Finding Parker

by Scott Hildreth

  “Well, kind of. We’ll see what happens. I may bring her here to meet Kenton if things go well between us. I’m still somewhat embarrassed about how things went with Katelyn. I suppose I’ll wait and see how things go with this one,” I responded.

  The thought of Victoria made me smile slightly.

  “Well, if you’re going to take her out on an actual date, you really don’t have a choice. Eventually, Kenton has to meet her,” he turned from facing the ocean and looked at me as if confused.

  “What do you mean, I don’t have a choice?” I asked, puzzled at his statement.

  “Mr. Bale, I recommend you read the contract. Entirely,” he responded.

  Based on that particular statement and a few which preceded it, I knew there was one thing I needed to do, and do very well.

  I needed to read the contract.

  VICTORIA. “As soon as you’re done with the onions, peel the tomatoes, they’re ready. We need to have everything for the bisque done this afternoon, we’re serving it tonight,” Tony stood in front of me, his hands on his hips as he shook his head.

  “I know we’re short staffed, but I can get it done, don’t worry,” I responded, my eyes fixed on the onions scattered over the prep table.

  “Stop talking and start chopping,” he said as he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

  Angelina’s is the only kitchen I have ever worked in, and I would like to think other restaurants have a more understanding staff to work with. Here, almost every weekend, someone doesn’t make it to work. Typically, it was Tony’s nephew. I never miss a day of work, so inevitably I work harder, later, and under more scrutiny than most of the kitchen employees here.

  I find it frustrating, but there isn’t a lot I can do to change it. More than anything I want to open my own restaurant, and someday witness people enjoying the foods that I design, prepare, and serve. Today, this is nothing short of a dream. Today, I must do what I am asked, and do it without arguing or complaining. Today I need my job, my paycheck, and the experience.

  “I’ll have everything done in an hour, Tony. Don’t worry,” I smiled as I looked up from the onion I held in my left hand.

  “Stop fucking talking and start fucking chopping. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. You better be done Vicky,” he said as he turned and walked away.

  ‘Yes sir,” I responded.

  I hated being called Vicky. Tony was the only person who ever did it with any regularity. He said it was too difficult to say Victoria, and Vicky took less time and effort. To me, calling me Vicky was no different than calling me Lisa. It wasn’t my name.

  In addition to daydreaming about having my own restaurant, I often dreamed of walking into the kitchen and telling Tony to go fuck his self. Maybe tossing a handful of onions across the kitchen, kicking one of the half a dozen plastic buckets that littered the floor, and screaming a few choice words on my way out.

  The fact of the matter was that I would work at Angelina’s as long as they would employ me, and do whatever they asked of me. Ten dollars an hour wasn’t much money for someone my age, but it was all I could expect to earn at an entry level position in a kitchen. Working my way up the ladder here was probably nothing more than a dream. For now I needed the dream to provide me with the devotion and dedication to continue.

  For now, I needed the income. Without it I would be incapable of taking care of my mother. For now, I am all that she has. I suppose she is all that I have as well. We need each other, and I need this job. As I began to peel the tomatoes, I thought of Parker and his fabulous smile.

  The way he dressed.

  How he smelled.

  He seemed so down to earth. To find someone as charming and attractive as he was and have that person possess one ounce of humility was almost impossible, at least in southern California. Being humble wasn’t on a list of character traits that most men attempted to achieve in San Diego. Being an arrogant asshole was. Parker seemed well grounded and intelligent. Parker seemed like the type of man who would stay in a relationship and remain devoted to his woman.

  As I scooped the tomatoes across the prep table and into the stainless steel pot, I smiled. The thought of Parker was fulfilling, and although he was beyond what I could describe as attractive in both appearance and stature, eventually he would do what all men do.

  He would leave.

  “You get done with those tomatoes?” Tony barked as he walked into the kitchen.

  “Yes sir,” I responded, “I just finished.”

