Haven't We Met - Charlie

4. Charlie

Charlie walked home, as he did every morning after his visit to the diner. Forty-five years on the night shift ruined sleep for him. Forty-five years on the night shift ruined everything for him. Now ten years into a forced retirement, he still lived as if he were on the night shift. He woke up every night at ten, after a solid eight hours of sleep. Light-blocking curtains and ear plugs simulated the dark and quiet of night. He ate breakfast at midnight every day. Oatmeal every day. He worked on his puzzle while listening to the late night talk shows. He couldn't stand the guests most of the time but had to watch every day. Charlie was a self-proclaimed creature of habit.

“Why are you famous?” he asked as he shook his head at the screen. The blonde on the screen had become famous for things like a name, a sex tape, and stupid comments to her then best friend on a reality TV show. The blonde’s voice ripped through him and he muted the television. He was working on what seemed like his millionth puzzle. This one, a cardinal sitting in a branch, was taking him longer than usual. He was having trouble concentrating lately. He was distracted by his thoughts. These days they were filled with regret. Where did the years go? He never married. Never came close really. There had been women over the years. Lots of women really. Just not the type of women you make a life with.

He didn't regret not having children though. “There are enough children in the world,” he told anyone who asked. He loved children though. He went places where he could see them play. In the most innocent way possible, he loved watching the children at the playground or the zoo. Their endless energy was enticing to him. He wondered, but had long forgotten, if he were like that when he was a child. There was no one left to ask though. He was the last of his family. No brothers or sisters. Not even a cousin to speak of. Here he was 80 years old and wondering what he was like as a child.

This day would be different he told himself. He was almost home and was still chuckling about the dumb ass that ordered gravy on his burger. “Had to be on drugs,” he thought. Today he would break up his routine and try to start living life like the normal people. Try to live during the day and sleep at night. He wouldn’t go to bed at two and he wouldn't wake up at ten. These were the goals he had for today. He knew it would be a long day but he was strong-willed and could do it. He would do things normal people did. He would eat lunch at a normal time. Dinner at a normal time. Errands at a normal time.

He got home refreshed from the walk and energized by the meal at the diner. First things first, he would start the spring cleaning he had been putting off for months now. Scratch that. First things first, he would replace the broken vacuum he had been staring at for months. He showered but chose to skip shaving. Not a day went by that he skipped shaving but today was a new day. “What do I need to shave for? Who am I trying to impress? No one.” It would be hard to get used to, but he would do it. He rubbed his chin. The slightest bit of stubble could be felt. The urge to lather and shave could be felt. He left the bathroom before he could convince himself to shave.

He called the metro hotline to check the bus schedule. Ten-thirty to Town Center. He grabbed a bottle of water and departed for the bus stop. He would have to wait for ten minutes but that would give him time to admire the kids at the playground across the street. There they were. Seven of them. Running and screaming and jumping around. He wondered what they were playing. He saw a boy, no more than six, chasing after a girl double his size. She giggled and spun around taunting him. He said, “Come back Mary Jane.” “That’s not my name,” she replied. The boy was wearing a Spiderman shirt. Even Charlie, at 80, could infer he was implying she was Mary Jane Watson, love interest of Peter Parker. He made some hand motions. Shooting webs at her and then calling her Green Goblin. The boy, unhappy with the girls hesitance to play along, had changed her character to his enemy. Charlie thought this was an accurate depiction of what love would be like for these children someday. In an instant the love of you life can become your worst enemy. Caught up in the game of pretend, Charlie failed to see the approaching bus. By the time he noticed it, it was half way down the block. “Fuck,” he exclaimed. The expletive was loud enough to be heard by Peter Parker and his Mary Jane. They looked at Charlie in astonishment. His cheeks flushed and he backed away from the fence he was leaning on. The children continued staring at him until he was sitting on the bench across the street, waiting for the next bus. He kept his head down and avoided looking back at the children. He surely couldn’t take their disapproving eyes anymore. Soon enough he could hear the boy calling out again. “Green Goblin, Green Goblin.” He could also hear the girl screaming that she was not a goblin. They had forgotten all about Charlie’s outburst. They had probably heard the word a million times before. They had probably repeated it a few times as well. That thought made him laugh. A long forgotten memory peeked in. He recalled a time when he was in school. First or second grade. Details were fuzzy. He recalled a girl in his class telling the teacher that he had said s-h-i-t and him running up to defend himself. “I didn’t say s-h-i-t. I said shit.” He remembered the look on everyone’s face. Shock swept the room and his name was being hollered by the teacher and he was sent to the principals office. The principal resisted laughing at the story while Charlie explained what happened. A slap on the wrist and a call home were punishment. His parents never even acknowledged the event. Surely, they thought it was as funny then, as he found it to be now. The sound of the approaching bus brought Charlie out of his memory. Of all the childhood memories to hold on to, that was the one he had the most vivid account of.

