she first moved to the city the graffiti assaulted her. Almost blinding her, the colors and pictures on these fences and walls looked like decay. The rotting of the American dream spelled out here by the low of society. Much like anywhere else - the dirty close on the floor in the bathroom - the surroundings become almost invisible with familiarity. Anita didn't even see the litter in the street drains, the burned out buildings, and the graffiti splattered fencing anymore.

The particular piece that paralyzed her on the sidewalk in front of The Daily Grind was simple: nothing flamboyant here, nothing big and multicolored. In fact, the artist used only a portion of one can of flat black paint. In a stencil square about the size of a standard piece of paper an old fashioned silhouette, left facing, image of a male face stood out against the white wash thrown over previous works.

Anita didn't sway or stagger. She didn't fall to the concrete. She stood stolid in her business style high heels. Her hair swirled slightly around her face. Her eyes closed and darkness came. Dark behind her eyelids, sure, yet darker still behind her eyes. Darker inside her bones, her marrow felt dark like the void of space. From the ends of her hair to the ends of her fingers and toes she was the velvet darkness of a vacuum. Behind her belly button, the soft blackness turned warm. Radiating from her middle, behind the comforting heat, a sensation as if her body had gone to sleep and now tingled with pins and needles. This sensation concentrated with the most intensity in her midsection. There was pleasure in this darkness.

Ben pt. 2 - Anita

"...The recent troop surge back into Iraq is coupled with the bloodiest week since the beginning of the war in 2003. The military is stretched thin and is asking that all news programs encourage their listeners and viewers to volunteer. Also, in Washington, talks of a draft and broadening the rules for hiring private security firms have taken the front seat of political debate. With the election year coming fast and approval ratings at an all time low, politicians across the board are scrambling for a ray of sunshine in these dark times..."

-

Anita Clackson heard Joannie Turmonghastanti reporting from somewhere. She wondered why news casters always seemed to have such unbearable last names as she towel dried her hair and then looked in the mirror. The puffy around her eyes wouldn't do. Anita hung her towel up - on a shower rod, her shower had a curtain. Her fingers tapped the tops of an assortment of medicine cabinet standards: aspirin, Midol, razors, toe-nail clippers, and there, right where she'd put it back, face cream. Anita did not want to go into work, at 100 Avalon Square, with the puffy around her eyes. Her boss expected more of her, of everyone.

She popped the top with her close cropped finger nails. Unpainted, plain, if she had her way her nails would be just a little longer and she'd have a different color for each day of the week. But she didn't mind being plain, she had a good job and good pay. So what, if she was approaching thirty with no husband? So what, if her old baby stuff, a crib, a blankie, an old rattle toy, sat collecting dust in a storage shed out by the freeway? She could bear it and continue saving her money and building a not-so-plain portfolio. Only, the portfolio wasn't doing so hot lately. Export from China had slowed to a trickle, the stock market fell to a new record breaking low and with each deployment of military forces to some corner of the globe, the deficit went up. Anita's finances were hanging in there, she had put a large portion of her money directly into Avalon Inc. Soon to be the only stock that saw gains of any kind. So what, if she didnt' have anyone to share this with? So what? 

She overrode the loud farting sound the face cream bottle made when she squeezed it, AHHH! Her shout bouncing back at her from the slightly discolored shower tiles sounded like someone else. Anita never yelled or threw things. She threw the empty bottle now. What's wrong with me? she thought, Just what the heck is wrong with me? It must be the lack of sleep from the night before.

