The concierge stood impassively at his podium and quietly asked, “Reservation?”
That was when Harry's heart, that had previously been beating at the speed of an infant's, now suddenly stopped, exploded out of his chest, and landed on the mahogany podium. Tattooed to his heart's flesh were the words, I have no reservation.
“I'm terribly sorry, Sir, we are completely booked,” said the concierge, before brushing Harry's heart to the floor and immediately turning his gaze. Though there was nobody behind him, Harry had suddenly vanished as far as the gatekeeper was concerned.
Harry hated himself. He had chosen this restaurant out of the yellow pages and had not given a single thought to reservations. He didn't even know what Mercutio's looked like before now.
I take back everything I said about you being the man. You aren't the man. You aren't even a man.
His chances with the girl were dashed. He had made a fool of himself, and by all accounts, there was no turning the corner from this one, but then, Love did a wonderful thing.
She walked directly up to the concierge and beckoned him to lean in closer. When he did, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Fuck you. I bet you like to take it like a girl.”
She then grabbed a basket of expensive looking peppermints from his podium, locked arms with Harry, and commenced to scatter the mints across the floor on their way to the exit.
Outside, he let his hand fall down to hers, and then pulled her around to face him. “That was amazing,” he said.
“I'm glad you think so. I actually hate places like this. Give me a good diner or coffee shop any day.”
“Well if you don't mind riding with me back to Hennington, I know a great place.”
“I'll follow you anywhere captain,” she jested. “Hennington, huh? I never did know what that damn town was called.”
Harry laughed as they climbed into the Miata, but she didn't inquire as to why.
They drove with the top down. Jesse had a case full of CD's on his floorboard. Most of the music was hip-hop, and Harry was happy that Love skipped over those as she thumbed through the case. At the very back was something he had not expected to see, Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison.
Love put on the album and sang every song into the wind as he drove. She knew every single word. It took him a couple of songs before he got up the nerve to sing with her, but when he did, he let it fly. Their harmonies were terrible, and Harry forgot half of the words, but the night sky didn't seem to care.
Even after Harry pulled into the diner named Diner, they sat in the car singing until the last notes of Greystone Chapel had passed and the claps and whistles of the inmates died.
“This place is perfect,” Love said.
The neon sign flickered, and the little bell on the door jingle jangled its inviting chime as they walked into the diner. Off in the corner, the same two old men sat playing checkers in their booth. This time, one of them gave Harry a wave, which he returned graciously.
Though this was only the second time he had been there, Diner had become one of his favorite places to be.
“Well hello there, Sugar,” called out a familiar voice. Maggie was just as jovial as the last time, if not more so. “And I see you've brought a beautiful friend with you.”
“Maggie, this is Love. Love, meet Magdalena, the finest pie maker I have ever known.”
“It's so nice to meet you,” Love said, “You have such a wonderful place here.”
“Thank you dear, truly. Can I get the two of you some coffee? I just put on a fresh pot.”
Harry got the feeling that Maggie was the type that had always just put on a fresh pot.
“Oh my God, Harry! They have one of those pie spinny things!” Love's excitement was effervescent. She was like a pixie marveling at the wonders of the human world, and as Harry watched her spin the pies, he could feel his heart beat in his chest.
No other moment in his life had been as simple and clear as this one.
He took the stool next to Love.
She stopped the pie rack mid-spin and then turned to look at him. “I love it here,” she said.
“So do I.”
Then Harry leaned over and gently kissed her. It was just a slight peck on the lips, but she returned it and smiled. Her lips tasted like a fruity memory that he'd forgotten. Like a song from another lifetime.
“The Maestro says it's Mozart,” he said.
“But it sounds like bubblegum,” she replied.
“I like you,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
Harry suddenly became aware that Maggie was waiting in the wings holding two cups of coffee. She had waited so that Harry could have his moment, and now she winked at him before setting the coffee down. “What can I get for you lovebirds this evening? Oh! Look what I did there. I said lovebirds and your name is Love. Isn't that funny?”
They both smiled, but neither knew how to respond.
“I think I'll just have coffee and pie,” said Love.
“That sounds great actually,” Harry agreed.
“Pecan and punkin with whipped cream, right?”
Harry smiled, but wished Maggie hadn't said that.
Now she thinks you're a fat fatty pig, Harry. A geriatric, diabetes-riddled piglet.
“Just the pumpkin please.”
Love spun the pie rack and said, “I want to try every one that you have, and so does he.”
“Okie dokie,” chirped Maggie, “I'll bring you a slice of each and two forks.”
Harry wanted to say something more to Love, but he knew that with each word from his mouth, there was a greater risk of sticking his foot in it. He decided to turn his attention to Maggie for now.
Girls love it when you're nice to the waitress.
“Hey, Maggie, I've been wondering. Does this place have a name, or is it really just named Diner?”
“Never did name it,” she said from the kitchen.
“Why is that?'