He boarded the bus, paid his fare, and found a seat near the front. He watched out the window as streets passed by. As people got on and off the bus he counted them. Two on. Three off. Four on. None off. This made the time fly by. “Town Center,” the drive called out. He pulled the chord to signal he would be getting off and made his way out of the bus when it stopped. He got into the store and found the vacuums. Until then he hadn’t thought about it but now was wondering how he was getting this large box home. He caught himself before he swore again in the presence of strangers. He hated the thought of dragging the box on the bus. He hated the thought of paying a taxi even more. The idea of paying five times the amount he would pay for the bus fare pissed him off. He would put the box in a cart. Take it to the bus stop. Get someone to help him carry it on. Get someone to help him carry it off. Get Joe, the doorman, to carry it upstairs. Sounded like a good plan.

When he found his way to the cashiers, he saw there was no wait and quickly cashed out. He started his way through the parking lot to the bus stop. He saw that a bus was stopped at a red light a block down. He thought to himself, “If I move really fast, I’ll make it.” He moved as fast as he could with the cart in front of him. He was moving at a fast pace when the cart stopped moving. He slammed his stomach straight into the handle of the cart and grunted. He tried moving the cart again but it wouldn’t budge. Nothing under the wheels. No reason for this stupid thing to stop moving. He fidgeted with the tiny wheels and tried pushing again. The bus was moving but this cart wasn’t going anywhere. The bus flew right by the stop and was out of sight. A young woman, Stacy on her nametag, approached him. “Sir, is everything OK?,” she asked.

“No, this cart stopped working and I missed my bus,” he yelled.

“Sir, here at Boxmart we have installed security devices into all of our carts that will force them to lock when they get past a certain point in our parking lot.

“Why in the hell would you do that? What sort of sense does that make?”

“Sir, you wouldn’t believe the amount of people that take our carts from here.”

“TAKE. TAKE. You think I’m stealing your cart. What would I take your cart for? I just was using it to get this stupid vacuum to the bus stop.

“Sir! I am not going to stand here and let you yell at me. In no way was I implying you were stealing the cart. I simply was explaining that we lose carts all the time and have taken necessary precautions to ensure that we don’t lose anymore.”

With that, Charlie yanked his box out of the cart and dragged it the twenty-five feet to the bus stop. He sat on the bench inspecting the torn up cardboard and checked to make sure it wasn’t too damaged to continue the journey in it’s current condition. “All this for a vacuum. This is what I get for coming out during the day.” Soon enough he was sitting on a bus again. Heading home to get to that delayed spring cleaning. He wouldn’t let the incident with the cart annoy him any longer. As he expected, a young man helped him carry the vacuum off the bus and Joe helped him carry it upstairs.

