Eye Contact

Not necessarily pretty eyes.  Brown, like the color of a tootsie roll.  I probably would never have noticed them, particularly packaged with sort of the mousey girl attached to them. 

My life was boring in a run-of-the-mill kind of way.  I had a car, not quite new, a wife, not quite attractive, a dog, not quite trained, and two kids, not quite grateful.  But then again, I wasn’t quite whole myself.  I had developed a serious middle aged ailment.  I was OK with it all. 

My day started the same.  I tested the waters first.  I’d slip my hand under the covers and place it on her waist.  Slowly I head south west.  Sometimes at the hip, sometimes at the navel, occasionally inside the thigh; it was always the same.  The grunt and roll.  In the early days of our marriage I distinctly remember her groaning not grunting.  Now as I lay in the bed, I’m not so sure.  We did have two kids though.  I am constantly reminded of that.  After my morning rejection, I’d get up, shower, dress and get out of the house as quickly and quietly as possible.  I had perfected the process to the extent that I would get to the bagel place just as they opened.  Twelve minutes from rejection to the front door.  To save time, I kept a cordless razor and a comb in my car’s glove box.

She wasn’t an opener.  She would get in about the same time as me at seven am.  She parked her car across the parking lot behind the big white line.  A conscientious employee, no doubt.  I had never worked at a strip mall but I couldn’t imagine any employee would actually park behind the long painted white line that dissected the parking lot.  She did.  I would watch her Monday thru Friday walk across the sea of black top to the shop.  Kahki pants and a sort of pink golf shirt.  I could almost hear my wife tell me it’s mauve or fuchsia, or purple or whatever.  It was pink.  Dark pink.  Get over it. 

Ten years of marriage, two kids, seven and nine, 24 years left on the mortgage, 22 years until retirement. I guess numbers are as good a way as any to define one’s life.  It’s not like I’m only one who does it.  I remember being excited about being six and a half.  I don’t feel that way about being forty-three and a half. 

Blueberry bagel, light on the cream cheese, and a small coffee.  When it was my turn, that’s what I’d say.  The order girl could care less.  She never looked up from her order pad.  The guy in front of me knew this too.  He gave his order to her while extending his middle finger at her.  She didn’t notice.  He turned to me and laughed.  He could have been Charles Manson and she wouldn’t’ know.  She just stared at her pad. 

In college I still had hope.  Times were excited back then, even if just vicariously.  Our school had sports heroes, hot girls traversed campus in tight jeans, and there was lots of energy.  Now, the lady who delivered the mail on Saturday and was not entirely overweight in her blue government issued shorts looked good to me. 

There was something different about the mousy girl with tootsie roll colored eyes.  For the first time in recent memory I actually wanted to meet someone.  I had, in recent years, gotten good at avoiding new people.  I had long ago decided that meeting new people equaled more disappointment.  I tried not to extend that thought about what people thought when they met me.  I still held on to that thin veil of deception.  But she, somehow, was different.  The middle finger guy was still waddling ahead of me.  He could use some lowfat cream cheese as well.  Or maybe skip a meal.  Or maybe a couple of months on South Beach.  The manager appeared as I wondered why it made me feel good that the middle finger guy was fat.  Crap!  Two cashiers now.  The manager and tootsie roll eyed girl.  I looked ahead in line to calculate my chances.  Spandex girl, overly-plaid woman, PJ girl, middle finger guy and then me.  My chances looked good. 

In the early years I checked things off the list.  Job, wife, house, kids, retirement plan.  I don’t remember checking off beer gut, second rate job, nonexistent sex life, but I had those things too.  It seems, looking back that I had been more successful on my second list.  My spare tire was noteworthy, my job was close to meaningless and I still couldn’t honestly remember how the two kids were conceived.  I was forty three, and a half, and the bagel shop was a highlight. 

