Friday
David felt like someone was holding his head in sand, and he struggled to liberate himself. When he turned around he was met with an astonishing sight: an airplane diving down at him. Dumbfounded, he glimpsed into the cockpit at two faces staring at him, female and eerily familiar.
Extraordinarily, the plane slowed almost to a halt, floating along lazily. David turned his head all around. He was still paralyzed by the grass, the plane was still there. Even the faces were still there. But they were only looking at him. He still couldn't distinguish the features. But he knew they were looking at him, as if they were waiting for something. An impulse fired somewhere in his brain, he felt it, and the women's mouths opened. Their lips formed the words “We have to…”
To what?
“…have to learn…”
Learn what?!
He tried to say the word, but finding he couldn't move even his lips, he tried to shout. The plane broke free of its malaise and plummeted at David. Before it should have smothered him out of existence, he opened his eyes wide. He found the ceiling through a gap in the bed sheets which bound him like a straightjacket. He gasped for breath, flailing as much as he could while wrapped up. As the adrenaline tapered, he managed to calm himself enough to wriggle out of the bedding. The air in his bedroom was cool to his face and fresh to his lungs, and greeted him with what felt like celestial benevolence. His breath, albeit shallow and rapid at first, soon deepened and slowed, and he straightened his arms and turned his body so its weight didn't impede the struggle. Soon, the sheets unwound, and David sat up in his bed and held his face in his hands. His chest heaved and his abdomen expanded and contracted with each breath. Neither the faces he saw nor the anguish he felt were new, but that didn't stop the pressure in his chest. Clutching his fists to his face, he laid in bed uncovered by the sheets that gathered around his body. As he wept, he recalled the first and only visit his mother and sister made to his cottage.
Winter was patient that year. David remembered because the trees were still changing. They didn't stay very long, his mom and sister, only a weekend or so. But it was long enough. Any amount of time would've been long enough. And they were gone, like smoke in the wind, or the morning dew after the sun has risen.
When David's tears stopped, he rolled out of bed, leaving the sheets in a heap. Sniffling, he stepped into the tub still wearing his shorts and turned on the spigot. Leaning over, he placed his hand under the stream and sniffled again.
Not quite.
As he waited for the water to warm up, he removed his shorts and tossed them onto the bathroom floor. When he found the temperature agreeable, he showered, being certain to rinse the conditioner when it came time for that. When he finished and dried off, he put on some loose clothes and sat in the corner and closed his eyes. Not ten seconds later, he opened his eyes and got up to set the meditation timer. After sitting again, his family returned to his mind. He remembered their visit, specifically the way his sister scoffed at how undecorated his place was.
“It's totally empty in here!” she exclaimed. “Mom, tell him.”
His mother looked at him with what appeared to be half-rolled eyes before turning to his sister and saying, “He likes it this way.”
“Ugh. I know, but David, come on!”
When the timer sounded, David snapped to the present and stood without delay to change his clothes.
On the way to kitchen, David greeted his cats with a touch. They said “Hello” or “Feed us”, which they intended he wasn't sure. Probably the latter. After feeding them, he fed himself with cereal and a banana. Shortly thereafter, he stuffed the last of the stew, the crackers, and a soda pop into a plastic grocery bag which he left on the counter. Having assembled the crock pot and the lid, David left it too on the counter. Returning to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, rinsed, and stepped out of the cottage with his bags slung over his shoulders and the crockpot cradled in his arms.
The trek to work was all but a blur this morning. David's mind latched itself onto the week's events: the appearance of the envelope, Catherine catching him spying on the others, burning his palm (the blister on which he fingered absently), the airplane dream, Rhiannon being sick, Jacqueline pressing him to go to dinner, Jedidiah's admonishing voice. Everything replayed itself and jumbled the memories together. If it weren't for well-established habit, he likely would have missed the turn into the parking lot at work. He arrived to an empty lot and backed into his habitual spot.
Having deposited his food in the refrigerator, David shut his office door behind him and allowed the tendrils of his mind to wrap themselves around the day ahead. Immediately, he recalled the scheduled morning meetings. Three of them. Even under abnormal circumstances, the meetings shouldn't take that long.
The sound of opening doors brought Catherine Peabody to mind. And the envelope after her, and the blister he was already touching, and the Willows. There was a knock on the door, but, lost in thought, David didn't consciously acknowledge it. He was too busy wondering what he ought to do about everything. If anything. After another knock, David snapped in.
A stream of invective dripped from his open lips as he leapt from the chair to the door. Opening it, he found his first meeting waiting for him, a man of remarkably unremarkable features. He was average height and weight with short, brown hair and brown eyes. David apologized and mumbled something about being distracted. The gentleman — what's his name, Derrick? — said it was fine and David carried on about Boise and how the trip went. Derrick responded with something about the weather being surprisingly cold, which David interpreted to mean he didn't like the cold. David wondered why he lives in the Inland Northwest if he has an issue with the low temperatures. David didn't really agree with the sentiment. Cold is preferable to heat, he would say. In heat, you can sweat and sweat and no matter how naked you get, you won't stop sweating. At least in the cold you can put on another layer. The rest of the meeting proceeded mechanically for David as his mind meandered through the lulls in conversation.