Charlie took the vacuum out of the box and saw that it was in pieces and would need to be built before he could use it. He eyed the clock. One o’clock. He was nearing the time he would normally go to bed. He was tired, but was determined to make it through the day and not go to sleep before ten tonight. A quick snack and he would get his tools and dive into the mess of parts he poured on his living room floor. He spread the hazelnut mixture on two pieces of toast and enjoyed every bite. “Whoever invented this stuff is a genius,” he thought as he devoured the grub. Without noticing, he pulled back the lever on the side of the recliner and sank into a complete state of relaxation. Relaxed breathing. Heavy eyes. All the signs that he would fall asleep if he stayed like that. He forced himself to lower the foot rest and get to work on this vacuum project.

All the experience in life couldn’t prepare him for this. The instructions were missing from the box. He had all the necessary tools but was missing the one thing that would make those tools perform their magic on the contraption in front of him. “How hard could it be?,” he asked himself. He spread all of the pieces out around him. He could do this. He started with the obvious points of construction and before long he was staring at what was starting to look like a vacuum. Admittedly, he was get very tired. He was past the point of his normal bedtime. He made it. Seven more hours to get through. Funny enough, seven more pieces sitting in front of him before this vacuum would lift anything off the ground.

Frustration kicked in as he got down to the final two pieces. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” No one in sight to hear his curses. He couldn’t guarantee the neighbors above or below him were lucky enough to not hear them. He couldn’t figure these pieces out. He inspected the picture of the vacuum on the box and compared it to the near-vacuum sitting in front of him. Inch-by-inch he performed a detailed comparison. There it was. Left hand side. A missing piece. A piece that was not laid out in front of him. First the missing instructions. Now a missing piece as well. He called the store to complain. Their suggestion: Bring in the item with your valid receipt and we will be happy to exchange it for a new item. The woman on the other end of the phone was certainly the same woman he had spoke to in the parking lot earlier. He was sure she knew it was him on the phone. Neither acknowledged this. She gave the standard scripted responses. “It’s not our policy to check every single item that enters our store. We cannot deliver the missing piece. We apologize for the inconvenience and will be happy to take off 10 percent when you come in.” Charlie hung up. He threw one of the remaining pieces across the room. He placed his hands in front of his face and let out a roar. Stubble could be felt below his fingers.

He got up from his position on the floor. Walked to the bathroom and shaved. This would calm him down. He decided he would take care of the vacuum situation tomorrow. Looking at his watch, he saw that time had passed quickly. Five more hours and he could call it a day. He would make dinner, watch some TV while he worked on his puzzle, and then it would be time for bed. He made dinner. More accurately, he heated up dinner in the microwave. He sat in his recliner while he ingested the tasteless meat in front of him. He placed the container on the table next to him. Again, without noticing, he reached for and pulled up on the lever of the chair. He leaned back and could sense the feeling again. Slowed breathing. Heavy eyes. He told himself he would just close those heavy eyes for a minute. “Just a minute. Just a minute,” he said as the minutes passed by and soon he was snoring in the chair. Eight hours later he woke up. Disoriented and stiff, he looked at the clock in disgust. He didn’t make it. He didn’t live a full day like the people who worked the day shift. Tomorrow he would do it. Tomorrow would be another day he told himself. He sat there a little bit longer and thought about the things he would try to accomplish the next day. Number one: don’t fall asleep before 10:00 P.M.

Twenty Thirteen

What 2013 meant for me:

I have spent the last week thinking about the past year. I have discussed this with some people and I think I  got caught up. I was quick to think that this year wasn't so great, but really I can't say that.

The year started off with my recognition for my teaching, which I still am working at perfecting. However, I am learning that there is no such thing as a perfect teacher, or perfect student...there are only those who strive for perfection. These are the people who want the best for themselves and for others and will do just about anything to achieve it. These are the people who aren't afraid to to be flawed. They fail. They make mistakes. They reevaluate. They regroup. 

Twenty Thirteen saw the ten year anniversary of my grandmother's passing and the realization that I hang on to this even with too hard of a grip. 

Twenty Thirteen saw my feet get wet in the ocean for the second time in my life. It's greatness amazes me. 