The middle finger guy got the manager at the cash register.  Double latte with extra cream and half dozen chocolate chip bagels, extra cream cheese.  That meant tootsie roll eyed girl was mine.  “Take this one hon, while I check in the delivery truck”, I heard the manager say as he wheeled around and headed to the back door. “Sure Mike”, she said.  She collected money from middle finger guy and smiled while she gave him his change.  And she looked at him.  Her eyes locked on his and then she held them there.  The change spilled through his hands and on to the counter with a clatter.  “Sorry”, she said sweetly.  Middle finger guy stammered back “It’s OK”.  He looked befuddled.  Strange to think that a guy who thinks of giving anyone the finger, whether they saw it or not, would ever look befuddled.  Then he looked back at her.  And smiled.  Not a “What are you doing after your shift babe”, smile either.  A “thank you for brightening my day” kind of smile.  He collected his chocolate chipped bagels and latte, turned around, looked down and immediately exclaimed “Oh my God”!  Not two inches from my foot was a fifty dollar bill.  He bent over, wobbling against me as he did, and picked it up.  “This is my lucky day”!  Two inches I thought.  Right under my feet.  I looked down and over my belly and shook my head.  “You’re next. Buddy”.  Wait!  That wasn’t right voice I thought, spinning around.  But she was gone.  The manager stood in her place.    “You’ve got some crappy luck.  If that fifty was any closer it would have bit you.  That’ll be $5.10”.  I looked around quickly but didn’t see her.  “$5.10”, he repeated glancing behind me at the lengthening line.  I pulled the correct change from my right front pocket and dropped it on the counter. 

Later at work I couldn’t get her out of my mind.  I wondered if I was in some kind of mid life crisis and Googled “mid life crisis”.  Not a great candidate for that I decided.  Still, there was something about her that kept me distracted all day.  Not that anyone noticed.

Fourteen people in line.  I waited my turn, and for some strange reason ordered a blueberry muffin and a decaf.  Damn, I thought.  Fat lady in stripes.  Sure enough, the fat lady with the partially blonde hair was going to get her.  And the look.  Right in her eyes.  The half-blonde lady was clearly caught off guard, but it didn’t stop her from looking back at tootsie roll eyed girl. 
Tootsie Roll smiled and held her eyes on the half-blonde.  She gave her the change and then the phone rang.  “Hello”,  I heard half-blonde say as she moved from the counter.  “Oh my God, you’re kidding me”, she said, this time louder.  I paid for my food, didn’t have the correct change this time, and thanked the manager.  Have a good day, he said listlessly.  “Whatever”, I said in return.  Tootsie roll girl was watching half-blonde.  The name on her badge was Claire.  Half-blond finished her call and turned to Claire.  “You won’t believe it.  My mom just won the West Virginia lottery”!  Claire smiled and said “That’s great news, my brother just won the lottery too.”

That night I went running.  Well, OK jogging.  Really it was a fast walking.  But I sweated.  And it felt good.  I slept like a log and when I awoke my south west excursion wasn’t met with an immediate grunt and roll.  Just a roll.  Curious.

For the next week at the bagel shop I got the manager every time.  I was now having a bagel with lowfat cream cheese and a bottled water.  Claire was giving change and making changes.  One guy made up with his girl friend after one look from Claire.  Another got a call about a big promotion after he paid for his bagel and coffee.  I couldn’t believe my bad luck.  Every time I got close, something happened and I got the manager.  It didn’t stop me from thinking what I would want when Claire looked into my eyes.  All of a sudden I wanted a lot.  A new car, more money, a sex life.  Any of those would be nice.

On Friday night after my run my nine year old talked to me.  Not the usually drivel about homework or the after school schedule.  “Dad, I’m glad you are running.  You look great!”  I stopped for a second.  “Thank you”, I stammered.  I looked into her eyes and she smiled at me.  Odd, I thought.  I don’t remember looking into her eyes before.

Monday was the day, I was certain.  My turn with Claire.  Seventh in line and no manager in site.  I ordered a plain yogurt and a water.  Fourth and still no manager.  Second.  I was starting to sweat.  I felt giddy.  “That’ll be $3.28”.  Claire looked at me.  Not just brown eyes.  A deep pool and I got lost in and didn’t want to be found.  A little wrinkle on each side of her eyes as she smiled.  $3.28 for your order”, she said again, smiling wider.  I fumbled in my pocket without breaking eye contact and pulled out some bills.  She looked down briefly, picked up some money and smiled again.  “Your change, sir”.  I smiled back at Claire and stepped away from the counter.  Then I just waited.  Nothing.

That night I couldn’t repress my disappointment.  Why had nothing happened to me?  Why had great fortune not come my way?  I fell asleep wondering if I had done something wrong.  When I awoke Tuesday morning I didn’t have time to think about Claire or my bad luck.  I could feel something on my waist.  Something warm and sensuous.  I waited breathlessly.  And then it happened.  Her hand started moving south, and then east.  As my wife slid up next to me she whispered in my ear something about missing breakfast at the bagel shop this morning.  I groaned, looked into her eyes, and smiled.