Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Power

On my way home from work that afternoon I stopped off in Ballisade to see Skippy and drop off the $20 I owed him.  I hadn’t told The Coworker I was dropping in – I certainly didn’t want to give the misguided impression I was there with the hope of a chance encounter with him.

As I parked in the back lot, I could see The Coworker peering around someone from his desk in the service bay, with an intent look of surprise and curiosity on his face as he watched me exit the car. I could almost hear his ego struggling to determine the reason behind my arrival. 

He met me outside as I walked up towards the building, stammering like a fourteen-year-old boy who’s just found himself unexpectedly alone with his crush.

“Hey!” He greeted me, somewhat nervously.  “It’s good to see you.  You look…really great,” he muttered, with a surprisingly vulnerable tone.

We exchanged a bit of small talk – updated on work and respective families and such – and I cut the conversation short once Skippy emerged from the back room.  I followed Skippy outside to join him for a smoke, leaving The Coworker alone to reflect on the chance meeting.

We smoked our cigarettes in the rain and watched as The Coworker occasionally glanced out of the window in our general direction.  “I should go say goodbye to him,” I said as I flicked my cigarette on the wet concrete. I headed back into the service bay as The Coworker was coming outside towards me.

“Do you have to use the bathroom or something?” He said, quite innocently without a hint of sarcasm.

“No, I came to say goodbye to you,” I replied.

“Really? Cool…well…” he stammered. It was clear there was a part of him that didn’t want me to leave just yet.

“Let’s walk,” I said knowingly as I headed towards my car. He nodded in agreement, stating he wanted to talk to me.

We got into my car and made small talk about weekend plans. His father wanted to watch the playoff game at his house that night.

“Something happened. It’s never good when he randomly calls….he’s cramping my style!” He joked, laughing off the suggestion that maybe, just maybe, his father was simply trying to reach out to him. I didn’t pursue the matter much – it was refreshing to have anything in his life be none of my business, aside from the occasional small talk.  I felt like there should be something more for him to tell me, but we just sat in the car, dancing around what had become of the two of us.

We made plans for the end of the weekend (which is usually the case, whether or not the plans happen is a completely different story). As we started to say our goodbyes, he leaned in for a hug, so I bit. Then, before I knew it, he had pulled back from the hug to lean in to kiss me. Suddenly I was kissing him back, but on some weird, innocent level. I pulled back, and we awkwardly said our goodbyes.

“You know how I get on the weekends, so if you don’t hear from me….”

“Call you,” I said before he could finish. “I know the routine.”

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September 9, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

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