Twenty Thirteen saw my heart try to let someone in that just wasn't right for me. She wanted me to give more than I had to give. 

Twenty Thirteen saw my brain (and heart) decide to make changes in the way I educate. With the the support and similar vision of some truly great people I embarked on this journey. We called it a pilot program, but I think it has really taken flight...and can't wait to see how it continues to soar. 

Twenty Thirteen leaves me with hope. A simple word: Hope. One syllable. Four letters. Powerful in it's simplicity. I hope for the best. I hope for the best for you all and for myself. I hope for more exciting changes and more of the same. I hope for fireworks all of the time and not just on special occasions. 2013 was full of bursts of fire and I can only hope that 2014 brings even more. 

A Life: Three Years At A Time

Three years. For whatever reason, I have looked at my life in increments of three years. I’ve made plans to reevaluate every three years. When I decided to move to Baltimore, I said that I would reevaluate where I was  in three years and make another plan. Only something happened along the way, I stopped reevaluating things. It’s been four years. Some could argue that the first year was rough, and can be ignored in some aspects. Without that first year, these past three wouldn’t have happened.

I pride myself on my ability to see the end results of something before I start it. Or at least how I envision it to end. SIDEBAR: It’s unfair to assign an end to anything, but an end, to me, is the opportunity to set a goal and work towards finishing it.

So here I am…looking at the next three years. I have goals. These are goals tied to previous accomplishments and can be modified based on their progression.

1. Continue learning how to be a better teacher, and not let the negativity of some people defeat my ambition to do so.
2. Go back to school…I know this is a crazy goal…but school leadership is in my future in some way or another.
3. Give back. The combination of my trip to Haiti and a friend’s current trip to Belize have inspired me to get out there again. Early stages of research have begun.
4. Buy a house. Three years ago I would've said I would never buy a house. I saw it as a sign of settling down. Now, I see it as an opportunity and think a little settling down can be a good thing.
5. Finish my book. This project has been in the works for too long. I am constantly finding inspiration for it in the people I meet, but am failing to put these inspirations into words.
6. Think outside the box and color outside the lines.

Haven't We Met - Nick

Nick was still fascinated by the lost cell phone and the woman who found it. “Should have hit that,” he boasted to another bartender, who wasn’t listening. “She was flirting so hard on me. Girl wanted this. Probably stole my phone, just to pretend she found it for me.”

Nick was sure of one thing in this world. Women wanted him. All women wanted him. Truth be told, he hadn’t gotten laid in over a year, but he wouldn’t let anyone know that. Instead, he spoke of endless conquests. When in actuality he had an endless supply of lotion and Kleenex and stories of women running away after talking to him for thirty seconds. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. Quite the opposite actually. Nick was attractive. When you looked past the disheveled way he wore his clothing and hair, you could see a beautiful face and decent body. His brother, the model, constantly told him he could be modeling if he put a little more effort into things and didn’t waste what little money he had on drugs.

Nick cashed out for the night. He never looked at his tips in terms of money but in terms of how many pills he could buy. Tonight’s take: 50 little orange pills. A text to his dealer and a pick-up was arranged. He grabbed his jacket, smacked some waitress on the ass, and headed out the door.

Twenty minutes later he was standing in the lobby of an apartment building waiting to be buzzed up by Ian. Every time Ian buzzed the door open, Nick missed his opportunity to open it and had to buzz again. Annoyed by this, Ian ran down to let Nick in. “Damn, do you even shower before you go to work, “ Ian said as he led Nick upstairs. Nick ignored the insult. Best not to retaliate with the holder of the orange pills. Nick sat on the couch and watched some TV show about people surviving in the woods with little supplies. He thought to himself that he could do that and wondered how he could get on this show. “Yo, Ian how you get on this survivor show?” he asked as if Ian knew that answer. The response he got was a laugh and something about Nick being too much to deal with sometimes. Ian came back from the bedroom with a small bag of orange pills and told Nick to move over.

“You can’t take up the whole couch.”