All three meetings went like that. Of course, David made different notes in each person's file. For example, Derrick, despite his average appearance, performed remarkably well on the trip. Timothy (Tim), with his just-a-little-too-shaggy blonde hair was one of the less prolific (but nevertheless eager) salespersons on the staff. He went to Coeur d'Alene and, while not stellar, did better than expected. Amanda, a pale-skinned woman with straight, blonde hair, had been hit or miss this quarter. On her trip to Portland, a city she volunteered to return to ("If needed, of course"), performed about average in sales and above average in acquiring potential new customers.
When she walked out the door, pulling it mostly closed, David sat back in his chair, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. And he wondered if they weren't as pleased as he was at each meeting's completion. Staring at a wall, beyond it really, David imagined they would probably discuss at lunch how the meetings went. A churning in his stomach, one of nerves and hunger, made itself felt. He wasn't sure which part was stronger.
Not wanting to think about the meetings anymore, David's mind floated around in search of something onto which to latch itself. The envelope appeared first, and he shook his head. His mother and sister appeared, and his father, and the envelope again. Again David shook his head. Then, Catherine appeared.
I'm sure she'll ask about drinks again. If I decide to go, if, I can't stay late.
The wall David was staring through was less of a wall and more a film screen for his imagination. This week, despite seeing the same movies over and over, David continued to watch. Until, without warning, the reel changed. David was suddenly watching Rhiannon in her garden at the grocery store.
They stood at the same height. And when she faced him his palms sweated, his neck itched, and he conversed with himself.
Jed's a lucky man. To go home to her every night.
“You could go home to her.”
Hmm?
“To dinner.”
That's not the same.
“Of course not, but there's nothing wrong with being friendly.”
David pulled himself together in mental silence and stared at the wall, which was now a wall. The idea of dinner at the Willow's transformed into a tennis ball which David grasped and tossed at the wall. No thinking was required, just throw and catch, throw and catch. As a tennis ball, it didn't seem so bad.
He watched the ball as it rebounded to his hands and caught it. Instead of tossing it again, he felt it all around, noting the textures and patterns and firmness and squishiness. He was sure he could leave any time he wanted, so feeling trapped wasn't a problem. And they weren't bad people.
No, not bad at all.
When a sudden pinch dug into his shoulders, he rubbed at it with both hands. As he looked back to his computer screen and down at his desk where he found the sheet from the morning meetings. His stomach grumbled and he thought about how he'd have to spend the rest of the afternoon writing reports for Bill.
Eventually the after-lunch commotion relaxed, signaling to David a clear path to the kitchen. When he arrived, he first moved his soda pop from the fridge to the freezer. He heated the bowl of stew in the microwave, covering it with its own top, and chewed a cracker from the now-open sleeve on the counter.
Patiently, he nibbled through three crackers before the microwave beeped. After checking the stew's temperature, which was hot, David removed the bowl and assembled the rest onto a plate. Much to his surprise and displeasure, he lacked cookies. David knew exactly where they were. They sat in his pantry, above the cat food, well out of reach. Snagging the can from the freezer, David carried his food items to the picnic tables outside.
As he ate (which he did mostly with crackers considering there was well over half a sleeve to be eaten), he scanned the surrounding area. Except for the rush of passing cars, the air seemed still, almost empty. Eyes wide, he allowed his consciousness to shift from what he could see to what he heard. The air was indeed still, his ears conveyed. But it was far from empty. Each passing car was merely a spike in the ambiance. When the cars were gone, there was a dull, regular clack, clack, clack. Definitely a train somewhere. Where it was, he could not discern. But there was more, a distant, low rumble
Closing his eyes, David cupped his ears and turned his head like a RADAR dish. He turned his head until he was certain he had found where the rumble originated. Looking up, he found a shimmering, narrow cross of metal. Grimacing, he turned back to the picnic table. The airplane was barely an echo now. The train's clack, clack, clack faded until it was no more. When it stopped, there was something else, also vaguely overhead, but it didn't seem nearly as distant as the airplane. It was like a chirping, but of no bird David remembered hearing before.
Squinting at a tree nearby, he saw what he thought was a moving mouth. The mouth opened again, and the sound emerged. His eyes widened and his eyebrows arched. It was no bird. It was brown and furry and had a long, bushy tail.
Weeird, he thought, stretching the word in his mind. I never knew they chirp like that. Chirp? Bark? He shook his head. Squeak? Guess that makes sense.
Having decided the squirrel was squeaking, David gathered his things, which included an unopened can of soda pop. In the kitchen, David cleaned and put away his dishes. On the way back to his office, he took the plastic bowl in one hand while in the other he took the unopened soda pop. The heads he passed on the way hung low over their desks and made no indication they heard him. If they did, they didn't care. What time is it anyway? Approaching his door, he found Catherine propped up by her elbows leaning over a document. Her head twitched before it turned and looked up and smiled. He smiled back as her phone rang. With lips flattened and eyes drawn away, Catherine picked up the receiver.
“Catherine Peabody,” was what he heard as he opened the office door.
He was sure she would ask him to the bar again. And he was sure he could stay for a couple drinks but not more than that. After all, the cats, and the Willows. And the Willows crockpot. Yeah, I have to get to the Garden after the bar. They don't close until, what, nine? Eight, nine? Should be plenty of time. The corners of his mouth turned down, and he nodded in agreement with himself.
David flicked the computer mouse. As the machine awakened, he cracked open the can and lifted it to his mouth with his good hand. With the blistered hand he straightened the pages from the morning's meetings and clicked open some digital documents. Drink in hand, he descended into his work. He grew oblivious to the outside world, and would have stayed that way if the reports weren't done, or if the soda pop hadn't already worked its way through his system.
