Thanksgiving with Todd

Thanksgiving break was coming up, and it was too close to finals to bother making the trip back home to Upstate New York. I didn’t feel like driving through the blizzard-like conditions I would inevitably have to plow through as soon as I hit Cleveland. Terms like snow squall, wind chill factor, and lake effect had become uncommon terms ever since I moved to Central Ohio, so I decided to accept Todd’s invitation for Thanksgiving dinner up at his parents’ house near the lake.  When I accepted his offer, he was so thrilled that for three straight weeks he couldn’t stop talking about what seemed like the most exciting thing that was ever going to happen him.  “A real TRADITIONAL Thanksgiving dinner!  It’s going to be amazing!” he beamed, telling everyone in between classes.  I think I was the first Asian he had ever met.  Sometimes I would catch him staring at me while we were in class, and he would blurt things out, like, “My wife has never eaten Chinese food.  Ever.”  Why he decided to tell me this since I was Korean, I don’t know.  Why I should expect this ol’ country boy to know the difference between two distinctly different cultures is probably the real question.

“You see,” Todd’s eyes lighting up, arms flying in the air to accentuate his point, “in my house, we have a huge turkey, with mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and yams, and…”  I pretended to be fascinated and not have an inkling of what Thanksgiving was about.  I felt it was the least I could do.  His mom was going to be feeding me, after all.

Todd treated me like a foreigner, even though he knew where I was from.  The strange thing is, a lot of his political philosophies and his emphasis on hokey traditions were completely alien to me.  I never grew up with any sort of political ideology.  “You see,” Todd would say, as if to enlighten me, “in America, we don’t need government intrusion into our lives.  For instance, if I were to build my own house, I don’t need a government inspector to come and inspect it. It’s my individual right to build it however way I want.  Why should the government tell me how to build my own house?”

“Maybe to make sure it doesn’t fall apart while you were living in it?” I asked innocently.  What he was saying made absolutely no sense.  He wouldn’t say anything back.  He would just give me one of his piercing stares.  He told me about how his wife’s parents unexpectedly had a third child when their other children were well into their teens.  Then they had a fourth child to make sure that the third child wouldn’t grow up lonely.  He told me this story at least five times.  “Because that’s what having a family is all about,” he would always say at the end.

Todd was the preppiest kid in our class.  He looked like he came straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad.  He had the perfect smile with the perfect blue eyes and the perfect haircut that was perfectly parted to the side.  His only facial flaw was his freckled nose that hooked to the side.  He described it as a deviated septum.  People like him would never describe it as a crooked nose.  He came from an idyllic small town in an idyllic country house with the idyllic country family.  Todd would often refer to his family with an amount of pride that I’ve never seen anyone have before.  I grew up in a larger town, a more modern suburban development, and we never took that kind of pride in our families or in the way we celebrate the holidays.  His intensity in domestic trivialities seemed very suffocating and somewhat creepy.

When I finally met his parents, I wasn’t all that impressed. Todd talked them up so much, I was expecting Martha Stewart and Co., but they just seemed like a regular ordinary family.

The week after we got back from break, Todd couldn’t stop talking about my visit to our classmates.  He looked at me as if I had the privilege of meeting his family and we now had a special bond that would last forever.  He couldn’t stop asking me questions about what I thought of his family.  I felt like I had to tell him something to flatter him, so I told him that it was kind of funny how excited his twin brother got for his new espresso machine.

“I know!  He kept offering to make an espresso for me and I don’t even like coffee!” Todd cackled.  It was a really loud and exaggerated cackle.

Actually, his twin was a really nice guy.  I drove him back to campus after dinner that night and during the three hour drive, he told me how his marriage was falling apart.  I thought that was kind of strange that he was telling me all the details of his marriage since we just met, but I appreciated how open and honest he was with me.  I really didn’t worry about him finding another wife.  Men like him always do.



I’m on the corner of 53rd and Park, and I can see Richard crossing the street.  He is of average height with wavy chestnut hair which is neatly parted to the side.  His temples are graying, but this only frames his face to give him a distinguished look.  He lives alone in a small one bedroom, but with a spacious kitchen, in one of those pre-war buildings by the UN.  He is not home the majority of the time to feel the loneliness of living alone since he spends most of his waking hours at the office.