“This place was my husband's dream, but he passed just before we were about to open it up. He had gone back and forth on names, but never did settle on one before he died. It didn't seem right to pick a name for him.”
“Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry. Had I known, I never would have brought it up.”
“Don't be silly. That was ages ago, and besides, people around here just refer to it as the diner, anyway.”
“Well, I love it in here,” said Harry.
“I know you do, but I'll tell you what, if you and your pretty friend don't give my pie spinner a break, you just might have to buy me a new one.”
Love, who had been spinning the rack as fast as she could, abruptly halted her play.
“Oh dear, I'm only fooling! See how fast you can get that thing to go. I want to see it take off.” Maggie was giggling as she came from the kitchen expertly carrying six slices of pie, each on a separate small plate that she had stacked up her arms.
It just then dawned on Harry that Maggie never took any slices from the pies on the rack. He wondered just how old the rack pies must be.
“We've got blueberry, blackberry, apple, punkin, pecan, and chocolate today.”
She laid the slices out before them as if she were laying out her first born for all to see.
“Maggie, this all looks exquisite,” Harry said as he grabbed his fork.
Love already had a mouthful of blackberry, but she nodded in agreement.
Maggie's pride was plastered on her face as she watched them enjoy her work. She seemed happier to be watching than they were to be eating.
“I'll tell the two of you something, in all seriousness,” she said, her tone shifting, “You two seem like a perfect match to me. I don't mean to embarrass you, but I can see it in your eyes. The wonder that people have for each other can always be seen in their eyes. Anyway, I just want to tell you to treasure that, and never take it for granted.”
Harry thought a second before replying. “I'm going to be completely honest with you,” he said, �
��I think that I've always taken everything for granted. I know I have, in fact. It's only been in the last couple of weeks that I've found out that things can be surprising if I let them.”
“You'll be alright,” Maggie said. “I can sense these things. You'll be fine.”
Then Harry and Love ate every last morsel of pie they were given.
TWENTY NINE
“You don't have to say anything until you're completely ready, but I'm going to go ahead and talk, OK? I might ask a question or two, because after all, that's what they pay me for. But, you just answer when you feel comfortable, doesn't have to be today” the doctor said.
Robert looked forward blankly. The doctor's office barely registering in his periphery.
“How are you feeling today?”
Silence.
“I've got a whopper of a headache myself. Speaking of, how is your medication making you feel?”
Silence.
“It's important that we get you on the right dosages. That will make all the difference in the world.”
Robert re-situated himself.
“Tell me about your parents, Robert. I need you to know that this is a safe place for you to talk. I'm your doctor, but I can be your friend too. It's alright for you to talk to me, because I'm never going to tell any other person. Do you have any anger at them for putting you in this place?”
Robert focused, hearing the words now.
“Anger and hatred are powerful emotions, Robert. It would be natural for you to feel them for your parents. You might feel like they abandoned you. Do you think that's the case?”
When he again got no response, Dr. Willis changed the subject.
“What about girls, Robert? You're fifteen years old now, do you ever think about girls?”
No response.
“Maybe you think about boys, and that would be perfectly fine if you did.”
“I don't think about anyone,” the boy said, “No one at all.”
“Do you remember what happened several years ago? Do you remember why you had to come here?”
“I was playing a game.”
“That's true, but you got violent, Robert. You didn't follow the rules of the game.”
“I was told to play. I wasn't told that there were rules.” The boy began to lightly scratch his forearm.
“Now, Robert, we've already spoken about the scratching.”
He stopped.
“It's very important for you to learn life's rules, Robert. A man needs something that gives his life structure. Otherwise, he can get lost. Do you feel lost Robert?”
“If I was, would you find me?”
“Well, it is my job to help you find your own way. You're almost a man now, and a man needs a purpose, a goal.”
“A man needs a purpose,” Robert repeated, his fingers scratching lightly again.
THIRTY
Bill had spent the last two nights in her apartment and Sylvia could tell that there was a conversation looming on the horizon that she didn't want to have. Soon he would want to know where he stood–what they were. People always seemed to need a label on everything, as if life could not progress further unless the present was clearly marked with neon stickers.
Sylvia had had the conversation a few times, but the last was many years ago, when the world was new and she was in college. Those were the simple times, when there were no dates. There were just two people that had somehow conjoined. Usually while hammered at a party.
Now, Sylvia was having her first big girl relationship, and she hadn't a clue of how to proceed. Bill had not asked to stay over, he just had, and she had not minded. To the best of her knowledge, that was all a relationship really was.
She had been formulating the answer to his inevitable query for more than twenty-four hours because she wanted to be prepared. So far, her best effort at an answer was, Let's just keep things casual and see where it goes. To Sylvia, that said that she not only did not want to get serious, but that she didn't want to have a conversation about when she might want to get serious.
The fact that she had been having that very conversation with herself for over a day was not lost on her. As she scooped coffee grounds into a filter, she vowed not to have that talk anymore, with anyone, including herself. However, as she sat back and absent-mindedly watched the coffee drip, she broke her vow.
