Once Upon A Road Trip

by Angela N. Blount

  Angie covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. She wasn’t sure which she found funnier — the man’s story, or the unusual sound of his laughter.

  A grin crept across Vince’s face and he shook his head. Before he could speak he was interrupted by a shrill, feminine voice coming from the cubical to his right.

  “What’s all this racket about? These are office hours, people!” A plump, diminutive woman appeared in the open “doorway” of the work space, hands planted on her hips. Her burgundy-dyed hair featured blunted bangs and was pinned back—teased to a comical height at the crown of her head. She pursed thin lips and cocked her head to one side as she surveyed Angie. “Who’s she?”

  Though the thirty-something woman couldn’t have stood an inch over five feet, the abrasiveness of her voice was enough to make Angie want to shrink behind Vince.

  “No one you need concern yourself with, Miss Deena,” Gill piped up, angling himself in the woman’s direction. “Say, aren’t you in charge of the company picnic this year? As a concerned employee, I would like to know the precise origin and ingredients of the potato salad. I have an allergy, you see, and last year’s recipe had my head swelling up like a Macy’s Day balloon. Or so I’m told.” He tapped the tip of his cane to the ground between his feet.

  Vince signaled Angie with his eyes and eased around behind Gill, continuing down the hall while the brusque woman was distracted. “Thank you Mr. Gill,” he said, almost under his breath.

  Angie caught up to Vince in a few swift steps, concern gnawing at her stomach. “Is she one of your bosses?” she whispered.

  “Deena? Nooo,” he stressed, then gave a short laugh. “She’s a secretary, like me. They just let her think she’s in charge of a few things to keep her off everyone’s back.”

  “So, Gill just took one for the team?”

  “Yep. Now I owe him.” Vince smirked, cutting into the farthest right cubicle as they reached the end of the sterile, blue-gray hallway. He moved behind a desk, facing the entrance to the small space, and nodded to a cushioned chair in the left corner. “You can sit there. I’m just sorry it’s going to be boring.”

  Angie smiled, shaking her head as she found a place to unload her food near the designated chair. “I’ve got books with me,” she said. “And so far, this place is shaping up to be interesting.”

  “If you say so.” Vince gave her a thoughtful look before beginning to sort a tall stack of papers, going back and forth between them and his computer.

  While he worked, Angie took the time to pick at a poppy seed muffin while she scanned the walls of his cubicle. Framed certificates and awards lined the back wall in neat rows, ranging from recognition for various honor societies, to a series of course completions in American Sign Language. The right wall featured a collage of photographs. Several she recognized to be of Vince’s parents, all in a darkened setting with them holding microphones — karaoke, she supposed.

  She spotted movement in her left peripheral vision as someone stepped into the cubical. Angie turned her head, and then had to consciously keep from staring at the miniature woman who stood smiling at her. If Angie had been standing, the top of the woman’s head wouldn’t have quite reached the level of her hip. Her face was soft, creased with age in a way that granted her a grandmotherly appeal. Blonde and silver-streaked hair was pinned into a tidy bun, and her deep brown eyes held an inviting warmth.

  “You must be Angie.” The woman extended a small, weathered hand out to her in greeting. Her voice came out airy and pleasant. “I’m Lydia. Vincent assists me with all of my sight-challenged clients.”

  Angie recovered from her fascinated stupor and grasped Lydia’s hand. She couldn’t recall ever having such a strong inclination to be careful with a handshake. “Pleased to meet you.” She responded quickly, hoping the woman wouldn’t think she was demeaning her.

  Really? He couldn’t have bothered mentioning that his boss happens to be a Little Person? She wondered to herself if the omission had been intentional on Vince’s part, out of some perverse curiosity over how she might react. A quick glance his way told her otherwise.

  Vince smiled to Lydia and held up a blue folder. “I’ll have those medical requests finished for you before lunch.”