Richard has been divorced for eight years now, and although he has enjoyed throwing his weekly dinner parties for his art society friends, he still manages to escape to Montclair, New Jersey to play golf at his country club.  His ex-wife kept the 5-bedroom Colonial and the Mercedes, and he even agreed to letting her keep the cat.  He decided to keep his membership at the club so he could keep in touch with the friends that he had known throughout his time in Montclair, an intimate community where people could relax around each other and trust enough in each other to share intimate secrets.  In New York, he always feels like he has to keep his guard up, even with his closest acquaintances.  He was not an avid golfer, but he liked to come out to the quiet to escape the craziness of Midtown.  Sure, the conveniences of having his dry cleaning and his dinners delivered were great, but his apartment was not home like his house in Montclair used to be for all those years.  Those were the happiest years of his life, sprinkled with a few sad years.  The saddest years coming towards the end of his marriage.

Richard never speaks above a whisper.  The doormen more than half the time just pretend to understand what he says to them.  I am somehow able to understand most of what he says, even when he speaks with his face turned away and down to the floor.  We run into each other when we are waiting for the elevator or getting our mail.  The conversations are mostly limited to the weather and the contents of the junk mail we receive that day.

It was all a misunderstanding last Saturday, and although I know it was a misunderstanding, I can’t act like I know it was a misunderstanding now because it would just make the matter even worse.  Rob, the daytime doorman, told me what had happened.  Ethel has a way of being a troublemaker.  She is retired and lives by herself and is friendless.  Her daughter moved as far away as she could to California and never comes to visit, even when she was sick in the hospital with pneumonia.  Ethel’s the type that if you prick her, she will stab you in your most vulnerable spot over and over again until you regret it for the rest of your life.  She never forgets a snub and she will never let you forget it either. So last Saturday, she was coming back from walking her toy poodle when she noticed a huge bouquet of roses sitting on the front desk in the lobby.

“Who are the roses for?” Ethel asked in an inappropriately domineering way.

“Oh, they’re for 724.”

“For Richard?  He’s divorced.  He shouldn’t be getting flowers.  Are you sure?” She spoke as if she had the lone authority over flower deliveries.

“That’s what the envelope says,” Rob muttered. He didn’t feel like he needed to explain the flowers to her.  Ethel wanted to continue the inquisition, but Rob left the desk to open the door for Mrs. Bradford.  Mrs. Bradford just recently suffered a stroke and needed help with her walker as she exited the building.  While Rob was getting the door for Mrs. Bradford, Ethel went and opened the envelope.  She just couldn’t help herself.  The card was blank.  Ethel then quickly wrote:  For you.  From 818.

This was payback for when I caught her, completely unintentionally, stealing Carol’s newspaper.  Ethel always gets angry whenever she gets caught doing something she knows she shouldn’t be doing.  So when Richard received the bouquet, he was perplexed.  He didn’t even know who lived in 818.  He asked Rob about the flowers, and he had no explanation for him.  By the time he realized what had happened, Rob felt too embarrassed to let Richard know.

Richard went to look up at the mailboxes to see who lived in 818.  He saw my name and asked Rob, who told him that it was me.

The next time he saw me, he smiled and shined his pearly whites and gave me a wink.  “Thanks for the flowers.  I never knew you felt that way about me.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.  I never saw this side of him before.

Richard’s face reddened.  “Oh, did you want to keep it a secret?”

“Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I never sent you any flowers.  In fact, I don’t even know your name.”

“Well, who else lives in 818, then?”

“Um, just me?” I replied sheepishly.  I was terribly embarrassed for him.

Richard’s eyebrows furrowed, “Is this some cruel practical joke?  What did I ever do to you?  I smile and say ‘hi’ and make small talk with you, and this is the thanks I get for being nice to you?!”

“I-I don’t know what to say.  I had nothing to do with this.  I really didn’t!” I didn’t know how to explain because I really didn’t have an explanation.

Richard angrily opened the door to the stairwell and took the seven flights of stairs up instead of waiting for the elevator with me.  He now missed living in Montclair more than ever.

Springtime Troubles

When people ask me what my favorite season is, they should really ask me what my least favorite season is, which is spring.  It’s messy and confusing, with the conflict between the cool temperatures and the warm sun making my hands cold but my head hot, and all the dirt that settles and accumulates into the city throughout the winter is finally liberated by the springtime breezes, which always ends up in my eyeballs.  Plus, I have bad allergies, and the dirt and the pollen that fly about always, without a doubt, find their way through my airways which leave me in a season-long state of discomfort.  But the worst part of spring is what happens in my apartment.