Already a quarter after four, he took a bathroom break and returned to review the reports before submitting them to Bill. After sending, he noticed the time stamp.
Five ‘til five.
Any minute now, Catherine Peabody would be standing at his door and waiting for him to look up from his work. Today he was already done. Today he was already looking. He sat back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap as if he were meditating. Soon, feet began to rustle and subdued conversations trickled into his room.
“You guys go ahead,” said the voice of Catherine Peabody
A muffled voice David didn't recognize said something before Catherine spoke again. “Yeah, same plan.”
David raised an eyebrow and listened as the others walked away. After easing the door open, Catherine stood at attention.
“Oh, hi,” she said, her voice high with surprise.
“Hello,” David said.
Raising an eyebrow she asked, “You in?”
“Let's do it,” he replied as he shut down the computer and gathered his personal effects. They met at the door where David switched off the lights. On the way out of the building, he did the same with the main lights. Neither said a word until they stepped into the late-afternoon air.
“See you there?” she asked, opening the door to her Jeep.
“Yeah, see you there.”
David, on the way to his truck, cast a glance at the picnic tables. As he climbed in to his truck and started the engine, he looked to the tables again, more absently than inquisitively. Again finding nothing, he buckled his seat belt, lowered the windows, and watched Catherine's Jeep pull in front of the truck.
A cool wind brushed across David's cheeks as the late-day sun shone through the windshield and warmed the skin on his face and hands. He nodded when she looked up at him, and she drove on. Before leaving the lot, he looked in his rear-view mirror where he found a blue bird standing on a picnic table. With a grin, he turned his attention to the oncoming traffic.
A large van coming from the opposite direction pulled in as David pulled out. Looking into the van, he made eye contact with its passengers, they all smiled and waved and he reflected their gestures and sincerity.
The drive to Oscar's was slower than yesterday's trip. A few blocks before the bar, there was an accident slowing traffic to a crawl. For a moment, when David's truck was at a standstill, he remembered the breeze and its coolness and the sun and its warmth, and he smiled. As he approached the accident, he discovered it was relatively minor and stopped smiling to shake his head. Why does traffic need to stop for this? Leaning out of the open window, David looked at the scene and noticed other people leaning out of their cars both ahead of and behind him. He shook his head again as he pulled it back into the cab of his truck.
Oh, right.
When he reached Oscar's, he parked in the same disheveled corner and ignored what he believed to be excessive laziness evident in the lack of cleanliness. At the front door, he found Catherine was waiting for him.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hello,” he said as he reached ahead and pulled open the door. “After you,” and she entered ahead of him. Kinda busy for right after work. Looking around the bar, David squinted at a clock on the far wall. It took 30 minutes to get here?! Looking to the table they sat at yesterday, he found it was occupied, and he made a smacking noise with the side of his mouth.
Catherine asked, “What?”
“Our table is taken.”
“Our table?” Catherine looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“The table,” he corrected.
“The table,” she repeated before nudging David with her elbow. David shook his head and walked to the bar ahead of Catherine. A moment later, she was by his side, and he inclined his body toward her so his shoulder made the slightest contact with her shoulder. At the same time, a faint, floral scent wafted into his nostrils. Catherine turned her head toward him while he was still trying to identify the smell.
"What?" she asked.
"Are you wearing perfume?"
"A little. It's not too strong, is it?”
“No, it's good.”
“Good,” she said.
Craning his head toward her, he inhaled and nodded in confirmation. She smiled.
“So, what'll you have?” he asked.
“I don't know. What do you want?”
"I was gonna get something dark."
Catherine wrinkled her nose.
“Too bad. Do you like amber ales?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then, let's get you one.”
As he finished speaking, one of the women behind the bar looked at David.
“Do you have any amber ales?”
She shook her head in affirmation adding “You wanna try it?”
David lowered his chin at Catherine.
Catherine looked at the bartender, “I'll have a pint.” When the bartender looked at David he said, “Make it two.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a credit card from his wallet and handed it to the bartender.
“Open?” the bartender asked.
“For now,” David said considering how long he should stay.
Willow's, crockpot, cats. Two beers? Yeah, two.
“I thought you were gonna get a darker beer,” Catherine said.
“I was, but I changed my mind.”
“Interesting.”
“Interesting,” David teased. “It was simpler than asking for two different beers. Less work for her, less waiting for us.
“I guess,” she said. “But it's really not that much less.”
“Sure, but more time to find a seat,” David added.
“That I can accept,” she said.
Seeing the freshly drawn beers placed before them, they thanked the bartender simultaneously and turned to survey the bar. Without a word, Catherine scurried off. Having hesitated, David plotted her trajectory before continuing after her. He watched as she staked her glass on a tall, open table beside the table they shared yesterday. Today's table had two tall chairs, one of which she used as a coat hanger.
“Good work, Peabody,” he said as he planted his own glass on the table, removed his jacket, and folded it over the open chair.
“Thanks.”
David lifted a loose fist in Catherine's direction. She bumped his fist with her own and nodded seriously. David imitated her expression, but, unable to maintain composure, he cracked a smile. Sitting, he lifted his beer.
“To good seats and good seat-finders,” David toasted.
Catherine affirmed, clanking her glass to his, and they drank.
“So,” David began, eying his glass as he put it down. Looking up, he continued, “You want to tell me the rest of your field hockey story?”
“I wondered if you would remember about that,” she said putting down her own glass.
“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” David said.