  “Thank you, that’ll do just fine. I’ll be busy with client meetings most of the morning anyway.” Lydia turned her illuminating smile to Vince and then back to Angie. “You just let me know if you have any questions, Miss Angie. I should have time this afternoon if you’d like a tour.”

  “I’d like that very much. Thank you, ma’am.” Angie nodded, distantly aware that Vince’s manners were beginning to rub off on her. ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ had never been a part of her vocabulary when it came to interacting with her elders. Vince seemed to have been hardwired with more respectful terminology, along with a solid sense of chivalry.

  Maybe it’s just a southern thing, she mused.

  “I’m Lydia’s personal secretary,” Vince said after the woman had stepped out and returned to her office. “Jim is my other boss, but he’s over the entire unit. You’ll meet him when he makes his rounds.”

  “You work with a pretty diverse bunch,” Angie said. She found herself looking forward to whoever else she may be introduced to as the day went on.

  Vince gave her an amused look. “That’s pretty safe to say.”

  Over the next several hours, Angie tried to concentrate on reading. She picked out Deena’s grating voice from time to time, thanks to the openness of the workspace arrangement. And every time she did, it seemed that the woman was making a point of badgering someone.

  People came and went along the outer hallway, with a few stopping by to ask Vince computer-related questions. Some wanted his help with their work machines, and others were seeking advice on personal computers they either owned or planned to buy. Vince met every inquiry with a thorough and genial response.

  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Angie was coming to respect the way Vince conducted himself. She caught herself watching him with some frequency, though she was careful not to let him notice. Eventually she gave up on her book, trading it for her journal in hopes of clearing her thoughts.

  July 22,

  I went with Vince this morning to his office job. Fortunately, his work isn’t too strenuous. I get the impression that he ends up doing a lot of things around here that aren’t in his job description. If he weren’t as young as he is, I doubt people would be taking advantage of his helpfulness as much as they seem to.

  I’m confused again today. And I guess I’m hoping that if I write it down, it’ll help somehow. Last night, Vince kissed me. I’m still trying to process that. I know it was meant to express affection, but I feel badly. I didn’t mean for him to become too attached to me; just like I didn’t mean for it to happen with Scott. I wish I knew what’s wrong with me. Now when I leave tomorrow, it’ll be more like I’m abandoning Vince. He’s been through so much...I don’t want to be just one more person that hurts or abandons him. I have to try not to be stupid and pray that something works out for the better.

  I always used to wish guys would like me and pay more attention to me. But now, I think it’s more responsibility than I can handle...

  “It’s about lunch time.” Vince spoke just loud enough to break her concentration. He smiled when she looked up at him. “Mom’s coming to meet us. She doesn’t think you should leave without experiencing some good southern barbeque.”

  Angie blinked, surprised by how quickly the time had passed. “Oh, okay. Sure.” Vince stood up and she followed, stuffing her belongings into her handbag. While she’d thought she was resolved to keep her distance from his personal business, curiosity got the better of her.

  “So, is all of this computer work you end up doing for people actually part of your job?” she asked.

  Vince shook his head. “The IT department is on the top floor, and they’re usually swamped. So I kind of unofficially take care of most things on this floor.”<
br />
  “Without being compensated for the kind of work you’re doing?”

  Vince rolled a shoulder. “I keep applying and taking the tests to compete for a computer tech position, but once they dock the affirmative action points, my scores don’t get me anywhere.”

  She blinked at him in confusion. “Why would they take points away from your score?”

  “Because...I’m a male,” he said, sounding resigned to the predicament. “And because I’m technically considered “white.” My grandma may have been Native American, but it isn’t documented in any way that can help me.”

  Angie gaped at this. “That doesn’t seem fair. You’re smart and you know what you’re doing—” she began, knowing her tone was aggravated but unable to temper it.