The walls and floors are porous, so I’ve gotten used to hearing my neighbors sneeze and cough, do their dishes, and practice their guitar, but it’s also porous enough for their smells to end up in my tiny studio apartment.  With the heat on in the winter, and the AC on in the summer, I don’t get these odors, but last night I woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of someone grilling steaks and this morning to the smell of wet dog.

I don’t really care what other people do in their own homes, but when I can smell what they do, then they involve me.  This is unfortunate when you live next door to the most evil person on the planet.  She knows how much all this bothers me, so she’s been invading her odors with her evil powers where every piece of fabric that I own smells like her dog.  I swear that she uses her sorcery to absorb all the odors from everyone’s apartment and siphon them off into my stuffy little studio.  Sometimes it’s a guessing game, like, oh, what is that? is that… menthol? now what is she putting up against my closet??  that smells like.. mothballs!  The worst is when she, with her evil powers, spreads the smell of urine right where I’m sitting on my couch.  A few years back, I thought it was me.  But then, I was like, I haven’t changed my hygiene habits- I still bathe everyday.  When I realized what she was doing it really grossed me out.  Now every time I get a nasty whiff of her dog, I feel like I’m on the verge of getting pink eye.

It’s supposed to get up to 90 degrees this weekend, and I can’t wait to blast that AC so I can finally inhale without getting any gritty particles in my nose or a whiff of any disease inducing odors.

Summer can’t come soon enough.


The Good Office Girl

Heather was upset.  It had been seventeen years since she started working at the firm, and she deserved better than this.  She was fed up with how Ruth and the others were treating her and how they always sucked up to Fred, who was terrible at his job, but because Fred had this banal way of talking to people, they would just give in to doing things his way instead of wasting another minute listening to him talk.  Heather was ok at the beginning covering up for Fred, but after the Burton incident, she knew that Fred would throw her under the bus if he had to, so ever since then, she made it a point, with an exclamation point! to provide due diligence to all her clients.  Fred eventually caught on to what Heather was up to and, in order to save face, he started spreading rumors about her.  They were little ones at first, like how she was having a bad hair day or how she didn’t know what ganache was.  Giggles and odd looks from the secretaries didn’t bother Heather at first, but when she found out that she was being left out of important meetings and that clients were being diverted to Fred, her temples burned and her heart sank.

I am way smarter than this, she thought, on her way to meet Mia in TriBeCa, I know way more than the other associates.  Sure it was okay at first to not get the recognition she deserved.  Heather’s Midwestern sensibilities kept her modest and stopped her from gloating.  But it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and she was stupid enough to think that she can just sit around and expect the praises for all her good work for the firm come rolling in.  Instead, she laid there like a lost sheep just waiting to get eaten alive by the all too eager wolves in her office.

And that’s exactly what happened.  It had been happening slowly, steadily, right in front of her very eyes.  The CEO wouldn’t reply back to her emails directly, she didn’t even get invited to Betsy’s retirement party.  Not that I care, she thought, but it would have been nice.

When she saw Mia at their favorite cafe, Heather felt the pain in her heart leave.  The furrow between her brows disappeared and her face was back to its old cheerful self.

“How’ve you been, girl?” asked Heather as she greeted Mia with a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, can’t complain, you know same old stuff goin’ on.  How’s everything with you?”

“I just can’t stand it anymore!” Heather blurted out.  She just exploded right in front of Mia.  She couldn’t share anything at all how she felt at work because there was no one to confide in.  Heather felt better now that it was all out, but her atrocious work situation remained the same.

“Girl, you’re going to have to find another job.”

“I can’t.  There is no way any of those monsters would give me a good reference.  They’ve even turned my clients against me.”

“Can’t you just change careers?”

“Doing what?!?” Heather asked in complete exasperation.

“I’m sure you can find something, because, honestly, Heather, you have been miserable for a long time.”  Heather was grateful for Mia’s honesty.

That night, on her way home, Heather got to thinking.  Her friend Tom had been telling her about this great new job he got up in Harlem and was always reminding her that they were still hiring.  She called the number he emailed her and a pleasant sounding guy in his early twenties picked up.  “Hemmer and Associates, how may I help you?”

“Yes, I was referred by Tom Prescott.  Are you still hiring?”

“Oh, yes.  Hold on, please.”  There was a long pause.