“It's fine, just not my proudest moment.”
“That's what you said yesterday.”
“Right. So, I was captain of my high school team all four years. Freshman year, we did okay, but we lost early in the state tournament. Sophomore year, we were runners-up. Junior year we lost a few games early on, but actually won states. Then, there was senior year. The local newspapers ranked us #1 pre-season. And we lived up to it. We went undefeated the entire year, all the way up to the state championship. But that's when things went…wrong.”
“I already feel bad for you.”
“I'm saying. So, out team was staying together in a hotel. Actually, I need to back up. We felt pretty good about being ranked #1 pre-season. But our coach did a good job of keeping us focused. Every game was a battle. But the battles seemed to get easier. We were just so good together. Like every game we got sharper and more confident. It was all clinical. But that confidence turned into arrogance little by little. We started celebrating goals a little too long, looking down on other teams before the games, like they weren't good enough to take the same field as us. And we were right, in all honesty. We really were that good, at least compared to the rest of the league. The team we were playing against in the championship was staying in the same hotel as us. But we didn't know much more than that. Coach had prepared us a little, but we weren't worried at all. We even started talking about how much we would beat them by and how many goals we would each score. And what we were gonna do with the trophy when we got it. And before we knew it, we were celebrating like we already won. Then, one of the girls mentioned she had some vodka.”
“Oh,” David said.
“Yeah. We drank a lot. Some of the younger girls weren't really into it so they left. But we made fun of them for leaving ‘cause it's not like we were gonna lose. It wasn't even remotely possible. To consider the possibility would've ruined the moment. And since the game wasn't until tomorrow night, we figured we'd be fine by game time. So, we kept drinking. It wasn't until after midnight that we crashed.”
“When did you start?”
“After dinner. Coach had told us to get to bed early, but it didn't work out like that.”
“Apparently not.”
Catherine continued, “Several of us got sick or passed out along the way. I blacked out sometime after 1. I remember seeing a clock. Anyway, we didn't really get up until after noon next day. And the only reason we did was because our coach was pounding on the door.”
An expletive oozed out of David mouth.
“Exactly,” Catherine said.
“I'm not sure I want to know the rest of this story.”
“Well, spoiler alert: it's a disaster."
Shaking his head and taking a sip from his glass, David said, “All right, go ahead.”
“So, he swore at us to get ourselves together, and we tried. We were all so hung over so we started chugging water and coffee. I had a splitting headache and threw up a few more times and lay down in the shower for at least an hour before I felt okay enough to stand up. It was vividly the worst day of my life before or since.”
“I believe that.”
“Eventually we got ourselves together and mostly feeling like we weren't undead. I was still feeling off all the way into the game. Surprisingly, I did okay. I think muscle memory took over a lot. But I got tired early and started to make mistakes. Play after play, I lost the ball, or missed a shot, or caused a foul. Everything just went really bad. Then, one of the girls on the other team fouled me really hard and walked away talking shit to me. And,” Catherine said, shrugging her shoulders and pressing her lips together, “I snapped. In a second, I was standing up, holding my stick up and lining up a shot. I fired off at the back of the girl's head who hit me.”
David's eye opened widely.
“Thank God I missed," Catherine said as she rubbed the skin between her thumb and forefinger. She shook her head before continuing, "From that distance I could've killed her.”
“You missed though. You shouldn't still feel bad about something that almost happened. Be grateful it wasn't worse."
“I know. I don't feel bad about almost hitting her, but I feel bad about who it did hit."
"What do you mean?" David asked.
"It flew past her and hit a little girl in the stands. I remember it so clearly. It was like I snapped back in to reality as it happened, and everything was in slow motion. The ball sailed by the girl who fouled me and flew right into the stands. The little girl's mom's eyes opened wide, and she lifted her hand to stop it, but the little girl turned and the ball hit her right in the chest.”
"Was she okay?”
“Eventually. I think she had some bruised ribs. She was the little sister of one of the freshman girls on my team. I heard about it for weeks after that. I kept asking because I was so shaken up by it. I guess I still am."
“Understandable,” David said. “What happened in the game?”
“I was ejected, and we lost by a few points.”
“Wow. That…that sucks.”
“What really sucked was when I was walking off the field and everyone in the stands was glaring at me, I looked up and saw my teammates' faces. I let everyone down. And I knew it.”
Inhaling deeply, David let his head drop back and he said, “Man, I need a minute.”
“Me too. I haven't talked about that in a long time,” she said drinking from her glass.
“Good idea,” he said pointing at her glass and grabbing his drink. “By the way,” he continued, making direct eye contact, “I do appreciate you sharing. I'm sure it was embarrassing.”
“That's putting it mildly. It was a life-changing string of events.”
“How's that?”
“I quit playing field hockey and never looked back. Just decided I should apply myself in other ways and focus on college without it."
“That's, uh, a serious decision. Do you miss it? I bet you do.”
“It's really not a big part of my life anymore. So, not that much most days. But if I see a game on TV or really start to think about it, the feelings come back. Shame, embarrassment, regret.”
“I get shame and embarrassment, but regret?”
“A little.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“Not too much,” she said. “Mostly that I gave up on it, but like I said, I don't think about it much anymore. I did for years though. As long as I was around people that reminded me of that day, which was a lot of people, I couldn't stop thinking about it. The weeks immediately following the game I was barely functional. I stayed home from school for a week on a ‘voluntary' suspension. Behavior unbecoming of a student-athlete.”