All night her Black Berry rattled against the top of her night stand. She set it on vibrate, a naturally light sleeper, Anita knew she would hear the rattle if someone tried to call the direct office line at the top floor of Avalon Tower. Few calls came through that line during business hours, an ensemble of automated, 'speak your selection' menus and a slew of secretaries stood in the middle ground between the phone on Anita's desk and the phone some impatient person pressed firmly against their ear on the other end. But there was a number, one number that dialed straight into her phone. Her boss didn't give this number out, he had no family to speak of, no wife or serious girlfriend - kind of like me, Anita thought sometimes. Anita synced her Black Berry with her desk phone so that after business hours, when the computer voice stopped asking questions and gave a simple directive - TRY YOUR CALL AGAIN DURING BUSINESS HOURS - whoever might dial directly to her desk could reach her through her cell. The only time it rang after hours was when her boss called to tell her about some big to-do the next day. Some meeting they'd be flying across the globe to. And he never called to ask her how she felt about it, never asked if she wanted to go, only to tell her what color suit she should wear, or how she should fix her hair. He was so cold, almost robotic, but Anita adored his ability to soak up everything around him, his unfailing optimism. Not optimism in a future for Anita - she'd stay as long as she was useful - but optimism in the big picture. Anita tried to follow suit, although, this morning Anita didn't feel optimistic at all. Those damn phone calls.

Each time she got to the phone and looked at the number, the vibrating ceased. She didn't recognize the number and they, whoever, didn't leave a message. Wrong number, was her first thought, but after the third intrusion on her feather weight sleep she wasn't so sure. Maybe it's him, but that was just her, that was just Anita being overly optimistic. No, no, it wasn't him. 'He' never called her, not just her boss, any 'he'. Anita had no knight on a white horse ringing her bell spouting poetry. She knew it wasn't her boss, but a quick Google search of the area code confirmed the notion. The number was from some speck-in-the-road town in the south: Sowell Pike.

The name tickled in the back of her head. She pushed it away along with the big comforter and got out of bed. The sun hadn't come up yet, but she could see that storm that threatened to move in out of the west. She could see the infected mucus colored sky just starting to lighten. None of the news stations (what else were there, nowadays every station was news) reported anything about the weather. Sure the meteorologists would spit out highs and lows, any mention of rain gripped a portion of the viewing area, where as it infuriated the other portion. Anita pushed all that aside with her sleep clothes and took a shower.

Now, with the empty bottle of face cream in her hand and the puffy all over her face, her angry outburst dieing in the little bathroom, Anita began to cry.

Ben pt. 1 - Don't Worry

Soaked in cold sweat, Ben tossed and turned in his enormous bed. He rolled this way and that until the moist silk sheets tangled around him in a coccoon like embrace. His salt and pepper hair matted at the back of his head. When he became sufficiently wrapped, like a restless child on the operating table, he stilled. Only his eyes under his closed lids moved, back and forth, back and forth, almost as if they wanted to continue the chaotic bed sheet dance a little longer. Ben's muscular body, curled in a fetal position, suddenly went erect. Or tried to. The sheets snapped taut and his well manicured toe nails made deffinate lines where his feet tried to point at the foot of the bed. Had they been inexpensive discount cotton sheets, Ben would have ripped through them like the Incredible Hulk growing out of his normal sized clothes. But these sheets were top shelf, these sheets were imported, and these sheets held against his straining body.

His blue eyes snapped open the same moment his body tensed. He tasted blood in his mouth, probably got the inside of his cheek when his teeth came together with a click. Ben was greatful, though, the nightmare had ended.

Before the water rinsed the night sweat from his body the nightmare was long gone. In fact, he never remembered dreams, pleasant or not. Ben wasn't one to go about having his palm read or gazing into crystal balls. Ben had made his money through good old math. He excelled in Statistics and Economics in college and put what he learned to lucrative use, even before his third year. By the time he had his degree he had amassed enough money to dabble in the rocky soil of venture capitalism. A lot of people lost their ass shelling out large sums of money or credit to help a fledgling idea become half as succesful as Yahoo! Not Ben, Ben didn't gamble, Ben studied and calculated and never put down a dime without the garuntee of ten million in return. And it worked. It worked so well he didn't need his stunning good looks to fill the empty side of his bed, he didn't need credit cards to buy those imported silk sheets or to stand in a shower that had mood lighting and needed no door, no curtain - it was really that big.