“Miss?  Can you come in for an interview tomorrow at noon?”  That was her lunch hour.  She’ll find a way to sneak out early to make it up there in time for the interview.

“Sure.  I’ll be there. Thank you.” Heather hasn’t been this excited about something for a long time.

The next day, Heather didn’t put any makeup on except for some blush over her nose.  She wanted to look sick for Fred.  When she got to the office, Fred told her to take the day off.  She stopped by a Sephora and put her face on on her way to the interview.

The office was on the seventeenth floor of an old prewar skyscraper.  When Heather got off the elevator she couldn’t block out the musty smell of the old carpets in the lobby.  She went through the double glass doors to find the young guy she spoke to on the phone the day before sitting behind a high but tiny desk.  “Hi, I have an interview at noon.” Heather wasn’t as nervous as she was before she saw the office.

“Oh, yes,” the young guy looked down at the appointment book, “Heather?” he asked as if he might have gotten the wrong name.

“Yes, that’s me,” Heather muttered as she looked around the tiny reception room.

“Right this way,” the young guy said as he led her down a narrow hallway to a small windowless room with two metal folding chairs facing each other.  Heather sat down in the one closest to the door.  Then, the door opened.

Who Does Eddie Look Like?

Eddie was desperate to find any job that would pay the rent. His mom couldn’t help him out anymore ever since his stepdad found out about the hundreds of dollars missing from their bank account. In fact, he was absolutely livid when the repo guy came to collect their car. Eddie didn’t even have the nerve to show up to their anniversary dinner after that. He then had to take every and any job he could find. He has been a dishwasher, a line cook, a courier, a subject of numerous drug studies, a nighttime security guard, a dog walker, and his least favorite, a rat catcher. He really loved the dog walking gig, but when one of the fourteen dogs he was walking at the same time escaped from his grip and attacked a toddler in the park, the owner had him blacklisted.

Tuesday, he got a text from Bernie, his old boss from that catering gig. “Hey, how do you feel about looking after a kid? Know you don’t do dogs anymore lol!”
He quickly replied back, “NO KIDS!!” He could see the three dots pulsating back and forth on his phone, then, “You sure? There’s lots of $$ with this.” Eddie thought, You kidding? I can’t even take care of a dog.
He got home to find one of his roommates watching South Park.
“Rent’s due,” Rick said, without turning away from the TV.
“Yeah, I know,” Eddie murmured. He looked at his last text. He then typed, “Ok. When?”
Bernie quickly typed back, “tmrw at 3. you’ll pick him up from school.”