  He turned his wrist and looked down at his watch. Slowly, he turned and walked toward the metal rack on the wall that held our timecards. After removing my time card from the rack, he studied it for a moment, and turned to face me.

  “Paulie is on his way in. Go ahead and get out of here. We’ll get it from here,” he said as he slid my timecard into the time clock and pressed the button.

  “I was really hoping for some overtime. I’m willing to stay all day.”

  “You’re hoping for it, and I’m not willing to pay it. I’d suggest getting gone, you’re off the clock, Vicky,” he said as he dropped my timecard into the empty slot.

  “Yes sir.”

  As I walked to my car, I heard a faint sound from my purse. Although the noise wasn’t a familiar one for me, I certainly recognized it. My phone beeped, indicating a text message had been received. A typical twenty-three year old probably received a hundred text messages a day. I, on the other hand, haven’t received a hundred text messages in my entire life. There weren’t half a dozen people who had my phone number, and of those who did have it, one of them may have the ability to text me.

  One.

  Parker Bale.

  I leaned against the car and removed my purse from my bag. Pressing on the text message icon revealed several text messages from an unfamiliar number. Excitedly, I pressed the screen with my thumb, opening the first message.

  Victoria, this is Parker. There was once a girl in my life I was fond of, and I didn’t tell her until it was too late. Before I developed enough courage to speak, she had a boyfriend. Disgusted, I sat through my classes in high school and

  The length of the message was such that it was separated into several small messages. Excited to continue, I fumbled to press the next message and continue.

  was forced to watch as she and her new boyfriend flirted and walked the hallways hand in hand. I told myself the next time I was fond of a girl, I would tell her promptly. I realize you’re busy with work and your mother, but I would be

  Again, the message ended. Smiling from ear to ear, I pressed the screen, revealing the next message.

  grateful if you could find the time to meet me for another cup of coffee or something similar. With a warm heart and a cheesy grin, I can assure you of one thing. Victoria, I am fond of you.

  I stood and stared at my phone. Victoria, I am fond of you. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. Without much thought, I pressed my thumb into the reply window of the open message, and typed a response.

  How about now?

  I pressed send.

  I scrolled to the first message and began reading from the beginning again. Something about listening to Parker speak was satisfying, and this message was no exception. After reading through the message entirely twice, I dropped my phone into my purse, smiled, and opened the car door.

  Standing with the car door open, I turned and looked through the parking lot. I don’t really know what I was expecting to see, but the lot was as I would have imagined it to be at noon on a Saturday.

  Empty.

  I lowered myself into the seat and fumbled with the keys. As I attempted to get the keys into the ignition, it became apparent just how excited I was. I looked down and watched the key shook in my hand. As I rolled my eyes and thought again of the message, my phone beeped.

  Like a hormone filled teen exposed to her first case of puppy love, I snatched my phone from my purse and swiped the screen with my thumb. From the same number, I had receiv
ed another message. Above all of the others, and unread, it wasn’t necessary for me to open the message to read it. Both typed words the new text message contained were visible on the screen. I grinned and pressed the message anyway.

  Splendid. Where?

  After glancing at my watch, I realized it was time for lunch. Additionally, although I had planned on working all day and night, Tony had just relieved me of my duties for the day, leaving my schedule open. My mother sitting at home with a fresh bottle of OxyContin eliminated the need for my immediate return. In most senses, I was free for the day; a rare occurrence indeed.

  Caught up in the thrill of the entire text messaging event, I typed a response before I had time to really think about it. Generally speaking, I wouldn’t go with a man anywhere, especially with one that expressed an emotional attachment to me. My life, my lifestyle, and my lack of faith in the male species prevented me from really ever doing anything with a man. Nonetheless, I pressed send without thinking. I looked down at the message I had sent and waited.

  Want to grab a bite to eat?

  Instantly, the phone beeped. I pressed the unread message, opening it, and looked at the screen.

  I’ll meet you at Antonelli’s Deli on Magnolia in fifteen minutes. Sound good?