  Vince held up a hand to stop her, “But these are state government jobs. They have to make a ratio quota.” He gave a weak smile, lowering his voice to a hushed level. “It’s okay—I’ve already accepted that I’ll have to look at private companies if I’m going to move up in the world.” He frowned then. “My parents won’t be happy when I find something else. They think a government pension is the ticket to stability. But, this isn’t what I want to be doing.”

  He motioned with his chin for her to follow as he ducked out of the cubicle and headed left down the hall.

  A man wearing khaki pants and a yellow dress shirt was walking well ahead of them in the same direction, and Vince seemed to recognize him. But instead of calling to the man, he came to an abrupt halt and stomped his foot three times in quick succession. Angie stopped just short of running into his back, perplexed by his odd behavior.

  The man ahead of them spun around, smiled, and began signing to Vince as he walked back toward them. He was of a fit medium build, sporting short, curly blond hair and a close-trimmed beard to match. She guessed him to be anywhere from his mid-thirties to forties. The signing continued back and forth between the two as Angie strained to discern something out of the silent, spirited conversation.

  “Sorry,” Vince looked to her and then motioned to the man. “This is Marshal. He’s one of our deaf counselors.”

  Marshal signed “hello,” and then spoke in a muted but articulate voice, “You must be Angie.”

  She recognized the rapid, one-handed spelling of her name. Nodding, she repeating the motions back to him at half speed. “That’s me.”

  Marshal grinned at her fumbling effort. His face was every bit as animated as his hands when he asked, “Has Vince been boring you silly?” He didn’t spell Vince’s name, but rather seemed to use some shortened version of it that involved forming the letter V with two fingers, tapping them first to the back of his wrist and then to the middle of his forearm.

  “Not at all.” Angie shook her head, glancing to Vince and repeated the motion Marshal had made in reference to him. “What does this mean?” She attempted to ask both of them at once, making a point not to turn her face away from Marshal as she spoke.

  Marshal nodded to Vince.

  “It’s my name,” Vince said, chuckling. “But it’s more like a personalized nickname that only a deaf person can give you once they get to know you. It’s actually a modification of the sign for ‘computer.’” Vince formed a C with one hand in demonstration, tapping it once to the back of his wrist, and then again halfway up his forearm.

  “Oh…I get it.” Angie smiled, charmed by the concept.

  Marshal nodded, looking satisfied. “If you come back to visit again, I will have to give you your own name, too.” He stared at her for a moment, as though he were trying to decide something.

  “That’d be an honor,” Angie said — and she meant it. Too bad she couldn’t see herself ever returning to Alabama.

  Marshal looked to Vince then and formed the letter A with both of his hands, tapping them to his shoulders and opening them into fluid, rolling motions out to either side of him. “What do you think?”

  Vince formed a faint smile. “More fitting than she knows.”

  Marshal raised his pale brows and tapped his watch, directing to Vince, “I need to meet someone. Will you come by my office later? The Instant Messenger is acting up again.”

  “No problem,” Vince said and signed back.

  Marshal clapped him on the back and smiled once more to Angie before continuing down the hall.

  Angie looked to Vince after Marshal’s departure. “What did that last one mean?” she asked, repeating the sign Marshal had suggested.

  Instead of answering her, Vince continued down the hall. Angie was forced to take a few jogging steps to catch up with him. He cast her a backward glance, hesitating. “That was the sign for angel.”

  “Oh.” Unsettled, Angie decided it would be best for both of them if she changed the subject. “So, can Marshal hear at all?”

  “Just low tones. He loves any music with a lot of bass,” Vince answered. “I think he had partial hearing when he was born, so he’s able to speak pretty clearly from the sounds he remembers.”

  “You’re pretty good with the ASL,” Angie said, though she tried not to betray the extent of her admiration.

  “I’ve thought about studying to be an interpreter,” he said, offhand. “Deaf culture is pretty interesting. I wish I could have taken you to one of the Silent Dinners, but they only hold them once a month. The timing didn’t line up.”

  “What’s a Silent Dinner?” Angie asked, falling back in step with him as they rounded a corner.