The two shared a joint and watched as the TV contestants ate bugs. “Fuck,” Nick yelled out and put his hand over his mouth as he pretended to puke. “That shit is nasty. I take it back. I couldn’t be on this show. They tell me to eat a bug and I tell them to kiss my ass. Not for anything would I eat a bug. Nasty. Nasty. Nasty.” Nick went on and on about how nasty it was to see people eat bugs and how no one should be eating bugs.

“I ate a bug once,” Ian said to a stunned Nick. Ian went on to tell a story about eating some bug when he was in junior high. Not an accident but as a dare. A dare proposed by a girl. What kind of bug? How did it taste? Did you throw it up? “I don’t know what it was. It didn’t taste bad. Crunchy. No, I didn’t throw up,” Ian responded just as quickly as the questions came.

The two sample one of the orange pills each and before they knew it they were talking at light speed and considering a trip to the club.

A trip to the club would be great They walk to the club and order drinks I’ll have what he’s having That’s weird It tastes fruity It is fruity a burly bartender snaps back They came to the wrong club Men dancing with men Men kissing men Shit Fuck Damn We’re already here Let’s stay They move to the dance floor They dance or they think they’re dancing They are flailing their arms around They hit nearby dancers They dance with each other If we look like we’re together they won’t hit on us Ian disappears Nick continues gyrating around on the dance floor A man offers to buy him a drink He thinks this is a bad idea Don’t want to give him the wrong idea Free drinks though Another fruity drink the burly bartender asks Yeah, another fruity drink On his tab as he point to the older guy that is rubbing his arm Let the guy get a little feel Can’t hurt anything Nick thanks the buyer of the drink and runs off Looks back to see the guy giving him the finger and saying something to the bartender They look at Nick and shake their heads He takes that as his cue to find Ian and get out of there He downs the fruity drink and thinks to himself that he would like another but can’t risk going back to the bartender now He doesn’t find Ian He finds another orange pill in his pocket and inserts it in his mouth Time to go Time to go Runs out the door Looks both ways Runs Runs Runs Outside another club Looks fun he thinks Bouncer knows him He doesn’t know bouncer He goes in anyway Don’t worry about the cover Bouncer takes care of his people Not his people Not his anything Enter the club Run to the bar Bartender knows him too He doesn’t know bartender but takes him up on the free drink Nothing fruity Nothing too hard Tastes good Leaves a dollar or two on the bar and runs off Dance Dance Dance Some girl is looking at him She wants him No she is disgusted with his dancing No you can’t have my number She runs away She really runs away He will tell his friends he fucked her in the bathroom Time passes Another orange pill Too many in one night Too many for sure He loses time Wakes up on a couch in another room Still hears the music thumping It’s muffled Girl he knows is sitting next to him She is spaced out Opposite of orange pills She looks at him She looks through him She touches his lips Nice lips Touches his chin Nice chin Nick laughs Says something about kissing the nice lips Girl kisses him He kisses back People are in the room watching him He can’t pass this up Keeps kissing Starts groping Girl pushes away Too many people around to keep going He gets up He walks away He gets lost in a hallway He’s outside Fuck It got cold He starts running again Runs Runs Runs Diner is open Orders a burger and fries Gravy please Gravy on a burger the waitress asks Yes Gravy On A Burger Sips water Sucks up lemon seed Gags a little Waiting for food takes forever Coming down Coming down Coming down