  Fifteen minutes in Saturday’s traffic was entirely possible. I pressed the clutch pedal to the floor and turned the ignition. With a little luck and a slight nervous bite into my lower lip, the car started. As the engine warmed up, I typed a message to Parker.

  Yes.

  I pressed send, and grinned at the thought of meeting Parker for lunch. Holding the clutch to the floor, I pushed the gear shifter forward. As usual, the gears made a grinding sound as I pressed the shifter into gear. With self-taught precision, I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and released the clutch, sending the car lurching forward.

  I needed to try to get there before he did. I really didn’t want him to see what I was driving. It was embarrassing enough for me to look at; I couldn’t fathom someone else actually seeing it. As I weaved my way through traffic, my mouth watered at the thought of Antonelli’s Veggie Sub.

  And seeing Parker.

  PARKER. I don’t suppose I will ever really know if my elevated level of excitement was a result of meeting a woman in general, specifically meeting Victoria, or in part because of a feeling most people typically mistake as love and later attribute to fate. I did, however, know one thing for sure.

  The sandwich I was eating wasn’t helping matters.

  “Holy crap,” the words escaped before I had a chance to think about what I was saying and where I was.

  Victoria looked across the table and grinned as she shook her head. Holding her veggie sub firmly in her hands, she opened wide and forced two more inches of the overstuffed sub into her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, but this sandwich is beyond fabulous,” I apologized after I swallowed the bite I was chewing.

  “I’m not even going to try to be tactful,” she said through a mouthful of sandwich she attempted to chew, holding the remaining portion of her sub at arm’s length and nodding her head.

  “If you can’t accept me for who I am, just leave when you’re done eating, because there’s no sense in continuing,” she paused and swallowed what remained in her mouth as she studied the six inches of sandwich left behind.

  “Watch this. I’m going to devour this mother fucker,” she growled as she successfully shoved half of the sandwich she was holding into her mouth.

  Seeing Victoria have the comfort to act like herself was reassuring. All too often I’m left wondering if the person or persons that I encounter, spend time with, or befriend are actually behaving in a manner that they would if they were alone. Generally, I convince myself that at least a portion of the person’s personality or behavior is in fact a facade, or some form of feeble attempt to impress me.

  She was certainly impressing me, and all she was doing was eating a sandwich as if I weren’t present. As I became lost in another bite of Antonelli’s ham, salami, mortadella and provolone sub, Victoria looked over the table, her eyes widened in a cartoon like manner. With her mouth held open by the inch of sub sandwich that from extended past her lips, she attempted to speak.

  “Duh,” she mumbled as she clapped her palms together and raised her hands above her head.

  “Pardon me?” I asked, not even coming close to understanding what she had attempted to say.

  Leaving her left hand extended above her head, she lowered her right hand even with her face and pulled all but one finger into her palm, leaving her first finger pointed upward. Slowly, she pointed her index finger at the end of the sandwich which remained exposed, and pushed it into her mouth. After a few exaggerated chews, she spoke again.

  “Done. I said I was done,” she grinned as she finished chewing.

  “Oh. I see that. Did you enjoy it?” I asked as wiped my mouth with my napkin.

  “Mmmhhhmmm,” she groaned.

  “This is one fantastic sandwich, as far as sandwiches go,” I admitted as I looked at the three inches of remaining sandwich.

  “Are you always proper, or do you loosen up at all? You know, as time passes,” she asked.

  I placed the sandwich onto the paper wrapper it was served in, and raised my hands to my face in wonder. No differently than I had admired Victoria for being herself as we sat eating, I too was acting and being myself. Nothing added or taken away from the way I would always act. Not having spent much time as an adult in the presence of women, I wondered what she must think of me. She was interested enough in me to meet me for lunch, but I didn’t want her to lose any of her interest.

  I had no intention of attempting to become someone or something I was not, either. I wanted Victoria, or anyone for that matter, to fully accept me for who I was, and not for what they wished me to become. After careful consideration, I looked at Victoria intently.

