Arizona Allspice (32 page)

******

He was so nervous to go to therapy. He even gave me sad-eyes when the therapist came for him here in the waiting area, as if I was sending him to be drawn and quartered. Made me feel guilty, the wimp. I’m sure he thought he was hiding his emotions really well, but I’ve always been able to read him, even back in high school. It annoyed me at the time. Still does. It frustrated me that when he walked into a room I would automatically hone in on his energy. I didn’t want to be one of those girls that seemed so helpless and enamored when it came to him. Funny, I never picked up on the crush he had on me. I guess I twisted that signal into something less innocent.

I brought my journal along so I would have something to help the two hours pass by. Before I know it, Joey has finished his appointment and I have accomplished a doodle of him with his curly hair grown back in, one sentence for my short story revised at least eight times, and a grumbling stomach. Joey’s wheeled out with a big smile on his face by a nurse. Did they give him some medication or something? He points the nurse over to where I am sitting.

“Hey,” he smiles once he is wheeled in front me.

“So, it went well.” I give him and the nurse a small smile as I close my journal. The nurse nods politely and walks away to another patient. 

Joey nods enthusiastically. “My therapist is awesome and he says I will definitely be walking normally again real soon. He said I came out of the accident stronger than a lot of other people. Says it’s because good soccer players like he and I have
ultra physical
endurance.”

“He plays too?” I help him up from the wheelchair and we begin walking to the exit in the now familiar position of his arm across my shoulders and my arm about his waist. He’s already walking steadier.

 “He used to play for the Colorado Rapids!” he says excitedly. “He was part of the original team and played from ‘96 to ‘99 when he retired after an injury, but he still plays locally and he got into sports therapy and physical therapy. The Rapids were always a solid team. They’ve ranked third or fourth in the Western Conference since they formed.”

“Wow. What are the odds a young soccer geek would get paired up with a retired major league soccer player?” I glance up at his smiling sunlit face as we amble outside.

“I’m lucky, I guess,” he looks at me with a boyish grin. I look away just as my heart jumps and my stomach announces its yearning for food.

“I’m starving. Want to go somewhere for lunch?”

“Uh, sure, I’d like that. Unfortunately, I don’t have any money on me,” he explains as he carefully gets into the truck.

“Just pay me back later. No big deal.” I close the door for him and then get in and start the engine. “I know a great place not far from here. They serve breakfast all day, too.”

“I never ate breakfast this morning.”

“And they have your favorite: blueberry pancakes.”

“Man, I haven’t had blueberry pancakes in a long, long time. My mom used to cook ‘
em
when I was little to cheer me up. But then I got really focused with building muscle and being fit for soccer.”

“Now that you’re taking a break from soccer, you can have all the blueberry pancakes you desire.”

“You make it sound as if I’m choosing to take a break from soccer,” he sighs.

I get us back on the highway towards the restaurant I have in mind. The one all my family went to for years, when everyone was together, when everyone was here. Why am I going to that memory-evoking restaurant again? Maybe because it’s like a time machine and my heart wants to go back. Back to when my heart was something lighter than the rest of my body and put a youthful bounce in my step, instead of something heavy, a load I’ve become used to these days. I don’t know. I’m hungry and they have good food, that’s all.

Joey cradles his neck against the headrest. We drive in silence for a time.

“How’d you know blueberry pancakes are my favorite?”

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I shrug and say, “Lucky guess.”

******

 “I talked to the deputy yesterday night. He came by after you left.”

She nods and quietly says “Thank you” without looking up from the menu.

“Is Manny doing okay?”

She looks uncomfortable. She flips a page of the menu. “Uncle Frank says Manny is humble yet hopeful.”

“You haven’t talked to him yourself lately?”

She briefly looks up at me. “Let’s just say I was unable to.” The menu holds her attention again. She said she’s eaten here dozens of times. She knows that menu like the back of her hand and most likely knew exactly what she wanted to eat before we came into the restaurant, yet she is looking at it very intently. She’s hiding her eyes from me. “I’m sure I’ll get a chance to talk to him in person really soon,” she adds.

“I’m nervous about Thursday.”

No response.

“Are you nervous about it too?”

She picks up the beverage menu. “If I have a few Long Island iced teas the morning of Manny’s sentencing, I won’t feel anything at all,” she smiles to herself.

Basically, she wants me to shut up. No problem. I have no idea how to respond to that anyway. Somewhere along the drive here she reverted back to Cynical Elaine who doesn’t get her hopes up and makes little jokes to push people away and end conversations. Manny once told me you sometimes have to get flat out rude with Elaine to snap her out of her stubbornness. He said I should not be reluctant to really get into an exchange of words and that if she succeeds in quieting you then she has won. Purposely insulting Elaine is too uncomfortable a thought for me. That might work for Manny since they’re siblings. She would definitely pummel me if I was that disrespectful. Plus, I have to get angry to argue and I don’t want to scare her or myself. I’ll just wait until her mood passes. After five years I’ve become an expert at waiting.

She sighs loudly and tosses her folded menu back onto the table. “So, what are you having?”

“Um,” I glance back down at my menu. The words are moving around on the page.  I have to focus to make sense of them. “Blueberry pancakes with sausage and hash browns.
You?”

“A triple bacon double cheeseburger, curly fries and a root beer float.”