David noticed she said that last part while looking down and sort of mouthing the words like she was remembering when someone told her those words. “How'd it go when you went back?” David asked.
“It was hard. I felt physically ill. It was like crippling guilt, overwhelming anxiety and embarrassment about hitting that girl, profound disappointment in myself, and profound disapproval from everyone else—literally everyone—all wrapped up and packed very tightly in my gut. But eventually people stopped glaring, and I wasn't thinking about it constantly.”
“And here you are now,” David said, pointing with his glass. “An enterprising business professional.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and shook her head
“I think it's good you moved on with your life instead of letting it define you,” David said.
“I don't know about ‘moved on.' I guess I would say I accepted that it happened and I was responsible for it," she said. David nodded.
“The result was good though,” she added. “I was a very impulsive before, but after it all happened I forced myself to think about what I doing instead of just doing it.”
“I'll drink to that,” David said lifting his glass and taking another drink of his beer. Catherine did the same.
The looked at each other in silence for an instant before Catherine spoke again. “May I ask you something?”
“You may.”
“What happened to your mom and sister?”
David's mind flooded with images of people in airports, huddled around each other, TVs filled with flashing lights and shorn metal. But sensing a pressure in his eyes he put a firm hold on the images and brought the rest of his attention to Catherine.
“Do you remember that plane crash that happened a few years ago?” he asked.
Catherine held in her lips and reached across the table to touch David's arm. As she did, they looked into each other's eyes. Something in her green eyes told him she would cry if no one were around. That was enough to reassert the pressure behind his own eyeballs again. He pulled at the corners of his eyelids and blinked before grinning with his lips together. As she leaned back, Catherine's eyes looked vividly ordinary again.
“They were coming to visit you weren't they?”
David nodded.
“I wish there was something to say, but I know there isn't,” Catherine said. “But if there were, consider me to have said it.” He thanked her. “Are you doing okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I'm okay. Normally, I wouldn't tear up about it, but I've been having this dream lately. It's caught me off guard.”
“Same dream over and over?” she asked.
“More or less," he answered.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
David hesitated for a moment but reasoned he was already talking about it, might as well continue. “Sure,” he said.
After a brief pause, he began, “I'm in this huge, open field. Like cinematic rolling hills, tall grass, a solitary tree standing a stone's throw away, clear skies. I was standing in the middle of it all, and it was beautiful. The wind was soft, and the sun was warm. It was heavenly. But then I heard a noise. A low rumble somewhere in the distance.” David paused to take a swig of beer. All the while, Catherine was drinking her beer.
“I looked around. At first I didn't see anything, but the rumble kept getting louder. Eventually I looked up and it took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at. The shiny, metal cross finally registered. I was staring at a plane. Eventually I realized it was coming straight down so I tried to run away. Emphasis on tried. With every step, the grass thickened until I found myself paralyzed. It was impossibly dense. I pushed as hard as I could but it was too much. I collapsed there and stared at the brilliant monstrosity bearing down on me.”
"Sounds terrifying," Catherine said.
“It was pretty scary. But last night something weird happened.”
“What was that?”
“The plane paused in mid-air, and the pilot and co-pilot were my mom and sister and they stared at me like they were waiting for something.”
Catherine shook her head and finished her beer, and David, seeing he had about a quarter of his beer left, drank the rest.
"What do you think it means?" she asked.
"I don't know, but I'm sure it was significant.”
"Let me know if you figure it out."
"Sure," he agreed.
"So, what happened next?"
"I woke up gasping for breath trying to squirm out of the sheets which were wrapped around my body (David stiffened his arms, one in front of his body, the other behind). I dunno how that happens. I must be an active sleeper.”
"Must be," she replied. Tilting at David her empty glass, Catherine said, "Want another?”
The question came as David was swallowing the last of his beer. When he spat out the word “Sure” it was wet and lodged itself in his throat such that he coughed. Catherine patted him on the back as she walked away, and he turned his attention to his dream and the empty glass. The glass he turned on its bottom edge and rolled it around the table in looping patterns. The dream rolled around his mind along with the fact that he didn't mention what his mother and sister were saying.
Soon Catherine returned with two fresh beers, and David said, “That was fast.”
“They know me,” Catherine said with her head tilted back and her eyes fluttering. David laughed through his nose and grinned broadly with his lips together.
“I bet they do,” he said.
“What exactly are you implying?” Catherine asked slowly and with an air of such gravity that David almost mistook it to be genuine.
“Oh, nothing,” he said picking up his beer and sipping daintily. Putting it down, he spoke again, “Nothing at all.”
David watched Catherine as she eyed him with what he believed to be a feigned suspicion, and continued to watch as the serious air evaporated.
“So,” she began, picking up her beer and sipping. “Was there more to it?”
“The dream?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
"A bit,” he answered.
“And?”
"They were saying ‘We have to learn'.”
“Was that it? Learn what?” Catherine asked.
“Well, I woke up before they finished.”
"Any ideas?"
“I'm not really sure. I've been letting my subconscious sort it out,“ David said while wagging a finger at his own head. His finger froze when an image of Jedidiah Willow appeared in his mind.
“What?” Catherine prompted.
“I just figured out what they were saying,” David said as he dropped his hand into his lap.
“What's that?” she asked.
“Balance,” he answered.
“Balance is good. Where'd it come from?”
"It was something Jed Willow said the other day,” David gestured with his hand as if waving to the past.
“Who? Oh, the dad from the grocery store."