He dried himself and put on his robe. The coffee pot would be done and he needed some of the special exotic brew - stuff that would make Starbucks patrons weep at the price. He'd never been afflicted with chronic hangovers, he didn't have a perscription for Ambien and he only needed, at most, six hours of sleep to feel refreshed and reenergized. All that changed when the nightmares started. He didn't remember them but when he woke with the feeling that he'd been hit by a Mac truck, well, he knew something was going on.

Sitting at his marble counter, Ben sipped his coffee and stared out the window above the sink. Two birds sat on a power line. They flipped and flapped against the wind. Ben was sure they were chirpping at each other although he couldn't hear them through his top-of-the-line energy saving multi-pane windows. He thought idly about how birds always made happy sounds. Birds only made sweet music, no death dirge, no funeral hyme, no achy-breaky heart. He was positive they were singing in the morning with love ballads, shakespearian sonnet songs.

Under the yellow sky - it was yellow all the time now, except when the sun was low, either rising or setting, then it was a yellow that burned - the birds sang but didn't fly. They hadn't risen from their pirch in three days. Somehow, they made sugar coated songs in their misery.

He got up from his seat and set the coffee cup in the sink. One of the birds, Don't Worry as Ben had named the one on the left (the bird on the right, of course, named Be Happy), fell from its pirch.

Despite the nightmare and the declining stocks, his dwindling portfolio, and now the bird - Don't Worry - lying dead under the worsening sky, Ben wasn't worried. Not one bit.

Perhaps he should have been.

Sherry's Soda Fountain - Afterward - Secrets

Oh yes, the secrets. I thought I had gotten out from under that one. Well, I suppose, a promise is a promise and I'm a man of my word. Although, I've promised myself time and time again to put these coffin nails down. As you can see I haven't lived up to that one yet. Easy as pie to start, damn near impossible to stop.

Margret and I were nearly inseparable that spring and summer. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together and brought in the New Year holding hands. The trials and tribulations of an awkward young person in High School faded and were over run with the sweetness of her hearted exclamations in notes passed during class. The anticipation of walking home together made the day bearable.

We were in love. Strong and determined, the adults would dismiss our flowery professions as 'puppy love'. The more roughened the grown up the more contemptuous the dismissal. Some would even say we didn't know the first thing about love. But I tell you we did. The word and emotion evolves and changes with age, nonetheless we did love each other. We loved each other with all the passion and innocence of youth. Maybe, our love was of the purest sorts.

I never hounded her for more than she was willing to give. The sweet, close-mouthed, pecks on the lips or the cheek, holding hands and walking down the street were fine, they were just right and just enough. Though, we did get older, memories are static, frozen like a picture but the present keeps moving and so did we.

When we brought in our third New Year together our bodies were in full swing and the chemicals in our brains were working an exhausting amount of overtime. I will never forget the way our eyes met, that was the best part, some may scoff at that - don't listen to them. The act itself was bitter sweet - I won't say it wasn't beautiful - it was terrifying and nerve wracking at the same time. The best part was the way she looked at me. Our love for each other was a tangible thing that night. It had substance, it passed between us, not under the sheets young man, between her eyes and mine. The same as it did that long ago day outside Sherry's Soda Fountain.

For those few minutes the world was ours. Happiness without end, forever and ever. Happiness does end, maybe at the same place that secrets start. I don't talk about this, it's painful, see. I've never told anyone about this, I suppose the time has come that I did.

Not long after that New Years, Margret's parents sent her away. The secret shared between Margret and I became apparent to her mother and father. They called down to my mother and father. Then they came over - without Margret. I was told to sit away from the table with my chair against the wall. Watch and don't make a sound, my father said. And I did, they talked and said horrible things about me, I kept silent. Then the talk turned to the things nightmares are made of.

