Chapter 53
Will
September, sidewalks full of red and golden leaves that crunch beneath each step.
Days that turn monotonous, the way they were before Greta came into my life, a before and after, and now she’s gone.
In the mornings, I read, I think too much, I go buy groceries.
In the afternoons, I wash my clothes, and as I watch the washing machine spin, I think back on everything she said to me before she left, as if I can find the answer I am looking for between the lines.
Night falls, I go to work, and time passes a little faster, especially when it’s busy.
One by one, the days of the calendar pass.
Paul asked what happened when I told him I needed my job back.
“Aren’t you supposed to go to Europe?” he asked.
But I wouldn’t talk, and he stopped pressing me.
Every day we open the bar together, and when closing time is near, I usually tell him to go home.
I don’t mind cleaning up and getting things ready for the next shift.
I’m almost happy to have something useful to do.
“You sure?” he asks me tonight, looking doubtful.
“Yeah, man, you know how it is. Aren’t you seeing a girl anyway?”
“Yeah,” he says, throwing on his jacket.
“Then go hang out with her. Have fun.”
She came in a couple of times for drinks with friends. She’s nice and she likes to laugh. She makes me think about those nights when Greta used to drop in without warning, and if I let my imagination carry me away, I sometimes hope Greta might follow her in. But I know that will never happen.
I’ve started to actually understand Greta Peterson these past few months.
I know what she likes and what she can’t stand.
I know she’s got a mole under her collarbone that I used to love to kiss.
I know she closes her eyes when she makes love.
I know her chin trembles when she cries and that her laughter sounds like music.
I know her weaknesses, but I also know she’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.
And that’s why I know, even if it’s hard for her to make decisions, that when she does, there’s no turning back.
Greta won’t come back. There’s no way.
This is what I’m thinking when the door opens and I see him come in. The blinds are down, but I guess he doesn’t care. He looks the same as always—a little older but otherwise untouched by life.
“Sorry, we’re closed.”
Taylor ignores me and sits on a barstool. I set aside the broom and walk around the bar to face him. It’s like getting in a time machine and going to the past. Except I’m older now, and he doesn’t scare me anymore.
“You’re still cleaning up.”
“We’re closed.”
“Come on, just one beer.”
I don’t know why, but my hands move on their own, grabbing the bottle and popping the top. I don’t offer him a glass. He doesn’t ask for one, either.
“I heard Greta left.”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Guess that means neither of us won.”
I look at him blankly, but inside I’m filled with rage and frustration. Was I ever like him? Was I close to turning into the type of person I used to hate so much when I was young?
“It was never about winning or losing.”
“Come on. Don’t tell me you were in love,” he jokes, then raises his eyebrows and whistles. “How predictable. What did you say your name was?”
I never did say. He doesn’t know.
“Will Tucker.”
I wait for an exclamation, some sign of surprise or understanding to cross his face, for him to realize this is the second time we’ve crossed paths.
But there’s none of that. Taylor doesn’t recognize me.
For a moment, as I watch him slam his beer, I want to tell him how he fucked my life up when we were kids.
I even think about bloodying his nose. But I realize it’s pointless, because he’s not going to change.
And that reminds me that we’re not so different.
It’s just that I could change. And still, I’m not doing it.
He gets up soon afterward and drops a few dollars on the bar. I put them in the register while he walks to the door. On the way out, he says, “Hey, Will, no hard feelings, right? And trust me: You should forget about Greta. Too complicated. She’s not worth it.”
The door closes behind him. I keep staring at it for several minutes.
It’s strange how people can mark your life so deeply and then, years later, they’ve completely forgotten you.
I should be mad, but I just feel empty. In a way, I think, Taylor got what he deserved: He’ll have to spend the rest of his life with himself.
I finish picking up and go to the car, where I find a flier under my windshield. I grab it and get in. The wind’s blowing hard.
Used cars bought and sold. Want to sell your car? Want to buy a new one? Come visit us at this address.
I ought to throw it out, but for some reason, I put it in my jacket pocket.