"Right."
"Was he lecturing you?" she asked.
"Not directly,” David said.
“What, so, indirectly?” she prodded.
“He wasn't actually speaking to me when he said it,” David answered.
“Ohh,” she said as if she just saw the hidden image in a seeing-eye puzzle.
“What,” David stated more than asked.
“If it wasn't directed at you, but you took it to heart anyway, that something is probably important.”
"Very incisive, Peabody."
“You wanna tell me?” she asked.
“Why not,” he said shifting in his seat, acutely aware of his shifting and aware of Catherine's unwavering posture. She looked taller than she really was, and not just because of the tall chair. A confident air floated all about her, or so he imagined.
“Jed was talking to his daughter after hearing her invite me to dinner.”
“She asked you out? How old is she?” Catherine asked, her face scrunched up.
“She's 15 or 16. And no, she was asking me to dinner with her family.”
“Oh, why would her dad correct that? Wasn't she just being nice?”
“She was being nice. And he didn't correct her for being kind, he corrected her being too persistent about it. And too direct, I guess.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” Catherine said, her brow furrowed.
David sighed inwardly. He'd all but forced her to drag it out of him. Might as well tell her, he figured.
“I'll be explicit," he said.
“Thank you.”
Noticing pressure in his bladder, David shifted in his seat and gulped his beer. “So, they've invited me to dinner on a number of occasions. And Jed, I guess, told Jackie she should stop asking. When she didn't, he corrected her. But he said it with such a fatherly air — not to mention he's like six-six, two-fifty. Anyway, the message sank in. With me at least,” David took another drink from his beer and didn't continue.
“Would you like me to guess why?” Catherine asked with a tone approaching frustrated.
“Sorry. To be perfectly honest, I've been avoiding dinner with them because it makes me uncomfortable.”
“And you feel like that's not the right way to act, so you took his words as some sort of rebuke?”
“Pretty much," David nodded.
“Do you plan to continue avoiding them?”
“There's no plan. But I'd say I'm less cold to the idea lately.”
“Oh yeah? That's big of you.”
While she spoke, the pressure in David's bladder had grown from noticeable to bothersome. Looking around the bar, he spotted the bathroom, and hopped out of his chair and said to Catherine, “On that note, I have to go.”
“What? Why? I was just messing with you."
“No, no, I mean to the bathroom,” he pointed in the general direction of the bathroom.
“Ohhh. In that case, please go. Don't pee on everything.”
“No promises,” David said, leaving Catherine at the table. In the bathroom, David swayed slowly as he urinated into a urinal. It's still weird, he thought as he pictured the Willows in their respective capacities at the Garden. And I won't go at her prompting. If I go, I go because I decided to go.
Walking out of the bathroom he wiped his damp hands on the back of his pants, not-feeling the numbness of the blister against the fabric. David then experienced what he guessed was some sort of flashback to the moment when the pan seared his flesh. The pan was there but not the pain. And he found it odd that he couldn't imagine the pain. He remembered having felt it, but those moments of contact seemed lost, or forgotten.
When he was still a few yards from the table, David saw Lyle leaning against the table. Lyle saw David too and nodded. When David arrived, Lyle opened his mouth.
“I was just telling our Ms. Peabody that you've gotten everyone in a tizzy. It's almost scandalous that you're here,” Lyle said.
David looked across the bar at where the others sat yesterday, but they weren't there. They weren't far either, seated in a booth nearby. Most of the older employees were gone, leaving behind a bunch of 20-somethings and a number bottles and beer glasses and a couple of shot glasses. They appeared to be laughing and talking.
“Oh really?” David asked.
“Well, that's how it started,” Lyle said.
“Lyle, you're not giving Katie tequila, are you?” asked Catherine
“Of course not” Lyle said.
“Then what was in those shot glasses?”
“Rum,” Lyle quipped and winked at David who settled into the tall chair
Catherine looked at David and shook her head. “You better make sure she gets home, to her place. Alone.”
“Of course, Cat. Really,” he continued, placing a hand over his sternum, “after all we've been through, it hurts that you doubt my integrity so.”
Catherine was looking at David and shaking her head again. David was grinning broadly and laughed from his belly to his nostrils.
“Don't worry,” Lyle said, “She'll be fine.”
“Promise?” Catherine asked.
“On my honor as a gentleman.”
“For what it's worth,” Catherine grinned.
Lyle rolled his head sideways and turned toward David who raised his eyebrows. “Thanks for showing up, David,” Lyle said as he backed away. “You two have fun," he said already strutting across the bar.
"He's an interesting character," David said as he watched Lyle rejoin the others.
"Yes, interesting. He's definitely that," she said.
"Is Katie gonna be all right?" David asked.
"She'll be fine. She just gets a little wild on Fridays."
"Apparently," David said, now facing Catherine.
"So, about this dream of yours," she continued.
"What about it?"
"It's interesting."
David nodded in the affirmative.
“Do you know why you're having it?” she asked.
“I have an idea,” David said as the envelope with the red, wax seal appeared in his mind. When he didn't continue, she tilted her head down and turned up her eyes at him as if to say “go on.”
“So, I got this letter from my dad on Monday.”
“Oh? What'd it say?”
“I don't know,” David said, noting her assumption that he had read it already.
“You haven't read it?”
Enunciating each word, he responded, “I have not read it.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“I just haven't read it.”
“There's gotta be a reason."
David waved his head back and forth then took up his unfinished beer and drank the last gulp. Catherine did the same.