Margret's father said she would be leaving the state to stay with her Uncle, forever. The word echoed in my head and my heart stopped cold. My paralysis broke, I stood up and shouted, YOU CAN'T DO TH-

And then my father knocked me out. We have a fight, no, he stood and turned and I was on the floor. I suppose I deserved it. The worst, perhaps most cruel, punishment was that I never saw Margret again. I was scarred and the scar hurt badly for years. I kept it together for the most part, though. There are times in life when you have to reserve the pain, hold it back, until late at night when you're alone in bed, the rest of the day in the sunlight you just have to bite it back and go about your business. And I did.

I received one letter from Margret, and only one. I've not seen her or heard from her since and that's okay. The memory of that split second peck on the lips is enough for me. I still have the letter, forgive me but I can't read it or tell you what it says. It pains me deeply to even mention it. I will let you read, though, if you wish. See, I'm old now and the world is burning out there and I have raised no children. Maybe I will live on in your memories, maybe not.

Here, here's the letter. There are no copies so be careful with it. When you are done leave it there, by the bookcase. I must go lay down now, I'm tired and old and I've told all I can.

Dearest,

I'm sorry I haven't written you or called. Not a day has gone by that you are not in my thoughts. I love you more than I can express in a letter. Uncle Tim says often that he would like to put you down like a lame animal, I tell him not to upset me, for the baby's sake. He goes out to the barn and busies himself with work until after my light is out. Some nights I hear him slamming the door when he comes in. Don't worry, Uncle Tim won't do any such thing. Aunt Bev says he's just upset about it and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Speaking of Aunt Bev, she's told me that once the baby comes it'll - she! it's a baby girl! - go for adoption. I don't know how I feel about that. I always dreamed about us having a family, yet, it doesn't look like that will happen. Not this time, not ever. Please, don't hate me, you will always be at the very center of my heart. Know that I will always, always love you. But I won't ever be able to come back to Sowell Pike. I think, I think it's best if we keep each other alive in our hearts with our memories. I will always love you, I only ask that you don't hate me for this. Please, don't try to come here. A clean break heals the best.

I won't get to name the baby but after the Dr. said it would be a girl I can't help but think of names.

I like Evelyn, or maybe just Eve.

With love, forever and ever,

Margret



Jacob set the water spotted (or was it tear spotted) letter down and sniffed back a lump in his throat. The house was silent. He got up and walked to the back of the old man's place meaning to tell him Thank you. Jacob wasn't sure what exactly he was thanking the old man for but he felt it appropriate. When he got back to the bedroom door, he stopped and decided not to knock. The quiet turned him around, he didn't think he even heard the old man breathing. Surely he was just sleeping and hadn't started sawing logs yet, surely.

Jacob went out the front door and eased it closed behind him. He didn't want to wake the old man up - he was just sleeping, right? He headed West, toward the thunderheads. Without a thought in his head as to why he was going that way.

Sherry's Soda Fountain pt. 4

No, no, no! Sit, please, I'm almost finished. I need to tell this, see, I'm old now and I don't expect many visitors. What, with the diseased cancerous sky overhead and the storms out West. Can't even watch the plastic people on TV anymore. The mail doesn't run and if it did, I don't know anyone to send a letter. All my friends, family, they're all dead. But that's not the point, the point is the magic. I'm just getting to that, the magic and the secrets. Everyone has secrets, anyone who says different is pulling your leg. So please, sit and hear me out, it won't take long...

-----------------------------------

Of course, when I left school and made my way home I was floating. In like a lion, out like a lamb. The day started terribly, as terrible as any day of my life and then, in last period, I waited and waited for the bell to ring and class to be let out. I didn't think it would. When it did my heart leaped into my throat and now I'm terrified. Terrified that this was all just another joke, or another part of the same joke. My hands were sweaty - the ink on the note was surely running by now - and my steps were awkward. I didn't worry about the note, I had it memorized:

Meet me at Sherry's after school

ok!

