2. Trevor
2
TREVOR
I pull on the green apron designating me an employee of Harvey’s Hardware and tie the strings behind my back. Any moment now the store will open and the normal Saturday morning flood of weekend warriors will fill the aisles. They will have questions. So many questions.
I stifle a sigh. Most of the time, I really like my job managing the store. But it’s been a long week and we’re down two people thanks to a bug that’s going around. That means I’m going to be out and about today, pitching in wherever I’m needed and helping customers find exactly what they think they need for their weekend home improvement projects.
It’s not that I mind helping. It’s just that being around people is exhausting. I can handle the customers who ask a simple question and nod quietly as you tell them which paint is rated best for indoor/outdoor use. What drains me are the Chatty Cathys of the world.
Grabbing my thermos of coffee, I take a long pull to fortify myself as I walk toward the front of the store. I’ve never been good at small talk or connecting with people. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only reason I got the job as store manager is because no one else was remotely qualified when it came time to replace the previous one. It certainly wasn’t because of my eloquence or dynamic personality. Being a kid with a speech impediment taught me a long time ago to keep most of my thoughts to myself. Even though I can speak clearly now, it’s a hard habit to break.
I straighten a display of wrench sets, strolling along aisles and generally keeping an eye on things. On my second pass through the lumber department, I notice a young woman studying the plywood section. My pace slows a bit as I take in her skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a black leather jacket that contrasts with her blonde, shoulder-length hair. She tilts her head to look at a label and I get a better look at her face. She’s cute and, judging from her perplexed expression, probably clueless about lumber.
I glance around, checking to see if any of my associates are available to help, but I don’t spot anyone. I walk toward her, willing my gut to unclench and my shoulders to relax. She’s just a regular person, no need to be anxious.
“Can I help you find something?” I ask once I’m a few feet away. She turns to me and smiles, the impact of her attention like a punch. She looks like a fairy princess with her delicate features and big brown eyes.
She chuckles. “I sure hope so.”
My mouth is dry and I swallow before responding. “What kind of project are you working on?”
“A set for a Christmas play. Our music teacher is on maternity leave so I volunteered to direct the program for all the second and third graders, even though I’ve never done something like that before and have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” She pauses to roll her eyes like she’s put out with herself, but she’s still grinning so she must not be too upset about it.
“I picked a script for a musical skit where the kids will be elves in the North Pole and I’m picturing some props to make the stage look fun and festive but also cozy, like Santa’s workshop. Maybe a fireplace, some life-sized nutcrackers, a Christmas tree or two, a couple of huge candy canes, some wooden bins we can fill with wrapped gifts, a gingerbread house big enough for the kids to walk into…”
Her eyes sparkle with barely contained enthusiasm.
“Do you think that’s too ambitious? You can answer honestly. My roommate already told me it’s too much, but I’m open to a second opinion. Especially if you agree with me.”
I shake my head slowly. “It is a lot, but that all sounds doable, depending on how much time you have and what your budget is.”
“The program is in four weeks and the budget is…not huge.”
She names a sum that is basically microscopic relative to all the set pieces she mentioned and I try not to wince.
“Not enough, huh?”
I guess I didn’t keep my face as neutral as I hoped.
“I was afraid of that. It’s not a very big school so the budget is pretty tight. I’m planning to chip in a little myself but, you know, teacher’s salary.” She shrugs like ‘What can you do?’
I change tactics. “Which parts are the most important to you? We can start there if you want.”
She bites her lower lip and stares over my shoulder, thinking. “I really want the fireplace. I can let the gingerbread house go. It would probably be a distraction for the kids anyway. I just thought it sounded neat. Hang on a second, I’ll show you a picture of the fireplace that inspired me.” Pulling a phone from the pocket of her jacket, she swipes it open and taps a few times before turning the screen to face me.
My mind is whirring with ideas and calculations as I study the photo. “That wouldn’t be too bad. You’d just need a sheet of plywood, a couple of two-by-fours, and some paint. ”
“Great! And what would I need to put it together? Like, tools, I mean.”
My optimism stutters. I was thinking about how simple this project would be for me, not for someone who I’d be willing to bet does not own nor know how to operate any tools more complicated than a screwdriver.
“I can see by the look on your face that the answer is ‘big expensive tools’,” she quips. “Maybe I could hire someone to make it for me?”
“I could help.” The words are out of my mouth before I have time to really think about what I’m offering. The smile she gives me in response is almost blinding and fills me with both anticipation and low-grade panic.
“Really? That would be great! How much would you charge me?”
“Oh, uh…” See, this is why I talk as little as possible. “Maybe we could do some kind of exchange, so we don’t use all your budget up on labor.”
She cocks her head, her brows drawing together and creating a little furrow of concentration between her eyes as she considers this.
“What kind of exchange? I’m not sure what I can help you with unless you have a second-grader who needs some tutoring.” Again with the smile. She’s got to be one of the most likable, friendly people I’ve ever met.
Out of nowhere, it dawns on me what I want from her. “You could teach me how to talk to people.”
She throws her head back and laughs as if I’ve delivered the punchline to a joke. My face heats and my arms instinctively cross over my chest. I shouldn’t have asked. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut today? I feel myself withdrawing, like a hermit crab into its shell.
“Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” She scrutinizes my face, sobering. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I think I just hurt your feelings and I sure didn’t mean to.”
I blink, surprised by the sincerity I sense in her apology. “It’s okay, I knew it was silly.”
“No, it’s not. Even if it was, I still shouldn’t have laughed.” Her lips crook up into a chagrined half smile. “I bet you’re realizing that I’m definitely not the right person to help you learn to talk to people now, huh?”
Quite the opposite, actually. Despite the misunderstanding, it only took her about three seconds to realize what had happened and try to make it right. That awareness and ability to say the right thing at the right time is exactly what I would love to be able to do myself.
“I still think you’re the right person. If you don’t think I’m a lost cause.” I duck my chin, unable to meet her eye.
Her response is gentle but confident. “Nobody is a lost cause. I’ll do it. You help me build a set for my play and I’ll help you learn how to talk to people. Deal?”
She extends her hand and I take it briefly, noticing how small it feels in mine.
“Deal.”
“My name is Kayla, by the way. Kayla Wright. And you are…” She leans in and squints at my name badge, trying to decipher the worn lettering. “Trevon?”
“Trevor,” I correct.
“Nice to meet you, Trevor.” Kayla looks around and I notice for the first time that the store is beginning to hum with other customers as the busiest part of our week kicks into gear. “I need to think some more about what I want to build and you probably need to get back to work, but maybe we can set up a time later to talk about this deal. How can I get in touch with you?” She holds her phone up, ready to type.
I recite my number and my phone buzzes a few seconds later with an incoming text.
Hi, this is Kayla.
“Got it. I’ll text you when I get off this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Thanks again, Trevor.”
With a little wave and one more mega-watt smile, she walks away. I watch her go until a throat clears beside me, jerking me back to reality.
“Excuse me, young man, where can I find plumbing tape?”