"I know we've both been pretty open tonight," David said. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now if that's okay."
"Of course, it's okay,” she assured. Without a moment's hesitation she said, “I did want to ask if you ever played any sports.”
“I played a lot of soccer growing up.”
“Any good?” she asked.
“Pretty good. There was a time when I seriously considered playing in college. I probably would've done pretty well at a D-2 school, but I didn't feel like it was in the stars for me.”
“Why not? If you were good enough to play, and you loved the game.”
“It's true. And I thought hard about it for a long time. But it didn't make sense to base such a big decision on something that I wasn't extraordinarily good at. I mean, I was good. But never that good. And honestly, I probably didn't want it bad enough to chase it. I was too focused on school to really put my heart into chasing an already-fading dream.”
“Too bad,” she said.
“Indeed,” David said..
“So, what did you study that kept you so busy?” Catherine asked.
“Philosophy and accounting,” he said amid a spike in the ambient noise.
“Philosophy of accounting?” she asked with furrowed brow.
“Philosophy and accounting,” he repeated.
“Ohh, that makes more sense. Sort of. Those aren't similar at all.”
“Yeah, it was an interesting combination. When I wasn't reading Plato, Descartes, and Locke, I was tabulating data on spreadsheets and learning about assets and liabilities.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows briefly before saying, “Sounds like fun.”
“Oh yeah, ‘fun' is definitely the word I would use. Fun. Really though, it was fine. I knew it wouldn't be exciting, accounting I mean, but that wasn't really the point. I really wanted to study philosophy. But my dad insisted that if I was going to study philosophy that I had to do something more marketable also.”
She nodded. “Sounds like good, fatherly advice.”
“It was good advice,” he said.
“Did you say where you went?” she asked.
“University of Maine.”
“Did you grow up around there?” she asked.
“Yeah, pretty close.”
“What made you decide to go there?”
After a moment of consideration, David said, “Having spent my entire life in Maine, I really wanted to go somewhere out-of-state. But my dad said he wouldn't help pay for school if I didn't stay. And being the pragmatist I fancy myself to be, I followed the money.”
“I think that makes sense. It was that or take out loans,” Catherine said.
“Well, I still had to take out some, just not as much.” He responded
“Sure. So, how did you get out here?”
“The urge to see more of the country got really strong during my last semester. So, I applied to a bunch of positions on the west coast, got a few interviews, and ultimately accepted my current job. I've been here ever since, more or less.”
“More or less?” she pressed.
“I've moved once or twice since I re-located to the area,” he said.
“Oh right. How'd your dad feel about you moving out here?”
“He wasn't thrilled about it. But he realized he couldn't force me to stay and eventually gave his blessing,” David said.
“That's good. At least he didn't try to stop you.”
“Actually, he did. He threatened to cut me out of his will.”
Catherine furrowed her brow.
“I don't know how serious he was,” David continued. “But if I had to guess I would say he was pretty serious. At least, he seriously considered it. He didn't have much of a sense of humor. But my mom talked to him, and eventually he let it go.”
“Well that's good.”
“Yeah, I was never trying to stick it to him or anything, though maybe that was a secondary reason. I just really felt like I should be somewhere else. So, I followed the money again, as avaricious as it sounds.”
“It's nice to have direction,” Catherine said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“It is at that," David said. "So, where's home for you, Catherine Peabody?”
David watched Catherine's lips stretch but not turn up. “I was born in Michigan,” she answered.
“Oh yeah? I've never been there. What part?”
“Ann Arbor,” she replied.
"Isn't Lansing the capital?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Is it far?"
"Like an hour maybe,” she said.
“Did you like Ann Arbor?" he asked.
“It had its moments.”
David nodded. “Did you go to college out there?”
“Eventually,” she said. “I went to UConn for a year, but I felt like the twins needed me so I transferred back to Michigan.”
“Did something happen?”
“You could say that.”
When she didn't continue, David said, “Fair enough. What did you study?”
Catherine smiled at him and answered “Studio art and communications.”
“Another interesting mix. What kind of art?” he asked.
“Oil painting mostly, but some collage and sculpture too.”
Eyes wide with alcohol, David asked, “Do you still paint?”
“As much as I can. I try to work on something after work most days. It helps me unwind.”
“I think that's great. Art is one thing that never ceases to amaze me,” David said leaning back in his chair.
“Do you do any?” Catherine asked. “You said you like to write.”
“Yeah, I like to write, but I've always been so impressed with visual art. As much as I've tried, I just don't have a knack for it.”
“Anyone can be decent if you're dedicated enough.”
“I'm sure that's true, but that's time I could spend writing.”
They both smiled and she continued, “Fair enough. So, what kind of philosophy did you study?”
“Lots of stuff. But I've always been most interested in consciousness, spirituality, religion, stuff like that.”
“That's serious stuff,” she said.
“I guess it can be,” David said noticing their empty glasses.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Are you religious?” she asked.
David turned away and belched close-mouthed such that his cheeks puffed out. “Are we there already?”
“You brought it up.”
He lowered his eyelids at her while she raised her eyebrows at him.
“That's true,” he said standing up. “I'll answer your question, but before I do—“ David broke off and lifted a finger toward the empty glass.
“Oh yeah, sure,” she said before thanking him.
“Same thing?” he asked, still pointing.
“Yeah, I like it all right.”
