Mindful Memory

Whether you're a "red" or a "blue," there are a few things we should all agree on: 1) That George Takei is one funny son-of-a-biscuit; II) "Falling back" for Daylight Savings Time is stupid; and iii) taking the time to read and/or write something that is non-work related is healthy and, quite often, rewarding.  To that end... here, read this. Go on. It's ok. Don't be afraid. The words won't bite you, and it will only take a couple minutes. Let me know what you think. Give me ideas. Use your brains (those of you that have them, at least). Speaking of which, here's a joke for you - Q: What did the brain-eating zombies do at the political convention? A: Starve! HAHAHAHAHA... Hahahaha.... hahaha... ha... ahem. Sorry. Here's your story.

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He hadn’t intended on stopping for coffee. The meetings had run longer than expected, though, and the inanity of the last four hours had sucked from him what little energy he had left. The terms of the acquisition were simple but, the way the attorneys on the other side were parsing nearly every single paragraph in the merger agreement, he suspected that they were getting paid by the word. This happened every once in a while, usually when he was absorbing a smaller company. They felt the need to posture and nickel and dime as much as they could. Companies like that really had nothing else. Frankly, they wouldn’t be in the position of being taken over if they had any real bargaining collateral, so they did what they could to give off an air of significance. By the end of the day, however, the principals of the small development firm would be paid handsomely for their portfolio, and he would own another four apartment complexes in the city.

He hated negotiation. That was what the lawyers were for. But, as the managing member of his company, it was ultimately his decision as to what the company would pay, and to whom. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was quite good at making those decisions and had a knack for predicting the market. Still, it was tiring. He could retire at the ripe old age of forty and never look back, if he wanted to, but something inside him still enjoyed the rush of adrenaline he would experience with every transaction. It was the crash afterwards that got him.

By the time he reached the small, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, he had passed at least three Starbuck’s. He hated Starbuck’s. Not so much for its “over-saturation” business model, and not because of its product. He actually very much enjoyed Starbuck’s coffee. It was the clientele in the city that frequented the establishment, namely the hipsters and wannabe, faux-hawked twits, that irked him. He preferred the sanctuary of the local diners: one in particular, where a lonely old man named George would go every day just to flirt with the waitress, who was young enough to be his granddaughter, without ever finishing his one cup of coffee. Brendan enjoyed the solitude he could enjoy sitting in the back corner booth while he watched the patrons come and go, giving a smile here and there. It was the kind of place where they knew his name, knew he took his coffee black, and knew enough to know when to just let him be, simply by reading the expression on his face. Today was one of those days.

“Hi Brendan,” the young waitress said cheerfully as he removed his overcoat and sat down.

“Hey, Julie.”

She knew right away. If he was in a chatty mood he would ask her how it was going, or something along those lines. Since he didn’t, she poured him his coffee, gave him a wink, and went back to the counter. Inhaling the aroma of the rich Arabica soothed him. He was just starting to relax as he took his first sip, and then nearly spilled the hot beverage in his own lap. From the moment he saw her walk in the door, he was unable to take his eyes off of her. He knew her. He watched without blinking as she walked in, shook from her coat the light snow that had begun to fall outside, and sat down at the counter. He knew her. He knew her. Frantically his brain searched the archives of his memory and, when the realization hit him, he gasped. There was no mistaking it: the wavy, dark hair, petite figure, slightly upturned, button nose, and espresso brown eyes. It was her.

Though the indelible images of the day had been tucked away into the far recesses of his mind, the event had clearly been permanently seared into his psyche nonetheless. He remembered everything. He and some friends had gone out to lunch and were just making it back with minutes to spare before sixth period. A senior at the time, Brendan would be graduating from high school in less than two months. Never really sure how or why they had become friends, they had become friends just the same. She was a junior, cute, and for some reason liked his company. There was no question he had a crush on her, but she either always had a boyfriend, or was hanging out with a crowd that, let’s just say, didn’t agree with him. As much as he warned her, and as much as he prayed that a day like that day would never come, it did. And it broke his heart.

She was walking towards the side door of the school with a couple of guys he recognized, but would never associate with. The second the bell rang, they bolted and left her on her own. The problem was that she could barely stand by herself, let alone make it back into the building and to her classroom.

“Go ahead guys. I’ll see you in inside,” Brendan said to his friends as he rushed to her side. “Come with me,” he said softly.

“No, I… class, have to,” she stammered. Her pupils were completely dilated and she her body was cold and shaking. He led her over to the bike rack that just off the parking lot curb and gingerly leaned her back against it, steadying her.

“What did you take?” he asked.

“I, I don’t…”

“Look at me,” he said sternly, trying to get her to focus. It was all she could do to lift her head. “Tell me, what did you take?”

“I, I’m… I have to go to class. I’m fine.”

She tried to stand and nearly fell over. He caught her and guided her back to a leaning position.

“No you’re not,” he whispered as he moved next to her and wrapped his arm around her. Brendan sat there and held her as she leaned her head on his shoulder. The shaking convulsions subsided and her breathing began to return to normal.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” she slurred.

“Whatever,” he replied. He must have held her like that for the better part of an hour before she was able to return to class. He never knew whether or not she got detention. He didn’t, though he should have. Honest almost to a fault, he (mostly) told his teacher the truth: that he had been taking care of a sick friend. His honestly led to his amnesty.

He couldn’t remember if she had ever thanked him for being there for her that day, though it didn’t matter. He would have done what he had done regardless. They never really spoke too much after that. Had she been embarrassed by her behavior? He'd never regretted his compassion, nor held what had happened against her. Nevertheless, something kept them from ever reestablishing the connection they once shared, and he moved on; right up until he looked up from his coffee and watched her walk into his coffee shop. Unable to resist, he rose and approached her.

            “Dana?” he asked cautiously. She turned quickly, startled that someone there would know her name. It took her a moment to recognize him. His features had matured, and his hair had gone substantially grey. After a moment, the familiarity returned and her eyes welled with tears. She practically leaped to her feet and thrust her arms around his midsection, hugging him tightly. Brendan wrapped his arms around her, like he had done so many years ago, and held her close.

            “Oh my God, Brendan. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

            They stood there, embracing, for several minutes before she had the strength to pull away. She looked into his eyes and was overcome with emotion. “You were always there when I needed you.”

            “Still am,” he quipped with a smile. “What’s wrong, Dana?”

            She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Instead, she buried herself in his arms once again. In a barely perceptible whisper, the only words she could muster were “I need my friend.”

           

© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.