Margret

I felt like an out of control see-saw, nervous and euphoric by turns.

Now, I walked down that sidewalk, my feet picking up and setting down one-in-front-of-the-other by their own power. I was floating down the sidewalk. There it is, Sherry's Soda Fountain. I'd never been in there, my parents wouldn't take me because of the 'bad crowd' and I couldn't bring myself to step foot in the place because of her. Margret owned the place and she owned my heart and I could never go in there, ever.

I stood across the street looking in through the windows. Or, I tried to, rather. The sun was doing something funny, it turned the big window into a big mirror. I caught a glimpse of myself and wave upon wave of doubt rolled over me. I loosened my hand that held the note, I had to be sure. The ink had run with my sweat but the note was still fairly legible. I hadn't remember wrong or invented anything. The exclamation point was still dotted with a bubbled heart, that was all I needed.

My chest filled with air and when my lungs started burning, I let out the breath I'd held and crossed the street.

What if she's not there? What if Rob's in there?

Oh, the horror. In the few moments it took me to cross the street, my mind ran through a thousand possibilities. None of them good.

I opened the door, the little bell that hung there jingled and I damn near jumped out of my skin. It could have been a gunshot, I would have reacted the same.

There she sat. Margret, who I cherished and loved in the way only the young can. The girl of my dreams sat at the counter on a little stool. The kind that swiveled and sat high up off the floor. Her legs - the most beautiful legs god ever created - swung back and forth above the floor. After I'd gained my composure and the jingling bell came to rest she turned. The stool swiveled around so now her back was to the counter and she looked right at me. A part of me turned on heel and fled, instantly. I ran and ran until my heart exploded and I fell dead on the ground some hundreds of miles away. But only a part of me, the rest stayed right where it was: inside Sherry's Soda Fountain, ignored by most of those around me. Most save one, Margret.

She looked at me and I looked back. The few seconds stretched on and on, then she smiled. Not just with her mouth, Margret smiled with her whole face, eyes mostly. She waved me over to the empty stool next to her and I went. Despite all the nerves telling me to catch up with that part that was halfway around the world by now, I sat next to her. I'm sure we talked, we must have, but I can't remember a single word she said that day. Only the way the sun played with her hair, the silver bracelet around her wrist, the sound of her laugh. Mostly - and this is the magic of it - the thing that has travelled through time with me, the way we parted that day. It only took half a second, if that.

We stood outside the door of Sherry's Soda Fountain looking at each other. Both of us wearing big silly smiles. I remember a cloud dimming the sun from my eyes and then the most wonderful thing happened. The most magical moment of any young man's life.

She tilted her head and went on tiptoes and she kissed me. Not one of those full-on, make-out kisses, no. She kissed me so sweetly, just a peck on the lips. Yet, that peck on the lips has maintained itself for - what? - four, five, six decades. It's hard to tell anymore, calendars don't make much sense when you look at them these days.

What I'm telling you is that if you ever like a girl and she grants you that brief moment of complete bliss, don't you forget it. Don't you hound her for more or screw it up. Just let it be what it is, forever and ever. A first kiss, a slice of beauty and magic that no one can take from you. As the hardships of life come down on your back you hold onto that memory like a life raft in the middle of the ocean.

Sherry's Soda Fountain pt. 3

I see I haven't bored you to death. You're still here, that's great. I apologize for the wait. I had to move some things around. See, I know my cat and when Scruffy left off harassing you I knew she'd be unhappy with the boxes piled on her bed. Now that's taken care of, where was I?

Oh, yes. In the lunch room on the worst day of my life. That's right...

--------------------------------------------

Of course the first torment, the public humiliation, just scratched the surface of what came next. I've seen the movies and read the books and I knew that Rob wouldn't win the day. I knew that. My affection for Margret would blossom a cape on my back and my muscles would pop like Popeye's. I would show Rob and the rest of them just how serious I was and how capable these arm cannons were. But I was seriously mistaken.

