The Lesson

by Welch, Virginia

  The locker room was empty as usual this afternoon as she set her backpack down on a bench between two walls of lockers. Nevertheless one could not be too careful. She left the backpack and began her usual rounds, nonchalantly looking up and down the locker rows. All quiet, not a soul in sight. She decided not to bother checking the showers. She’d performed this security exercise a hundred times, and every time she’d felt like a neurotic nut as she pulled back all the shower curtains in both rows of showers, looking for the bogeyman that wasn’t. Casually walking through the locker room and observing what there was to observe was one thing. The neurosis was in the deliberation involved in pulling back each and every shower curtain. She didn’t know anyone else who did this, though she figured there must be old ladies somewhere in long skirts and thick stockings who bent down, straight-legged with their backsides in the air, to peep under public restroom stalls before entering.

  The cavernous locker room always gave her the creeps, a feeling that was enhanced whenever she was alone and undressed; therefore she hastily pulled on her swimsuit, stashed her backpack and clothes in a locker, and walked to the showers. Once inside the first shower stall she pulled the curtain. She didn’t do this for privacy, as there was no need. She had her swimsuit on and was alone except for an overactive imagination, which nagged worse than some people’s mothers.

  As Gina put her hand up to the shower knob to turn on the hot water, she heard a distinct, calm voice speak inside her head:

  “There’s a man in the shower across from you.”

  The voice was so compelling that instead of turning on the water, she turned toward the shower curtain and pulled it aside just far enough to create a small opening to peep through. She looked up, and at least eight inches above her eyes she saw another pair, topped by eyebrows that were clearly those of a man, peering down at her through an identical space between curtain and shower stall wall.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Gina demanded, her voice so authoritative it surprised even her. At once she yanked her shower curtain open and stepped toward him menacingly. She completely forgot that she was standing there in her teeny black bikini with the skinny ties at the hips. Not that it would have mattered. She was furious.

  “I got lost! I was looking for the men’s locker room!” Absurdly, the man—who looked to be in his early twenties and was at least six feet four and well over two hundred pounds—was flustered to the point of blubbering.

  “I will show you the way out!” Gina boomed. But before she could take a single step, the intruder began to run, turning his back on her fast and heading toward the exit. She watched him run through the locker room door toward the basketball court. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.

  Gina stood there in shock, eyes fixed on the exit, unbelieving, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Was he really lost? She didn’t think so, but that didn’t stop her from debating the question endlessly as she swam laps across the pool, her thoughts swirling round and round in circles like the eddies near the pool filter.

  She wished she had someone to confide in, someone to tell what had just happened to her. As she glided through the heavy waters of the deepest part of the pool, for the first time she found herself having an imaginary conversation with Kevin instead of Bonnie. Kevin would have some unique insight into this. He would have an understanding ear. Okay, so he’d make some joke about it. After all, “BIKINI-CLAD CO-ED ROUTS LOCKER ROOM PEEPING TOM” was tailor-made for his corny puns. But he was a good listener, and he approached difficult situations differently than a sympathetic girlfriend. That would be true because he was male, but mostly because he was Kevin.

  But calling Kevin had a price. She wasn’t sure if she was willing to pay it.

  #

  “All of you should be prepared today to discuss Sartre’s contribution to philosophy, in particular, existentialism, and how it differs in application to Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology, and Aristotle’s Metaphysics and his emphasis on the problems of substance and causation.”

  How will I survive this class? And she had thought Mr. Pastorini’s algebra class at Buchser was hard. Gina looked out the window of Bannan Hall at the brilliant blue, winter sky and wondered, idly, what Kevin was doing aboard the Flint at that moment while she pretended to pay attention in philosophy class. She had signed up for this soporific, sadistic course of study to prepare her to be a better lawyer, her thinking being that inscrutable logic supported persuasive debate, which was key to winning cases.

  Well who cared if the tree did or did not make a sound when it fell in the forest and you weren’t there to hear it? If you weren’t around when it crashed you probably were doing more important things anyway. And why did they have to endlessly rag on the existence of God? Either He existed or He didn’t. And no matter who was right, if He did exist, arguing about it wouldn’t change that fact. He would win in the end and the group that denied Him would be in for a terrible shock. He was probably up there laughing at all of us anyway. Philosophy was like a big wad of chewing gum. After a short while it tired your jaws, lost its taste, and you never got any nutrition, just chewed and chewed until all you wanted to do was spit it out. Gina hated the endless class debates, the vapid topics they debated, and the mind-numbing, abstract essays the Jesuit priest assigned them to read, all of which were written by apathetic French dead guys who wore stupid hats and sat around all day at sidewalk cafes with similar characters, smoking skinny cigarettes and whining about how meaningless life is.