Drawing his finger up, David dropped it, as if placing an exclamation point on the moment. He was barely a step away before immediately returning for the empty glasses and exchanging candid glances with his colleague. Colleague? Is that what she is? The question lingered in his mind as he wound through the crowd and ordered a couple of beers, this time from a dark-skinned gentleman with an large, impressive beard and horn-rimmed glasses.
After thanking the man and taking the beers, David stood in place, having suddenly remembered his plan to leave after two beers. He shook his head and decided can't exactly leave now. As he walked back to the table, images of his cats, the Willows, the crockpot, and the envelope with the red, wax seal appeared in his mind until he sat down with Catherine. She sat tall on the already-tall chair with her legs crossed and her hair draped over her shoulders. Her hair was straight but not flat, and it shone. And there was a streak of blonde, at which he squinted and cocked his head. Hoisting himself into the seat, David placed the glass on the table and slid it before her. Her eyes followed it. After a quick sip, David leveled an index finger at the top of her head and said, “Has that always been there?”
“My head?” she asked.
David was drinking when she said that and had to smash his lips together to keep from spraying her with his beer. He held up a finger while he calmed himself and swallowed.
“Sorry” he said, coughing. “That was really funny.”
“Apparently,” she said with a grin.
“I mean that blonde streak.”
“Oh, yeah, since my hair got dark. It was all this color when I was little,” she said with her eyes trained on the lighter hair she held between two extended fingers.
“That's cool. My hair was a bit blonder when I was younger too. I guess that's common.” As he implied, David's hair held some blonde strands, but they were only noticeable in light much brighter than that in the dim atmosphere of Oscar's bar.
“So, to answer your question,” David resumed, “I don't really adhere to rituals, so I wouldn't describe myself as religious. Though I do make a point to meditate every day.”
“Like sitting on the floor and chanting?”
“I don't really chant. For me, it's mostly just sitting, and being still, or trying to be still.”
“I see.”
David lowered his eyes and picked up his glass. Before drinking he asked, “What about you, religion?”
“I grew up Catholic. But I stopped going to mass in middle school.”
“How was it?”
She enunciated, “Very religious,”
"That's the impression I get."
“Did you ever go to church?” Catherine asked.
“Yeah, a lot actually. I grew up in a somewhat ‘liberal' Baptist church,” he answered, quoting with his hands in the air.
Catherine squinted and crooked her head.
“Basically," David continued, "they tolerated some of the more — what's the word? — enthusiastic aspects of Christian religiosity while retaining some of the more traditional Baptist ideology.”
“I don't really know what that means. I never paid much attention. I just went ‘cause my parents took us.”
“That's…” A shame? Maybe she's better for it?
“What?”
“I started to say that's a shame, but I'm not sure that's true.”
“Oh, okay,” Catherine said bringing her beer to her lips. "I don't know. I'm sure I could've gotten more out of it, but I was young and the presentation of it all was just so formulaic and cold and boring."
"Sounds like you should've come to my church."
Putting the glass down, she continued, “Speaking of, I want to hear more about this ‘liberal' Baptist church.”
David looked up, his eyes wide and his head listing side to side. He noticed a numbness in his lips and finger tips. With those finger tips, he stroked the blister in his palm as he considered her question.
“I don't know if ‘liberal' (he raised his fingers to quote) is the best word for it,” he started. “I just know what I experienced in my church and then heard about other churches. The years I attended, and I attended a long time—“
“How long?” Catherine interrupted.
“Since I was born until about the end of high school. I'd say about 18 years.”
“Oh, that is a long time.”
“I know,” David said nodding at Catherine. “That's why I said it.”
Biting her lip and flaring her nostrils, Catherine reached across the table and punched his arm.
“Ow,” he said, wincing and smiling, but more smiling than wincing.
“That's what you get for being an ass,” Catherine asserted.
David continued smiling and rubbed his arm before saying, “That actually hurt.”
“Good! You deserved it.”
“No, this I deserved,” he countered holding up his blistered palm. It looked like a small, pink, translucent balloon embedded in his skin.
“David! What happened?!” she asked reaching again across the table. This time she grabbed his wrist and pulled it down to look at the palm on the table.
“A couple days ago I was cooking and got distracted by how delicious my chicken looked.”
“Were you drunk?” she asked.
“Nope. I was still on my first drink,” he answered.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really.”
“You should have it looked at,” she asserted.
"You're looking at it," he said winking.
She shook her head. "By a doctor."
“There's no need for that," David asserted.
"What if it gets infected?" she asked, looking at the blister again.
Pulling his hand away and examining it close to his face, he said, “It won't get infected. It's not even open. Anyway, the way I see it, man made it millennia without constant medical supervision. I don't think a little blister will take me down.”
“Sure, if by 'made it' (she quoted) you mean 'died at 23' (she quoted again) due to the lack of even the most basic medical care.”
David squinted before conceding, “I guess those were the geniuses who came up with blood-letting.”
“Exactly. You should go to the doctor.”
“Ehh, it'll be fine,” David said as his eyes widened again and he leaned back in his chair. Catherine shook her head and picked up her glass.
“That's dumb,” she said as she tilted the glass back. The sloshing liquid momentarily entranced David. When she returned her glass to the table, David's attention came with it.
“You're dumb,” he quipped his eyes now focusing on Catherine. She shook her head again and smiled. David smiled too and looked at his hand as it rested. Lifting it, he examined the palm closely. Wonder if this'll scar. “It would be a cool scar though,” he said.
“Hmm?” Catherine asked.