I had the crumpled dollar bills in my hand and in the blink of an eye they were gone. Almost like magic, my finger nails suddenly dug into my palm instead of clutching the money I had saved.

Poof!

Rob had the money now. Oh, the injustice of it. And it seemed to me that the whole lunch room erupted in laughter. Directed at me, these verbal assaults left no visible wounds, yet, they hurt. They hurt deeper than bruises and lasted longer than scars.

I could feel myself getting bigger. Each passing second granted me another inch in height and soon I would smote them down. I lunged at Rob. I could see the moves flowing through me, I could best Bruce Lee in that moment. I took the money back and held the bully down until the proper authorities arrived to put this menace where he belonged. At the bottom of a well wouldn't be lonely enough, not for Rob. Nothing went that way at all.

I lunged, sure, straight for him. But he was quick, like the money in my hand, Rob was there and...

Poof!

... he was gone. So were the cape and muscles and height I'd gained. I felt like a cartoon character deflating. I was puny again and he - everyone - was larger than life, cooler than cool.

He was at me, now, with the new ammo I'd so willingly provided him. "Soooo, he's got money and brains! Hahahaha," I believe he would have doubled over and joined me on the floor. If he hadn't been busy punching my sides. My vision blanked, my ears rang with the laughter from all around me. I knew, absolutely knew, that Margret was in that number. She liked to laugh and she was doubled over on the floor by the windows, book forgotten, pumping her fists and feet against the cold tiles. I knew that was happening and I felt like I was dieing a slow death.

After what seemed like the whole school day had gone by with Rob on my chest and his fists in my sides and the entire student body cheering him on, the beating stopped. Rough hands, big hands, were under my arm pits hoisting me up. The laughter and catcalls melted into the regular din of a lunch room full of kids. I could still hear Margret over by the windows slapping the smooth tiles of the floor with her palms, laughing and laughing. She was laughing at me.

"Come on, boy," the rough deep voice must belong to the big rough hands, "you're going to the office!"

My nose felt packed with gauze and I snuffed back against it. I felt wet on my face, I had been crying. My eyes blinked open and the shadowy shape-filled world around me came into focus. As my eyes cleared, my ears turned the volume knob down a notch or two.

The man carrying me - Mr. Phelps, math, gross - shocked me back with his emphasis on 'office', as if I had been the guilty party. Now the office, the lunch room, everything got the volume turned down to 0.

Margret!

Where was Margret? I wanted desperately to see her laughing on the floor, laughing at me. I wanted that so I didn't have to dream about the stupid soda fountain and how stupidly out of place it was. I needed to see her in her disgusting hateful place with the rest of the hateful disgusting kids.

At first I didn't see her, probably in the bathroom dabbing her eyes. But then, the bright sun coming through the windows dimmed as my eyes adjusted. A lone silhouette stood out against the bright, there she was, right where she had been, what seemed like, hours ago when I was going to buy her breakfast.

I couldn't read her face. My eyes adjusted some more, the smirk I expected to see wasn't there. I couldn't tell exactly what was there but, she wasn't laughing and she wasn't happy. I knew that. She was what? Concerned? Maybe, but now I was out of the lunch room and through the double doors and into the hall. The bell for first period rang and I wondered if I would get in trouble for being late. Of course, I wasn't going to first period. I was going to the 'office'.

"Quit sniffling like a baby," Mr. Phelps said. "Rob told me everything that happened. You'll be lucky to get off with detention."

-----------------------------------------------

Oh, the injustice. I put my head down and fell into my sorrow and shame. You see, don't you? Rob told them I started it, trying to take his money. It was only the superior wrestling skills our own Mr. Fox taught Rob that kept him from getting beaten up and his money stolen. Yeah, right. I was the puniest kid to grace those halls, ever. Yet, my head stayed down until later that day when I opened my desk in last period. Not only did my head pull itself out of the tar of shame, a smile touched my face.