Nick takes a bite out of his burger. “Fuck,“ he says and calls the waitress over. “Who put gravy on this burger,” he asks rudely. An old man on the next stool answers for her. “You did, idiot. She asked you if you were sure you wanted gravy on it and you said you did.” At that point Nick looks down on his plate and takes another bite of the burger. It’s disgusting but he wouldn’t dare say anything else. He looks back at the old man who is looking at him too. The old man shakes his head and goes back to his crossword. Nick forces down the rest of his burger and feels himself getting tired. He knows he needs to get home before he completely passes out. Can’t have a repeat of the other night when he passed out in the park and woke next to a pile of dog shit. He wants his check but doesn’t want to ask the waitress for it. She brings the old man his check. He hands her a twenty and tells her to keep it. “Thanks, Charlie,” she says as she leans across the counter to kiss his cheek. Nick also throws a twenty on the counter and almost asks where his kiss is. Surprisingly, he knows better. He leaves. He wants to run home but his body is moving in slow motion. It takes a long time but he finds himself in front of his building searching for his keys. They aren’t there. His roommate isn’t answering the phone. Nick sits on the stoop. Soon enough he is sleeping on the cold stairs.

Haven't We Met - Celia

2. Celia

Celia left the hospital that evening feeling defeated. Between watching Dr. Calendar take a man off of life support and having to clean shit off of an eighty year old woman, she also got a call from a collections agency. Student loans were bound to be the death of her. Her mother always said, “don’t worry about that now, worry about that later,“ when she said she couldn’t afford to go to college.

She walked towards the bus stop and saw that she had just missed the bus and would have to wait 45 minutes to catch the next one. Most people would find this situation frustrating but Celia subconsciously believed that she missed the bus on purpose. Afterall, it did happen the majority of the week. Those extra minutes spent smelling the flowers in the hospital gift shop and waiting for the fresh pot of coffee to be ready were worth it. Additionally, she took those 45 minutes to catch up on her reading. Her current selection was Letters to a Young Poet by Rilke. She treasured it’s message of embracing one’s solitude and using it to enhance their own strength. She found similar joy in reading the message of necessary solitude found in Walden.

She found joy in the idea of solitude but despised being alone herself. She spent very little time alone and any time that was spent that way was an anxious time. She didn’t consider this to be a weakness because she didn’t feel it was a fault. She loved the joy of company and would rather be surrounded by people than be alone. She always kept large groups of friends in order to have a number of people on speed dial to keep her busy. Most days she would not go home until late into the night and was out of the house before the sun came up. Her mother often nagged her for keeping her apartment at all when she could just as easily live in the basement apartment at home. “Think of all the money you would save,” was her favorite thing to say. Although she would never admit it, she knew her mother was right about the money, but also knew that she wouldn’t be saving her sanity at all. The relationship between the two wasn’t a bad one, but it had it’s moments. They got along much better when they didn’t live together and she had no intentions of going back there.

In order to keep herself busy she joined a dating site and made it a point of going out on at least one date a week. Most of these dates were unsuccessful and didn’t lead to anything special. The majority of the men were not afforded the luxury of a second date, and those that were, usually didn’t make it to the third. Celia wasn’t picky or anything, she just needed to feel that spark to let a guy past the first date. She went as far as always kissing on the first date to test the waters. She wasn’t a bad date either. Most men found her attractive and enjoyed the time they spent with her and would love to go out with her a second time. Celia had a knack for conversation and the nursing field had given her a unique ability to read people very well.

The last guy she went out with falsely represented himself online and it killed Celia to maintain her polite nature during the date. He had said he was 30 and had a swimmers build. He was thirty, but she could see immediately that he had not updated his picture or description in quite some time. He wasn’t obese or anything, but he definitely wasn’t in the same shape he was in five years ago. She didn’t want to hold it against him but she did not like people who couldn’t be real with her. In addition to his false description, he also was too arrogant for Celia. He made a point of mentioning his penthouse apartment several times and made sure to mention that it had once belonged to a famous writer. Mind you, he couldn’t recall the name of this so-called famous writer. She ended the night early, but not before giving him the kiss test. Sure as shit, he didn’t make up for his lies and arrogance with the kiss and before he even left the parking lot Celia was deleting his number.