How serious was she capable of being?
She got up and checked the refrigerator, but just like the previous two mornings, it was empty. If utilities were not included in her rent, she may wonder why she had the thing plugged in at all. She knew that the cupboards were bare as well, and she refused to open their doors and let them mock her with their desolation.
She slipped on her fuzzy koala slippers, grabbed her keys, and headed out to grab some bagels from the bakery that was three buildings down. Twenty minutes later, sack of assorted bagels in hand, she found Bill awake, and at the kitchen bar, reading the newspaper.
“Strawberries killed a farmer,” he said as he folded the paper and laid it to the side.
“Oh fuck, let's not start the day talking about that asshole. They were selling three different books about him on a stand at the bakery. The fucking bakery,” she said while liberally slathering cream cheese on a couple of blueberry bagels. “And, who the hell has enough information on the guy to write a book about him, anyway? They don't even know who the fucker is. In school I was great at bullshitting my way through a research paper for which I'd done no research, but this is a whole other level.”
She handed Bill a plate with one of the bagels, then took the stool next to him with the other.
“You seem pretty heated over the subject,” Bill said.
“It's just annoying, is all. As sad as it is that people keep getting killed, it's more annoying to keep hearing about it.”
“I'll be sure to send your regards to the families. I'm sure they'll appreciate your sentiments in this trying time.”
“Oh hush, you know what I mean.”
They both devoured their bagels, as if synchronized breakfast was an Olympic sport. Then Bill grabbed the paper again and turned to the crossword puzzle.
“Where did you get that newspaper?” Sylvia asked. “And who even reads the paper anymore? You can use my laptop.”
“Well, I tried your laptop, then ten minutes later I gave up. I think the cavemen invented that thing just after fire and the wheel. You need a new one.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Anyway, after that I went out to the hall and stole your neighbor's paper.”
“Oh you've done it now. Don't think that old bag of bones didn't see you take that paper. She never stops looking out of that peephole. I think that the peephole might literally be her actual eyeball. The authorities have probably already been dispatched. I would run if I were you. I swear to deny that you were ever here.”
They smiled at each other and then kissed. It was a deep kiss. The kind that tickled her spine.
“Seven down is mercurial,” she said, pointing at the puzzle.
“Are you sure?”
“Unless I change my mind.”
He kissed her again.
“Let's veg out all day, what do you say? Or, we could go laptop shopping,” said Sylvia.
“Either is fine with me.”
“Good.”
She looked over his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his waist. They stayed there for a bit, just working the crossword puzzle and feeling the other's warmth.
“Oh,” Bill said, “I almost forgot. There was a note from the maintenance guy taped to your door when I snatched the paper, but it was addressed to the wrong person. I set it down by your key bowl. Did you see it when you came back?”
“No. I must have missed it. Who was it for?”
“Someone named Sasha, I think. Whoever they are, it looks like their shower isn't getting fixed today.”
“Uh, yeah. That's me. I'm Sasha.”
Sylvia didn't know why she decided to be so for
thcoming every time she was around Bill. He just brought it out of her.
“I think I'm about to learn of another slice of your life,” he said, putting the pencil down on the nearly completed puzzle.
She turned in her stool and placed her hands on his knees. Then she proceeded to tell him all about how she lived. She told him more than she had ever told another soul, save Melissa. She didn't tell him where all of her money stashes were, or anything like that, but she spilled all the rest of the beans.
“Sasha Edmonds, huh? That's good to know in case anyone in your building ever asks me about you.”
“I doubt anyone even knows who I am, except the landlord and the maintenance guy.”
“So you are like… a ghost.”
“You're not having a very strong reaction.”
“What were you hoping for?”
“I don't actually know, but it seems like the sort of information that sends one packing. I already told you about my job, and now I've added all this. How much can you take?”
“I don't know, but I'll tell you when I get to that point.”
“Well shit, Bill.”
“I do have one question,” he said.
“Anything.”
“You. Right now. This is you. Right? Whatever name is attached to you at the moment, I just want to know that I know you and not some made up version.”
“This is me. But a lot of the details in my life are made up.”
“Everyone's details are made up. You just represent a very literal example. As long as the girl in front of me is who I think she is, the details don't matter and I don't care about them. I may have a question from time to time, out of curiosity, but everything that comes with you only matters because it makes you who you are. It's you I'm falling for, not your name.”
“I also take a lot of pills.”
He burst out laughing louder than she had ever heard him laugh, then he grabbed her and pulled her to him. “I've noticed,” he said.
“I figured since I put all the rest out there, I might as well throw out that last one.”
“I've seen you take them, it isn't as if you're very sneaky. I noticed you don't really pay much attention to the ones you take either. And truthfully, that's probably pretty dangerous, but I think I kind of get it now. You're living a life that is full of rules and structure. If you didn't, then everything might come crashing down. If I were living that way, I think I would need a little bit of the unknown however I could get it.”
Strawberries Page 15