My eyebrows rise involuntarily.

“And I might have some cherry cobbler, although their strawberry torte is good, too.”

“Couldn’t you eat something a little healthier?” I ask, deeply regretting it half way through the sentence. Her eyes became very beautiful brown switchblades.

“Should I order a big stack of pancakes smothered in maple syrup and butter, with links of fatty meat and heavily salted deep fried potatoes like you’re having? Yeah, I’ll order that instead.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to say.
In my head the suggestion hadn’t sounded as hypocritical since I haven’t eaten food like this in years, but Elaine doesn’t know that. I’ll shut up now, before I dig myself deeper into this hole. Elaine looks taken aback by my silence. She shakes her head and looks about the restaurant with a frown. The waitress arrives. I order two poached eggs, two slices of whole grain toast, turkey bacon, a few pieces of cantaloupe, and a glass of cranberry juice. Elaine sighs and then flips reluctantly through her menu again. Honestly, I didn’t change my order to guilt trip her into changing hers, too. I just don’t feel like indulging. There’s no cause for celebration.  

“Then I guess I’ll order, um,” Elaine glances from the waitress, to me, and back to the waitress, “the triple bacon double cheeseburger with a heaping pile of curly fries and a root beer float, don’t skimp on the whipped topping. Thanks!” Elaine grins and hands her menu back to the woman. Then she sticks out her tongue at me like a first grader. The left corner of my mouth goes up into a smile. She got me. I look out the window so that I won’t be creepy and stare at her too much while waiting for the food to arrive. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that she’s studying my face. She’s staring at me and on impulse I bring my hand up to the side of my face. I scratch at my cheek. I need to shave first thing when I wake up tomorrow. I scratch a pretend itch at my temple. Hiding behind my hand every time she looks at me is weak, so I lower the hand to rest on the table and force myself to meet her gaze.

Without any sign of embarrassment for being caught staring, she casually looks away. I feel relieved when she does. For a long time I was invisible to her. At this moment, with my injuries and Elaine taking me to therapy, I’m under a spotlight and it is a strange new sensation. Because I’m used to being in the shadows of her life, my first impulse is to run and hide from her sudden examination. I don’t want her to see me too closely and realize I’m not that interesting looking once you get past the freckles. I mean, compared to hers, my features are just yawn-worthy. We sit quietly until the food finally arrives. Once I see Elaine’s greasy bacon cheeseburger and crispy hot curly fries I begin to have wistful thoughts about the blueberry pancakes I never ordered.  

I should have ordered those fluffy, sweet, blueberry pancakes. I should have gone after what I really wanted without allowing doubt to decelerate my desire. Yes. Pancakes just became a metaphor for my love life.

I pick up my fork and cut into my egg. I take a bite and Elaine wrinkles her nose. “What?” I ask.

“I hate eggs.”

“Oh.” I consider having the waitress take the eggs away so as not to disgust her. Then I mentally slap myself. Why in the world am I willing to throw away my food! I like poached eggs and I’m not wasteful! “Well, I like them,” I declare. After some concentration, I locate the egg on my plate and cut another piece and chew it hungrily. Annoyed with how my distorted vision makes using utensils a chore, I take the rest of the egg and couple it with a bit of bacon and fold some toast around it to make a sandwich I can eat with my hands. Elaine sips on her drink. It’s no big deal that I am eating something she hates. What made me think she would walk out in a huff? When I’m level-headed, I’m too nice and so careful. When I’m angry, I’m caustic. What I want is to be normal.

“Yummy,” she says as she starts in on her French fries. Then she starts having a conversation with her cheeseburger. “You are one fine burger. You know that?”

Elaine lifts the top and bottom of the bun to make some lips the cheeseburger can answer through. “I know it and I ain’t scared to show it!” huffs the cheeseburger.

“There’s someone I want you to meet, Mr. Cheeseburger. His name is Joey.” Elaine rotates her plate towards me. Mr. Cheeseburger sits motionless and stares at me from wherever his eyes are located. I stare at Mr. Cheeseburger at a loss for words. Mr. Cheeseburger looks back to Elaine.

“What’s
his
problem?” his sesame-seeded lips scowl.

“Well, I want to eat you so very much Mr. Cheeseburger, I do. But Joey suggests I eat something else, something less delicious than you, ‘
cause
he thinks I could lose a few pounds.”

Mr. Cheeseburger whips around. His bread jaw drops in astonishment and disgust. He’s so shocked, his pickle tongue falls right out of his mouth and lands on the plate. “Wait, that’s not what I meant!” I start to explain to Mr. Cheeseburger, but repulsed he simply glares and turns away. Why am I talking to a damn…! I look at Elaine who actually looks hurt, rather than just angry. “Elaine, I didn’t say that. You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re perfect. I just wanted you to eat healthy, that’s all. Ninety percent of the time I’m rigid about what I eat. I only thought of ordering pancakes because you suggested it. And see, I didn’t even order them. So, really I’m not a hypocrite, I’m just…an idealist and I shouldn’t shove my expectations onto you. Honestly, you’re figure is…,” I blow out an appreciative sigh, “It’s perfect. If eating whatever you want is your secret, I will gladly order you another cheeseburger. I’m really, really sorry about accidently suggesting that you aren’t fine just the way you are.”