  Fortunately for Gina, Father became absorbed in an argument with another student, an extroverted young man who sat in the front row, of course, and frequently engaged the Jesuit in long, boring discussions to show off the fact that he had done his homework. Blah, blah, blah. Fine, she would pull out her English class journal and make her entry ahead of schedule. She could complete her daily writing assignment—her only schoolwork that didn’t feel like work—without Father knowing any different; he would think she was taking notes on the philosophy discussion. A poem today? Gina glanced around the room. Nothing to inspire here. An essay? Nah, too much work, and besides, that would require using the card catalogue at Orradre, which wasn’t handy right now. Today’s monologue of profundity, she finally decided, would be in the form of a letter to Kevin. Professors never really read journals anyway.

  Dear Kevin,

  I can’t wait to tell you what happened today, though I know I won’t get that chance because I can’t call you. I wish we could just be friends, because I do enjoy your company a great deal, and I certainly could use more friends.

  Gina stopped writing and looked up, trying to appear as though she were engrossed in the philosophy debate. The boor in the front row was still grandstanding, so she continued writing.

  I need to talk to you, today, but if I call you, you’ll think I’m interested in you the way you are in me. I have come to think of you as a dear friend, and as a friend, I know you would be concerned about what happened to me this afternoon. You are as good a listener as you are a story-teller, and I have enjoyed our chats together—all of them.

  She stopped writing and looked around again. All clear.

  Aside from the amazing story I want to tell you, I was surprised to learn something about God today that I want to share with you—

  “Miss Jacobs.”

  With a start Gina recognized the voice of the Jesuit priest at the front of the classroom. She looked up, embarrassed, desperately hoping he wouldn’t ask about something she hadn’t studied. Did he realize she was doing homework from another class?

  “Miss Jacobs, in our discussion of Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, please give us an explanation of what he meant when he said, ‘Existence precedes essence.’”

  It was probably those funny cigarettes Sartre smoked, but that was not what Father wanted to hear.

  “Sartre believed that there is no God and that we’re born into an absurd world without any structure, and are given no guidance or plan. He said we are ‘c
ondemned to be free,’ meaning all we have is existence, and what we become—our essence—is the result of the many decisions we make.”

  “Very good. I see you’ve been doing your homework,” said Father.

  #

  Gina glanced over at the pass-through window where she saw George, scowling and muttering darkly while he flailed away at a pan of defenseless pork chops. If that’s the way he treated a dead pig, she hated to find out what he’d do to a waitress when she sent back a luncheon steak because it was too rare.

  “He’s been on a rant all morning. Probably just needs a little nicotine flowing through his ice cold blood,” said Pilar as she scooped chocolate ice cream into a shake canister. “We’ve been really busy. He hasn’t had a break.”

  “Looks like the pork chops won’t get one either,” said Gina. “Let me get changed and I’ll come back and ride shotgun.”

  “I wish the owners would fire him.”

  “Sooner or later, they will,” said Gina. “Hopefully sooner.”

  She headed for the changing room where she slipped into her waitress uniform as quickly as possible, stashed her purse, checked her hair and makeup, and returned to the side work area. She checked the duty assignments; she had section one today, the six tables nearest the kitchen. She put a pen and order pad in the pocket of her apron, grabbed a pot of freshly made coffee, and headed to her section to refill cups.

  It wasn’t long before she saw Burk tapping his way through the front door. She debated the wisdom of greeting him. After she had turned him down for a date, it might seem like she was playing games. But then again, the other waitresses never gave him the service he needed and deserved. She didn’t like the thought that he would be left to figure out the menu on his own. She stepped closer to the front door so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice above the lunch chatter. She called softly to him.

  He turned his head toward her voice. “Hi, Gina. Where are you working today?”

  “Over here, Burk. Just follow my voice.”

  Gina grabbed a menu and place setting and led him to her section where he took a seat. He looked as dashing as ever today in crisp brown slacks complemented by a pull-over sweater in rich burgundy cashmere, a collared shirt and a well-chosen tie. Robert Redford had nothing on Burk. Every time she saw him she couldn’t stop wishing …

  “You’re dressed up today,” she said. “The tie, I mean.”

  “I just came from a meeting. I presented a paper.”

  “What you’d speak on?” she said as she set silverware and a napkin in front of him.

  “The Thermodynamics of Enzyme-Catalyzed Reactions.”

  “Oh.” Gina smiled out of habit to hide her embarrassment, though of course he couldn’t see her face. What witty thing did one respond to that?

  “It’s the research I spoke of the last time I came in. The study of mechanisms involved in chemical reactions involving enzymes. We use the data in biotechnology to optimize product yields and to determine energy requirements for a given reaction.”

  “Ooh, I know. You mean the little invisible things in laundry detergent that gobble up the grass stains in your jeans.” Then she added to be funny, “Sort of like cooties.”

  He paused, looking stunned. His face took on an intense expression and he said, slowly, “Yes, sort of like cooties.”

  How Gina wished she could sit down in the booth and spend the entire lunch hour talking to him and looking at his beautiful face. But it was nearly noon and she had other customers. She shouldn’t be making small talk.

  “I’ll read the menu to you today if you like," she said.

  That would take time too, but reading to Burk was a legitimate excuse for spending at least a few more minutes with him. She couldn’t help it. Every time he came into Big Bick’s she told herself to stop fawning over him and every time she failed. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Everything about him—clothes, speech, manners—was perfect. Sophisticated and stylish.