  “The person seated before you is truly me. I’m predictable, I suppose. I am always proper, or at least pretty close,” I responded as I reached for the remaining portion of my sandwich.

  “Shove it in your mouth, all of it,” she laughed.

  “Excuse me?” I asked as I lowered my sandwich.

  “The sandwich. Shove it in your mouth. All that’s left,” she grinned.

  “Why would I want to do that?” I asked.

  “Because it’s fun?” she responded as she cocked her head slightly to the side.

  I raised the sandwich to my mouth and studied it. Without a doubt, I could inhale what still lingered in one bite. To prove to myself I could physically do it, and to ensure I could also act in a manner other than what was proper – at least for a moment – I shoved the entire sandwich into my mouth. What followed took a matter of seconds, but will remain with me for a lifetime.

  As I chewed the sandwich, or at least attempted to do so, some of the lettuce became separated from what was in my mouth, and fell into my throat. The small shredded pieces of lettuce tickled my throat, causing me to cough. The fact that I didn’t care to spit my sandwich out onto the table combined with the fact that at least generally I attempt to act in a gentlemanly manner caused me to close my mouth tighter.

  A combination of my forcing my lips closed and inhaling what was a required amount of oxygen to keep me alive naturally forced what little loose lettuce that remained into my already sensitive throat. That small amount of lettuce caused me to cough again, forcing another natural inhale, and the subsequent choking.

  Upon inhaling, some meat matter became lodged in my throat. Although multiple times as a child I claimed to be choking, and I have seen many people make the same claim, I now knew what it felt like to choke to death. Attempts to cough and or breathe became completely unsuccessful. I was not able to do anything which required the use of my lungs. As I waived my arms frantically, my eyesight became blurred. Hearing, after a few short seconds, became quite difficult and eventually faded to being total deaf. Total blindness soon followed. At some p
oint in time during the process, I must have stood, because I now felt my weakened oxygen starved knees give way to the earth’s gravitational pull. As I felt myself collapse onto the floor, I was certain I would die on my first date with Victoria. A mouth full of sandwich and a piece of salami lodged in my throat, the paramedics would announce my death upon arrival.

  Parker Bale. Dead at twenty-three, a victim of being a stupid sandwich eating fool.

  After an amount of time I had no means of measuring, I felt my body being lifted to the heavens. Although blind and deaf, I could feel myself slowly and steadily being raised from the floor. Thoughts of Victoria left me as visions of finally being with my parents and grandmother filled my mind. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.

  The fatal blow.

  A heart attack.

  Simultaneously, I coughed, spit the contents of my mouth onto the table, and regained my vision and hearing. And then, the chest pain hit me again. I looked down. Two small hands, one clenched into a fist, pressed sharply into my chest. I looked up and across the table. Although my vision remained blurred, I could see Victoria was gone. I coughed again. As my eyes watered and I gasped for another breath, I looked over my shoulder. Despite my being embarrassed, I felt compelled to thank my savior.

  And the angel of life who stood behind me – her arms wrapped tightly around my midriff – was the same angel of death who coerced me to attempt to eat an entire sandwich in one bite.

  Because it would be fun.

  Victoria.

  VICTORIA. Life’s greatest treasures will never be held, purchased, or bartered for. They will only be felt.

  Having the ability to feel is the greatest gift God has ever given.

  Parker causes me to feel.

  When we feel a particular way, we may not like it or agree with it, but the feeling exists within us regardless. Changing how or what we think is a relatively easy task. I compare changing how we feel, however, to lighting a fire and placing our hand in it, then and convincing our self it doesn’t burn. It’s impossible. I don’t have a tremendous amount of experience socially, and although I don’t know this to be true, it’s possible Parker and I actually connect with each other on many different levels. When I am with him, I feel courageous and inquisitive. These aren’t feelings I am necessarily comfortable with, but I feel them nonetheless. In the presence of men in the past, I felt skeptical and distrustful. With Parker, I find myself saying and doing things so far beyond what I would normally be comfortable with, but oddly enough I am comfortable.