Wednesday was a cold and dreary day. Eddie forgot his hat and knew he was going to pay the price for it. Great, Eddie thought, I’m gonna come down with pneumonia cuz of this gig. He didn’t have the money to buy one off of a street vendor, so he kept pacing back and forth with his hands cupped to his ears while he was waiting for Willie on the street corner. The double doors flung open to a steady stream of kids spilling out onto the sidewalk from the nondescript brick building. There was a rumble of chatter and laughter among the prepubescent mob. Some were huddled around in a circle whispering into each other’s ears while pointing and looking at the group next to them. Others were hollering and elbowing each other as they walked off to catch the bus.
Eddie swung around to find a scrawny blonde who was about almost as tall as he was. He was chomping on a snack-size bag of Cheetos with half of the neon orange crumbs falling out of his mouth.
“Hey yourself. Eddie.”
“Well, Willie, where are you off to?”
“You mean you don’t know who you’re supposed to hand me off to?” he asked incredulously. He was clearly annoyed at being treated like somebody else’s problem all the time.
“Eh, I have this address…” he was fishing for the address in his pockets, “Oh, yeah, here it is. 347 Park. C’mon.”
“I want some ice cream first.”
“But it’s freezing out.”
“I want mint chocolate chip,” Willie said, as he gave up on the unfinished bag of Cheetos and threw it away.
“Because ice cream in itself isn’t cold enough, you pick a flavor that’ll make you feel even cooler?”
“It’s my favorite.”
Eddie took one look at the kid’s face. This kid is unbelievable, he thought, Eh, well, he needs some fattening up anyway. Besides, I can warm up somewhere indoors. “Well, we’re not in any rush, are we?”
Willie shrugged. He was too young to understand the concept of time. Eddie took him to the deli across the street. All the windows and doors were taped over with faded advertisements for cigarettes and shampoo. A little bell rang when they entered. There was a small, wrinkled old lady behind the counter. She reminded Eddie of a raisin. She took one look at him and started screaming at him, “You get outta here! I’ll call the cops again, jackass!”
“What the fuck are you talking about lady? I’ve never been in here!” Eddie’s face turned crimson, “I don’t care if you’re, like, eighty years old! I’ll knock you out if I have to!”
“Get out!” She started grabbing for something underneath her stool. Eddie quickly grabbed Willie by his coat and bolted out the door with him. They kept running until Eddie ran out of breath. They only got to the street corner.
“Ok, kid,” Eddie said between breaths, “No ice cream. Let’s go. I’m gonna drop you off, then I’m gonna forget that today ever happened.”
When they got to the address, the security guard looked Eddie up and down hard and said, “The fuck you want?”
“Just dropping him off, sir.” Eddie shrugged off the guard’s attitude. He wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight, especially with someone who might be armed.
“You know where to go,” he grunted. He pointed to the bank of elevators with his chin. Eddie was just glad he let them through. It was a good thing there was only one button labeled “PH” so he didn’t have to guess which floor. Even while they were still in the elevator, Eddie could smell a weird stench and hear music blaring. The thunderous bass made the walls and floor vibrate. It went straight through to his chest and it felt as if it were retiming his heartbeat to become in sync to the rhythm of the song. When the elevator doors split open, it was completely dark except for the corner by the window where a spotlight shined down on a man that was hovering over a desk attempting to assemble a glass object together.
“Hello?” Eddie tried to bellow over the music.
The man looked up. He looked like he hadn’t showered or shaved in weeks.
“Oh, thanks, man. I’m Dave,” the man said as he walked over to the two. He looked a lot younger close up.
“Uh, sure, no problem.” Eddie was totally confused. Is this where I’m supposed to be dropping off a kid? He couldn’t think clearly enough with the drum beats pulsating through his temples. The funky smell was stinging his nostrils at this point.
Dave picked out a money clip from his fanny pack which seemed to only hold one hundred dollar bills. “Here you go.” Dave handed over a thick wad, the biggest wad that Eddie had ever seen in his life.
“Uh, great, thanks. Let me know if you’ll ever need me again.”
Dave pressed the button for the elevator. Eddie quickly got in just in case Dave changed his mind and took his money back, or attacked him, or both. He didn’t know what to make of what was going on, but he was smart enough to know that he shouldn’t stick around to find out.

When he sprinted down the street as far as he could, he hunched over with his hands on his knees, heaving dry heaves. What is Bernie caught up in? He was bewildered. Even though he wasn’t known for having the strongest conscience- maybe sometimes a little better than Stalin- he still couldn’t help thinking about Willie. How could he just leave him there? For a second, he thought of running back, but his phone lit up. It was Gabby. “WHERE ARE YOU?!?”
Oh, shit. I totally forgot. “I’ll be right over.” He ended the text with a smiley face.
By the time he got to Gabby’s place, he couldn’t find any way to calm her down. “She’s at it again! I know it’s her. You’re gonna have to go and talk to her.”
“Babe, so what if she makes a little noise? She’s old as hell. She’s probably deaf.”
“Aw, naw. Whenever I bang against the wall, she turns the TV up even louder.” Gabby was shaking, like she was on something.
“She’s probably turning it up because she can’t hear over all your banging.” Eddie didn’t have the energy to get into it with another elderly lady in one night.
“Go. And. Talk. To. Her,” Gabby snarled.
“Maybe it’s Carol, your downstairs neighbor.” Eddie was good at diverting her attention. She got distracted as easily as a two year-old.
Gabby thought for a moment. “You know, you may be right. It’s not like that old hag would ever watch ‘The Walking Dead.’” She then turned to Eddie. “Go downstairs and talk to her.”
Eddie threw his hands up with a loud sigh and an eye roll. There was no way he was going to get out of confronting somebody for her. He gave up and went downstairs. He tapped on Carol’s door gently, then stood back and waited a few seconds. When there was no answer, he knocked a little louder.
The door from across the hall opened slowly, with a creek. “You looking for Carol?” A portly man in his sixties with a stained beige sweatshirt and smudged reading glasses asked in a benign voice.
“Is she in?”
“She died.”
“Oh, when?”
“Two months ago-”
“Ok, thanks!” Eddie cut him off. He heard enough. The man seemed to be leering at him.
“Good luck if she owes you money. Her mom’s not going to give anyone back a single cent. I’ve tried.”
“Thanks again,” Eddie said, waving at him as he scurried back upstairs.
“Well?” Gabby asked. She was waiting for him by the door.
“She’s dead. Died a couple months ago.”
Gabby paused, then her eyes lit up. “So it’s definitely her!” Gabby screamed as she pointed next door.
“Honestly, Babe, I don’t have the energy to talk to her. Get some earmuffs or something. I’m beat. I’m going home. I’ll call ya tomorrow.” He gave a quick peck on her flushed cheek and left for home.