  “Not as quiet of an experience as it sounds.” He laughed. “It’s sort of a club for deaf people, their families, and sign language students. They all pick a place to eat and sit around in a big group signing to each other the whole night. It’s kind of a crash course in conversational ASL. The first one I attended, I kinda faked my way through it using the only three signs I could remember.”

  “Which signs?”

  Vince smirked, dipping his chin in a look of vague embarrassment. He paused at the lobby door and signed each as he listed them to her. “What’s up?, Whatever, and Bull$#&%.”

  Angie couldn’t help but laugh. She found it particularly entertaining that the last sign involved the use of the pinky and index finger to form the distinctive shape of bull horns.

  Vince laughed with her. “Yeah, I know. Real sophisticated.”

  As they moved into the lobby, Angie caught sight of Vince’s mother hovering near the front entrance. She wasn’t alone. Deena stood beside her, leaning in conspiratorially as they discussed something in low tones. While Marie appeared cheerful as ever, Deena had a more baleful cast to her pudgy features.

  “I’ll be right back, I forgot something,” Vince told Angie just a few strides from their destination. When he turned and backtracked at a jog, she resisted the impulse to follow him.

  Shuffling on toward Marie and Deena, she offered a pleasant smile for both women. “He’ll be right back,” she said. Angie was both confounded and relieved when Deena scowled, turned, and walked out the door without saying a word to her.

  “Hey, girl!” Marie exclaimed with welcoming smile. “I’ve got us reservations at my favorite little place. Yer gonna love their cornbread cheese biscuits!”

  Angie counted it as ironic that the thickest southern accent she’d encountered thus far belonged to someone who’d been transplanted from the Northeast. She found herself resisting the urge to mimic the woman’s twang in responding. “That sounds great.” Angie smiled to Marie and then gestured toward the glass exit door and Deena’s retreating form. “Do you mind if I ask what that was about?”

  Marie gave her a glazed look before seeming to catch up to the meaning behind the question. “Oh…oh! That was nothin’. Just sour ol’ Miss Deena, stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong. If it were a pastime that paid, she’d be the richest person I know.” She tossed her orange-red hair over one shoulder and laughed.

  Angie frowned, staring past her out the door as she considered pressing for an answer she might regret. As it turned out, Marie didn’t need mu
ch prompting.

  “She was just askin’ me about you,” Marie divulged. “Where you came from, how long you’re stayin’, where you’re stayin’—I just took her for curious at first.”

  Angie centered her focus on Vince’s mother. “—but?”

  “Well, after I told her you were stayin’ with us, she wanted to know what room you were sleepin’ in. You know…like she was fixin’ ta uncover a scandal.” Marie patted Angie’s elbow in reassurance. “But don’t you worry sweetie, I told her that wasn’t any of her damn business.” She gave another tittering laugh. “Shoot, it ain’t none of my business either. If Vinny’s door is closed, I give him his space.”

  Angie stiffened, feeling the uncomfortable flush of heat rising through her chest and up her neck. “It’s not like that!” she blurted out before she could catch herself. She dropped her head along with her volume, hoping the woman wouldn’t interpret anger. “And I think it -is- your business. It’s your house.” She glanced back up at Marie’s face. Angie knew the woman meant well, but the implications of her statement were overwhelming. “You can come into his room any time you want while I’m here. In fact, please do.”

  “Alright, honey. Don’t you let her get to you.” Marie placed a hand on Angie’s shoulder and gave it a warm squeeze.

  “What’s wrong?” Vince’s concerned voice reached them as he came back through the lobby door.

  Marie brightened. “Nothin’ wrong, son. Deena was just bein’ her unfriendly self again.”

  Angie looked to Vince, struggling to maintain a steady expression. He’d taken on a grimace at the news, and she decided to distract him from any deeper inquiries into the matter. “Sounds like she’s a special kind of vile. You think if I threw some water at her, she might melt?”