“Tonight would be different,” she told herself. She had been chatting with Steve for quite some time on the dating site, but their schedules were always conflicting. He was a pilot and weeks went by where he was not available. He emailed her last week that he would be home for the whole week and would love to see her. She had become so convinced that they were not going to meet in-person that when he said he was free, she almost said she was unavailable. However, she remembered so fondly that his first email quoted the Rilke book she was reading. “Let life happen. Believe me: life is in the right always.” It was a quote Celia had taken as her own personal motto for the new year and decided that he was worth the wait and meeting him would be great.

When the bus finally arrived she closed her book and boarded. The bus driver was a familiar face and always asked her how her day was. “Another day on the grind,” was her usual response. Today she said, “took a lot out of me, but tomorrow’s another day.” He simply nodded and she got the impression that he could care less. She found a seat in the back and found herself searching her purse for her makeup and mirror. She hated that she didn’t have time to home to shower before meeting Steve. If she wasn’t able to shower, she was definitely going to make sure she looked her best. Before she could start the process, she dropped a container of Tic-Tacs on the floor. The sound of the breath mints rolling on the floor followed.

“Fuck,” she said loud enough for the old woman in the front of the bus to gasp. She avoided looking up, out of fear that the old woman would be scolding her with her eyes. Instead, she went to work on her canvas. A little lipstick. A little eyeliner. A bump in the road, and a little makeup eraser to fix the extra line on her cheek. She never put on more makeup than she would be able to wear to work. It was easier that way and she was convinced that any guy that couldn’t deal with her looking a little more natural than others, wasn’t the guy for her. She looked up to see that her stop was coming up and she shoved her items back in her back.

As she got off the bus, she admired herself in the reflection of a shop window. She felt confident that Steve was going to like her. After all, he told her on the phone last night that a woman that put too much thought into how she looked, didn’t think that much at all.

She found herself in front of The Wine Thief and eyeballed the menu on the door. Looked good enough and she saw a number of items she would choose from. She scanned the room for Steve, but didn’t see the man from the pictures. She would usually wait at the bar. Tonight she chose to find a table. The restaurant was very relaxed and the waiter quickly brought over a glass of water and three tasting wines. He explained, rather quickly, that they were featuring three new wines tonight and were giving samples. The waiter spoke too fast for Celia to comprehend what he was saying. She smiled and nodded as he went through the descriptions. She caught a word every now and then. Crisp. Robust. Full-bodied. She thanked him and told him she would be waiting for a friend to order.

Steve was late. Celia hated lateness but was willing to give some room to Steve. She felt he would be worth the wait, but not worth waiting to order a drink. She chose one of the tasting wines and the waiter was happy to bring her one. He said something about getting points when someone ordered one of the new wines. He ran off again. She wondered if he was always that scattered brained, or if he was on something tonight. She chose the latter after watching him play drums with a pair of forks and giggling at his accomplishment. He dropped the forks when he saw that his boss was watching him too. Celia found herself laughing out loud when the water quickly grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped it off as if that was intention all along. Despite his rather erratic behavior, the waiter, Ollie, was cute.

Celia checked her phone repeatedly to see if Steve had called or text her. Forty-five minutes late and he hadn’t bothered to do either. Her desire to wait for him was waning. She was hungry and told Ollie to bring her some calamari. She told herself that she would wait fifteen more minutes and then she was going home. Ollie brought her the appetizer, and at her request, the bill twenty minutes later. He said something about being sorry her guest didn’t show up. She shook her head at the bill, and the thought that she had just took herself out on a date. Ollie took the bill and thanked her for the generous tip. She was about to walk out the door when she noticed a cell phone lying on the ground. She brought it to the bar and handed it to an elated bartender. “Oh, shit. When did I lose that?.” he asked her as if she knew that answer. He looked absolutely puzzled and Celia’s first thought was that everyone that works at this place must be on drugs. Nick, as he introduced himself, told her she couldn’t leave without have a drink on the house. She looked at her watch to see that she another forty minutes before the next bus came and decided to take Nick up on his offer. She had another of the tasting wines, only this one was not as good as the other. Nick repeatedly laughed to himself and looked back and forth between his phone and the spot on the ground where Celia had found it. Celia finished her drink, thanked Nick for the drink, and started walking towards the bus stop. Sitting on the bench, she felt her phone vibrate. It was Steve, apologizing for his absence. An emergency. Blah, blah, blah. Without another thought Celia deleted the message and his number. First standing her up and then texting instead of calling. “Sorry Steve,” Celia said as she gathered her things. She got on the bus. Another bus driver asking how her day was and another response of, “took a lot out of me.”