The streets were free from pedestrians, and aside from the occasional car going by, Eddie felt like he was alone enough that he could finally relax, outside on the sidewalk where no one knew him, where he could blend in with the other objects: garbage cans, mail boxes, parking meters, fire hydrants, the bus stop signs. It was when he stepped inside of someplace where all the hostile energy rushed at him. He felt that there was a price to pay when he found himself on the rare instances in his life when he was happy. It always seemed to come right before a catastrophe was about to happen. Yes, it’s dangerous to be happy. You’re just asking to get shit on. Eddie strolled back and took his time getting home.

He was surprised to see Rick still up at this hour. He was usually crashed out on the sofa by midnight. He was making himself a sandwich and was in the middle of licking off the extra peanut butter from his fingers when he got in.
“Here’s the rent!” Eddie proclaimed as he slammed the cash down on the kitchen table. He never paid the rent on time.
“What’d ya do? Rob a bank?” Rick asked as he stared at the hundred dollar bills. “Oh, yeah, someone was looking for you.”
“Dunno. He didn’t leave no business card. He woke me up, though, with the door pounding. When he saw that you weren’t here, he left.”
“Well, what did he look like?”
He looked over at him, still sucking on his fingers, “Well, he kinda looked like you.”
A chill ran through Eddie’s spine. “What’d ya mean he looked like me?”
“Like, same face, hair. Like dat,” Rick said as he waved his hand up and down at Eddie.
Eddie was then thinking about that incident at the deli, and with the security guard. Did they think I was someone else? He then dialed Bernie’s number.
“Hey, so I dropped that kid off. What was that all about?”
“Yeah, so the dad’s some drummer in a rock band. I met him at this catering gig I did downtown for them a couple weeks ago. He got banned or somethin’ from picking up his kid from school, but the kid’s mom is in Texas somewheres so they needed somebody to pick ‘im up.”
“Who was the guy at the address?”
“The mom’s boyfriend. That’s her studio. I think she’s some sort of art collector. The dad doesn’t like the boyfriend too much. Boy, the shit he was sayin’ about him at the party-”
“Ok, so it was just a one-time thing? Dropping off the kid?”
“You mean Dave didn’t say anything about tomorrow?”
“No…” Eddie’s voice started to trail off as he was trying to put the pieces together, “But some guy was over here looking for me.”
“Sam? Sam was there looking for you?” Now Bernie started to sound uneasy. “Lemme call you back.”
Just then, Eddie’s phone dinged with a new text from Gabby, “GET THE FUCK OVER HERE. NOW!”

Gabby was still hysterical and wailing about some nut job that nearly attacked her when she answered the door a few minutes before Eddie got there. “He looked exactly like you! That’s why I opened the door. I thought something happened to you- that’s why you were acting so crazy!”
“What was he yelling about?”
“Some kid! You don’t have kids, do you?” Gabby asked, looking at him sideways.
“Naw, I did this job today, and-”
The phone rang. It was Bernie. “Hey, Ed, so, the kid’s gone missing with Dave or something. Sam’s frantic. He can’t go over to her studio because security won’t let ‘im.”
“Well, I don’t got him!” Eddie was getting agitated now, “You don’t think Dave kidnapped him or something?”
“Sam’s calling Lilly right now. Dave’s not the brightest guy but he’s not a kook.”
Gabby started hitting Eddie. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Sorry, Babe, I’ll explain later. Just- don’t answer the door the rest of the night. I don’t got no kids, I’m not upset at you, but I gotta go!”