  “That won’t be necessary today. I think I’ll have another one of those good Cobb salads. Dressing on the side and hot tea with a wedge of lemon. The diet cola I had before had a kind of off taste. And make sure the water is very hot.”

  Gina apologized for the cola, wrote up his order, and returned to the kitchen. She prepared his tea and brought it to him. She hoped the water was hot enough, but there wasn’t much she could do about it if it wasn’t because the hot water device had only one temperature setting. Then she went back to the kitchen to get his salad. She looked through the cooler where the prepared salads stood ready, chose the nicest one, and then put his salad dressing in a crock on a small plate.

  She was walking into the dining room with the large salad in one hand and the small plate with the crock of dressing in the other when she saw a young woman about her own age come through the front door. Behind the young woman walked Kevin, who for once was wearing clothes that wouldn't stop traffic: jeans and a simple pullover knit shirt in a blah solid tan, sans printed message. The hostess greeted them, and as she did, it became evident to Gina that Kevin and the strange young woman were one party. The hostess seated them in Gina’s section, put down their place settings, and handed them menus. Kevin looked around the dining room. When he saw Gina he waved. Gina stood there stunned for a moment, and then remembered she hadn’t yet delivered Burk’s salad. She made eye contact with Kevin and nodded an acknowledgment and then brought Burk’s lunch to his table.

  “Is this as hot as you can get the tea water?” said Burk.

  “I’m sorry, Burk. The water heating device has only one temperature setting.”

  “Okay, then it will have to do. Thank you, Gina.”

  Gina felt bad but hoped he understood. She left him and walked to Kevin’s table, where he and the young woman were reading the menus.

  “Gina, how are you? This is my friend, Julianne.”

  Kevin was unusually chirpy and smiley today. Gina wondered what he was up to while she politely exchanged greetings with his guest. Julianne had an open, friendly face with shining eyes, but Gina hardly saw her face for staring at her boobs, which were so large they could have justified their own place setting. They were well covered up in a simple, high-neck white blouse, but there was no true camouflage for anything that strained against fabric like two piglets in a sack. Why had he brought her in here? Make no mistake, he had planned this. San Jose, where he lived with his father, had a zillion places to eat. He had brought Julianne into Big Bick’s by design. Gina was sure of it.

  “Kevin tells me you go to Santa Clara,” said Julianne.

  “Yes, I’m a junior. An English major.”

  “Julianne’s studying nursing at San Jose State.” Kevin set down his menu. “She’s graduating the same time you are.”

  Gina just nodded. Her brain was working overtime trying to figure out why Kevin had brought another girl into the restaurant on her shift.

  “Do you work here every day?” asked Julianne.

  “Mostly weekday lunch and usually one weekend dinner shift. Depends on how busy the place is. I take classes full-time, so I have to balance hours here with my studies.”

  “Kevin tells me that you live just seven blocks from the university. It must be convenient to live and work so near the campus.”

  “It’s very convenient,” said Gina.

  But why was this girl so interested? And why had Kevin been telling his date all about her and in such detail? Gina looked at Kevin but his face gave no clues.

  “I’d love to chat,” said Gina, “but I need to get your order into the kitchen and get back to my other customers.”

  Kevin and Julianne ordered their lunch, Gina thanked them and then returned to the kitchen to put their order on the wheel and prepare their drinks. Occasionally she glanced in their direction and saw them chatting and laughing like they’d known each other for a long time. Kevin, in particular, was laughing the most. He seemed delighted to be having lunch with Julianne and the piglets. He was twenty-two,
male, single, and a sailor. Why wouldn’t he be delighted?

  Gina busied herself in the side work area while keeping one eye on her customers. When Kevin and Julianne’s lunches were ready she carried them to their table. Kevin had ordered his usual cheeseburger, fries, and a cola; Julianne had ordered bean soup and a roll with a house salad. Gina was setting the wide serving tray, heavy with plates and food, onto their table on the side nearest Julianne when, to her horror, about an inch from the table her hand slipped from the edge of the tray, causing it to drop onto the table with a thwack. Bean soup sloshed upward and then slopped back down onto the table where it quickly ran over the edge, landing on Julianne’s skirt. It was a small spill, only a few tablespoons, but Gina was horrified at her own bumbling, and just as bad, she was horrified to think that Kevin would think her sloppiness was meant to send some sort of message.

  “I am so, so sorry,” she said, as she pulled napkins from her apron pocket. “The tray is heavy. It slipped from my hand so fast.”

  “Oh don’t worry about it. I’m okay,” said Julianne as she wiped at her skirt. “Better the print skirt than the white blouse.”

  She was being awfully gracious, thought Gina. Likely Kevin had told Julianne a lot of details about his relationship with Gina except the fact that he had been pursuing her like mad. Julianne was acting so sweet about everything—surely she did not know that Kevin was not but wanted to be involved with Gina. She glanced at Kevin. He gave her a knowing look, almost but not quite a smirk, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. She pursed her lips and flashed her eyes in a look that said, “Stop it!”