thesafetyofobjects

I had a dream last night. I suppose a recollection is a better description. There is a difference. One is a wish of something that hasn't happened and the other is memory of something that has. They are similar and I imagine that they can be mixed.

Last night's dream was about my grandmother.

Last night's recollection was about my grandmother.

Last night's recollection was about her dentures.

Last night's recollection was probably sparked by my purchasing of Fixodent for my broken tooth.

Last night's recollection reminded me of the times when she would pop out her own dentures to make me laugh.

Last night's recollection might sound disturbing to you, but it's a cherished memory to me.

Last night's recollection reminded me of times when she would be napping and her teeth would be in the cup beside her.

Last night's recollection made me feel bad about that fact that I would poke at the dentures in the glass while she was sleeping.

Last night's recollection had me cringe a little when she put the dentures back in her mouth after I poked them with my finger.

Last night's recollection was partially a dream since it took place in my apartment here in Baltimore and she died 6 years before I moved here.

Last night's dream was about my grandmother.

Last night's dream was....

LEO GURSKY IS SURVIVED BY AN APARTMENT FULL OF SHIT, or the case of missed opportunities.

The History of Love may sound like a sappy love story, and many would skip over it's cover in a browsing session at the book store. (Yes, people still browse at book stores) I read it, and I read the book by the author's husband that draws similarities. I loved both in different ways and felt connect to both in different ways.

I read the bulk of this book at the Baltimore City Court while I waited, and waited to find out if I would serve as a juror. I never got called into a courtroom, but think the near completion of The History of Love and the BLT sandwich I had for lunch 'wins' for the day. As the lunch hour drew near, I thought about where I would go eat, and finally decided to just walked down Charles Street to see what I could find. Before reaching my destination I walked several blocks and people watched along the way. At one point I noticed a girl walking my way. I also noticed that she was carrying a book in her hand. She was attractive. I wanted to know what she was reading, so when she got closer I slowed my pace. As she passed by me I was able to see the book she was holding. The History of Love was cradled in the palm of her right hand, while my copy was clutched in my left. We were reading the same book. If this book was The Hunger Games, or any other current, popular book I wouldn't have thought anything of it. No this was a book that I picked up at a used book sale, that was written seven years ago. As the girl got further away from me I stopped in my tracks and momentarily thought I should say something to her. Something told me to say something to her. However, something else told me not to.

I couldn't help but think about the incident and how I might have missed out on an opportunity. She might have thought it was an amazing find that we were both reading this book. We might've grabbed lunch together and talked about Leo and Alma, and we might've made plans to get together another time. The other side of me says she wouldn't have thought anything of the coincidence and she would have chuckled. She would have walked away anyways.

The book in itself is a story of missed opportunities in a way, so it seems almost fitting that I considered the possibilty of this coincidence and it's later 'kick myself' moment. If I were writing my memiors, I would have several chapters titled The History of Love and Other Missed Opportunities. They would tell stories of looking for excuses, or reasons not to pursue someone. 'She didn't have eyebrows," or "Our schedules would never let it work." I need to be more open to the opportunities given to me, and get less stuck in my own head over these things. I do believe that it is not healthy to pursue unavailable women, but it's also unhealthy to not pursue someone before you've even given them a chance. I need to be open to the opportunites around me, and open to the possibility that these opportunities might not work out, and open to the possibilty that these opportunities might work out.

Otherwise....When they write my obituary....it will say, RYAN KLOETZER IS SURVIVED BY AN APARTMENT FULL OF SHIT.