He then ran back to Lilly’s studio. He braced himself for the barrage of insults that may be coming his way from the security guard, but he would know how to react, how to explain to him that he’s not Sam, the bad-ass drummer. But it wasn’t the same security guard that was manning the door. It was a gray-haired man that looked tired and worn. He may have been falling asleep when Eddie thrusted the door open.
“Hi, have you seen Dave?”
“Uh, you mean Casper? Mr. Casper?”
“He had a kid with him.”
“Yeah, they just got in ’bout… twenty minutes ago?” the guard said, while looking down at his watch.
“You sure? Can I go up and see ’em?”
“Sure, go on up.” The guard acted like he couldn’t be bothered to ring him, especially so late at night.
The elevator doors split open and there the two of them were. Sitting at the table by the window eating ice cream. Willie was beaming.

“I just wanted some mint chocolate chip.”

Last Christmas

I spent Christmas Day with Annie.  She is moving to Chicago on Thursday, so she won’t even be around for New Year’s.  I didn’t know it then, but I know now that I won’t ever see her again.  I may be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

Annie texted me the news of her moving last week.  I asked her when she decided on this, and she replied back, “two weeks ago.  I think if we were closer friends I would have been more emotional about it, but I only see her a couple times a year, and sometimes several years go by when I don’t see her at all.  Annie wasn’t that emotional about it either when she told me.  It wasn’t even like she told it in a snooty vengeful kind of way either, like the way some of my friends do when they tell me they’re moving away.  Those use it as a way of saying, I’m done with this town and I’m moving on.

Annie’s always been expressionless and uninterested about everything except when it comes to dating and relationships.  That’s when she starts to giggle and loosen up.  I just play along when she starts to talk about boys.  It’s the only  way our conversations become fun.  When I try talking about other topics with her such as music, movies, or politics I run into a dead end.  I see her eyes glaze over, so I figure it’s easier to pretend to be interested in things she’s interested in.

We went to Chinatown for lunch after we braved the crowds at Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree and to watch the ice skaters skate on the tiny ice skating rink in front of the enormous tree.  We had to dodge all the tourists taking selfies with their selfie sticks.  I don’t do selfies.  Neither does Annie, thank God.  Ok, that’s another thing we have in common.

Annie was in the mood for Peking duck noodle soup.  I’ve never even heard of this dish before, and the reason I’ve never heard of this dish before is because it doesn’t exist.  We kept checking the menus that were taped to the windows of each restaurant and we couldn’t find it.  After the fourth restaurant, I suggested to Annie to just go in and ask- maybe it was an off-the-menu specialty item?

“No, try the one down the street,” they said.  Which one down the street?  There were tons of restaurants down the street!  We settled for the only “A” Department of Health rating one on the street.  They didn’t serve Annie’s particular craving-of-the-moment either, so she had to settle for a Sichuan pork dish.  The poor thing looked so dejected.

To help cheer her up, I took her to the ice cream shop next door.  Even though it wasn’t even forty degrees outside, we sat in the park where the  traditional Chinese street singers were singing loudly into their mics as we ate our ice cream with our chattering teeth.

“Do you think you’ll like Chicago?” I asked over the really loud singing.

Annie shrugged.

I was wondering why the sudden move to Chicago.  “Did you find someone there?”

“Not yet,” Annie deadpanned.

“You know, Chicago isn’t like New York, right?”

“Well, I really needed a new job, and it was the only one I could find, so I took it.”

At that moment, I envied her, I wish I had that sense of spontaneity that she had, to just get up and leave, and that is the great thing about being unattached.  Annie doesn’t know anyone in Chicago, but she is not close enough to anyone here to make her stay.  Being single is a double-edged sword.  You have all the freedom you want but at the cost of not having anyone important to share your life with.  Still, I’m not brave enough to just pick up and move to a different city, as unattached as I am.

“You could always come back, you know.”

Annie doesn’t reply back.  I’m thinking maybe Annie doesn’t want to come back, or maybe she doesn’t know enough what’s ahead of her to think that she can come back.

“Hey, what do you think of this guy?” Annie hands me her phone to take a look.

“Scott. He’s cute,” I say for encouragement.

“He’s from Chicago.”

“But it says he lives in New Jersey.”

Annie doesn’t respond.

“You know that you’re moving away from here, right?”

“Yeah, but why can’t he move to Chicago?  Why don’t they ever offer anything for me?”

I let out a heavy sigh.  The toil of online dating has clearly gotten to Annie.

“You could always send him a picture of me and tell him that I’m going to be your substitute?”  It was my feeble attempt at making her laugh.

Only there was no laughter at all.  Annie looks at me without saying a word.  She looks at her phone for a minute and shuts it off.  She then turns away and starts walking towards the subway.