SHORTS

Reflections

The van lumbers into the parking lot, jostling the cold coffee drink and sending the papers on the dash careening to the floor.  Josh shifts into the first parking space in front of DiPetro’s where the flashing blue and red “Open” sign blinks on and off, on and off.

            “Cash only.”  Josh observes the only other sign in the store window. 

            “That’s why I got $20 back at the store.  Just use that.”  I snap.  I hand him two bills, riffling with my other hand through my purse for my cell phone.

            “Oh, okay.  Be right back.”  The door slams behind him and I lean back into the seat.  The baby is asleep, finally, and Kelsey is in a grilled cheese haze from our Sonic visit.  She quietly watches Cinderella and I am thankful for the reprieve.

            And then, there he is.  He’s about six feet tall and the first thing I notice is the sharpness of his nose and posture.  His aquiline nose and the way he hunches into his cell phone take me back 13 years and I’m that giddy, breathless, stupefied girl of 23. 

            His hat is on backwards, of course, and he is thin, too thin perhaps.  He paces as he talks on the phone, kicking up stray pebbles in the parking lot, ambling between Di’Petros and Deb’s Styling Salon.  The person on the other line must say something of some concern.  He squints, looks down. Exactly the same. Exactly.  I can’t hear his voice.  I stay in the car, afraid to move.

            He’s better dressed, true, and the dark hair that peeks from under the hat doesn’t curl up around the edges, over his ear, but instead falls in a straight, choppy cut.  It doesn’t matter.  Right here.  Right now.  It’s him.

            The van door opens.  “They don’t have the sauce you like, but I can get you a white pizza.  With garlic and tomato.”  Josh says it with such success.  What I wanted five minutes ago isn’t possible, but it takes me a moment to turn my head,  to register what is before me. 

Josh qucikly adds, “And I can get stuff on it.”  A small pause, and then, “They can add some veggies if you like.”  He’s being patient, and waits for a response.  I have to decide what I want.

            “Umm…that sounds good.  With broccoli. That works.  I manage this much.

            “Okay.  Be right back.”  The car door slams again and through the shell of the Odyssey I hear the chime from the bell on Di’Petro’s door ring.  I turn back to the parking lot and he’s gone.  In his place is a couple, the woman with a freshly cut asymmetrical bob.  She must be in her eighties with tight, grey sweatpants, too small for her trunk-like legs. Her black, overstuffed bag hangs on one arm while her husband in New Balance tennis shoes and white socks holds her other arm.  They hobble to their car, both of them staring at the movements their feet make along the pock-marked sidewalk. 

            When I spot him again, he is across the street, raising his hand to a girl who waves her arms wide and rushes toward him with an exuberance I understand.  When she catches up to him, he pulls the cell phone away from his ear and hugs her.  I can feel that hug from here.  She breaks the empbrace and hurries on ahead, he turns, following her in the opposite direction.

            I’m out of the car now.  The wind whips my skirt about my legs as I stare at the scene before me.  I open the side van door, and alternate looking at them, at him, through the back of the pollen streaked window and standing up, straining to follow him as he meanders back to the apartments that are ubiquitous in this ‘college’ part of town.

            For almost eight minutes, I was that girl again.  The girl whose breath could be taken away by his presence.  I could smell the soft scent at the side of his neck where my face would press.  His warmth was mine.  Never mind that it was the sun, never mind that the wave was for her.  For a minute, it was me again.  Me he wanted.  Me he saw.  Thirteen years hadn’t passed and he was here again offering me another chance.  A mulligan.  I’d take that shot again, even knowing how it turned out.

            “Hey! Here you go.”  A familiar voice wakes me from my reverie.  “It’s got all you wanted on it.  And I even had them put garlic on it, fresh pressed, cause I know you love it.”  So proud. 

            “You are so sweet. Thank you.”  And I mean it.  I take the box with the grease already seeping through the bottom and coloring the top.  I open my door to get back in the van and notice my arm poking out from my tank top, it has a bit of a waddle in it.  My breasts aren’t firm anymore, and the stomach that has carried three children is far from the one I had when I was 23.  I hoist myself into the seat and close the door.  The van hums to life and the baby stirs.  Kelsey states she has to go pee. 

            As we back out of the parking spot, I notice the elderly couple still hasn’t made it to their car.  The van hits every pothole as Josh backs out of the parking lot.  He shifts into drive and we go the only way we can: forward.

Amy Gooding        April 2011