Six #2
Craig took a long sip of his coffee and set the cup next to the empty one already on the table.
“A log rolled on me and I got messed up. Haven’t been able to run a rig like I should since.
” He picked his coffee up again, but his fingers were shaking.
Memories of him flashed through me, the stiff walk, the leg brace.
I could almost see a tree tumbling over him like a rolling pin.
I suppressed the shiver tickling my spine.
Craig brought his other hand up to steady his grip on the cup before taking another sip.
He opened his mouth to say something, to change the subject, but I pressed on.
“That had to be hard.”
“Chain broke and the log came off the flatbed,” he shrugged, and then quietly, almost swallowing the words, he added, “I still dream about it.”
Dreams. He is haunted by dreams, like he haunts me in my dreams.
“But I’m still out there. I had an interview earlier today. Didn’t go that well, but at least I got the interview.” He took another sip from the cup that he was hiding behind.
The whole thing was kind of a buzzkill, but I’d asked. We could sit with the silence or I could do something about it. “Well, I am sure something will work out,” I tried.
“I’ve got a lead on another opening but it requires some CPR and first–aid training first and there aren’t any open classes for months. Are those flowers?”
“What?” Seriously, what? Where did that come from?
“On your donut. Those look like little flower blossoms, lavender I think.”
The bits on the donut’s purple glaze had a distinctly organic look, like tiny purple bells or cones, lavender cones. The donut didn’t have sprinkles, it had flower petals. “These definitely look like lavender flower petals. Here,” I tore off a quarter and handed it to him.
With one hand he set down his cup and with the other he reached out.
His right hand to my left hand, and like a same sided handshake we were in each other’s way, his finger brushing mine.
A brush that sent a surprising electric shiver down my spine.
I fumbled the donut, but maintained control at the last moment.
Oblivious to my distress he calmly held up the piece of pastry for inspection.
“Lavender sprinkles.” In a series of wordless communications which felt much too familiar for the short time we’d known each other, he gestured permission to eat the bite in his hand and I waved my agreement.
He’d bought it after all. He actually closed his eyes while he ate it as if that would help him taste it better.
Opening them he shrugged. “Tastes like a cake donut with fruity frosting. The lavender looks interesting but I don’t know if it tastes any different. ”
Following his lead I took another bite and closed my eyes trying to separate the flavors.
Soft well raised vanilla cake with a firm satisfying crust, a fruity- really a blueberry glaze and yea that was it.
The petals looked nice but I couldn’t taste any lavender directly.
When I opened my eyes, Craig had a funny look on his face.
“What?”
“That was weird, why’d you do that?”
Definitely not a smooth first date move mister. “Do what?”
“Close your eyes. Did it help to taste it better?”
Really? Did you not just do the same thing? “I guess. You did it and I was just trying to give it the same attention.”
His funny look pinched as he scrunched up his face. “I didn’t close my eyes.”
I was starting to get mad now, “Yes you did.”
Unscrunching his face Craig closed his eyes, then opened them, then closed them again, and opened them to a thoughtful expression, “Huh, I guess I did. Sorry about that.”
He apologized. He admitted he was wrong. He listened to me and actually heard what I said and thought it out and admitted he was wrong. Despite the lines of his eyes reminding me of my dad, he was nothing like him.
Before I understood what I was doing I pulled out my phone and swiped out a quick text to Fiona.
“I just thought of something. I’m going to a CPR training in the next couple of weeks.
It’s a work thing, but I can check and see if they have any open slots.
” Hitting send I looked up. “No promises or anything, and I’m not sure if I can get a non-teacher in but I’ll ask. ”
“Gee, that’s nice. But really you don’t have to do that.”
Shrugging, I set my phone down with a clack. “I know, but if there’s space it would be a shame to have it go to waste. Especially since you could use it.”
Craig’s smile was genuine if a little pained and he tapped his index finger against the table twice before saying, “Well then sure. Yeah, let me know. That would help me out a lot.”
“Well give me your number so I can let you know if it works out.” And if touching your finger made me feel like that and you are big enough to admit when you’re wrong, I might want to use the number. Occasionally.
“Uh, right.” He fumbled with his phone, reading me off the digits while I put them in my phone.
I wrote Craig in the contacts and started adding a last name and erased it.
Just Craig was fine. I didn’t know any other Craigs on a first name basis and writing ‘Jackie’s Uncle’ wasn’t a good idea.
Actually, it was a very bad idea. Just Craig was fine.
Looking up from my phone to his dark eyes and wide smile–creased whiskered face, I really hoped Fiona could figure out how to get him in.
“So,” I ventured, sipping from my cooling fruity coffee, “Tom Cruise or Liam Neesen?”
It took him a moment to catch on to my subject change but after a swallow from his cooling coffee he answered, “Jason Statham.”
“The driver,” I laughed.
He smiled that wonderful eye crinkled smile, “The driver.”
We both disliked comic book movies, Guardians of the Galaxy excepted.
Chinese food gave him heartburn, but Mexican was fine.
And Kansas, the band was underrated. I’d thought I’d never heard of them but when he passably sang a bar from Carry on Wayward Son I recognized it immediately.
Two hours spun away faster than I realized and when my phone buzzed with the fake appointment I’d set, I almost ignored it.
Almost. He was still Jackie’s Uncle and this was still just coffee.
“Hey I’ve got to go.” I took the last dark syrupy sip, tipping the wide-mouthed cocktail glass up and looking at him through the glass’s flared base. “This has been fun. Thanks for asking.”
“Sure,” Craig said, stumbling to his feet and pushing his chair out as I stood up.
He walked me to the door, his gait stiff and a bit slow, but I didn’t speed away.
When we reached the door he snaked a hand out to push it open for me, standing beside me.
A moment lingered where I thought I might put my hand on his chest and lean in, but I let it go and instead passed by him through the open door.
Turning back without stopping I waved goodbye.
He waved in return and then went back inside, his coat was still hanging on the back of his chair.
It wasn’t the coat from my dream. While both were brown, this one had cuffs shiny from wear and the backing peeked through the tiny holes rubbed in the collar by his whiskers. It was a comfortable but old coat. The lining was just quilted fabric, not the sheepskin I’d half expected to see.
Driving home I picked up Chinese. Cooking felt like a distraction and the donut was not dinner.
I probably should have finished my grading and worked on next week’s lesson plan but I dropped all of that on the kitchen table and turned on the TV, actual programmed television since I didn’t really know what I was in the mood for.
My eye caught a show about dysfunctional brothers hunting angels. Normally I would have clicked past it but the opening theme song was Kansas’s Wayward Son, so I let the show play. In spite of their dysfunction and horrible choices the brothers kind of won and kind of lost. It felt like life.
Despite all the caffeine I’d consumed I was dreamily exhausted.
Maybe it was struggling not to think about how his chest would have felt beneath my fingertips.
Or avoiding how I would explain that same touch to the principal.
It’s not a good thing when a teacher is sitting in the student’s chair meeting with the principal.
Putting the Lo Mien and peppers in the fridge I decided to call it a day. It had been just coffee.
When sleep crept into my bed, I found myself in the dark.
Singing echoed around me and a blinding bright scene held my focus, a stage with costumed characters twirling around, an old man, and a cow, and princesses.
The distinctive clink of silverware on china drew my attention and I turned to my left and there he was.
Next to me. We were at a table again, but seated side by side.
He smiled at me, knife and fork in hand.
I should have smiled back, maybe I did, it was all fuzzy.
In unplanned unison we put forked bites into our mouths.
Maybe I smiled at the coincidence, maybe I even laughed, but what cut through the dream haze was the taste of lavender.