Telling the Two Apart
003
They went to the International House of Pancakes and ordered coffee. As they leaned over the table, Nina asked Gerard how long he’d been a resident of the dear Windy City. Gerard, shrugging as if to make it seem unimportant, replied, “Well, only for a few months. I’m kind of drying out.”
“Alcoholic?” Nina blurted. Almost covering her mouth, she chided herself.
Gerard, thankfully, was not offended. “No,” he said. “I don’t mean rehab or anything. I just needed a break from my area. My little boxed-in life.” He demonstrated by making a small box with his hands. “Maybe ‘drying out’ isn’t the right term. More like…soaking it in.”
“What exactly do you want to soak in?”
“Nothing in particular. Just new things. Things that aren’t the same old.”
The coffee came, slid in front of their faces by a waitress with red hair. She smiled, and it seemed to come easily although it looked fake. She walked off and Gerard’s eyes followed her casually as he spoke. “And Chicago’s a good place to see new things, I guess. Anonymously. The jazz clubs are nice.”
“They are,” Nina agreed, although she was never known to frequent them.
“What about you? What do you do? Any hobbies?”
Nina shrugged. “Not really,” she said. She had been a writer before the accident, but now, when she tried to write, it all seemed to run together and make little or no sense to her. It all seemed inconsequential. She didn’t even know what hobbies she’d like to have anymore. “Do you have any hobbies? Or maybe you’re just the type that goes out a lot.”
“Sometimes. I write.”
Nina’s mouth nearly fell open. “What do you write?”
“Music. I’m no Beethoven, but that’s why it’s a hobby.”
Nina sighed. Good. She hadn’t wanted to be any more creeped out than absolutely necessary. Gerard continued. “I do like to draw. And I like to paint. Some people ride horses or plant gardens—I’m more of an art dabbler, I guess.”
“Me too,” Nina replied. “Personality type just works that way, I guess.”
Gerard nodded as he flipped through the menu. “I hope you can’t hear my stomach growling, but I’m dying for a fucking waffle, if you’ll excuse the language.”
“Excused,” Nina said, smiling.
They ordered—Gerard actually settled for stuffed French toast, and Nina decided on buttermilk pancakes. They made small talk with the same waitress. They seldom spoke during the meal, both realizing that they were nearly ravenous once the food was in front of them. Of course, Nina was unable to finish her pancakes, hungry as she was. Gerard barely fit the last bite down his throat. They sat back and surveyed the table.
“Well, yum,” Gerard sighed.
“It was good,” agreed Nina.
They both looked at their watches and caught one another doing so. Neither of them really had anywhere pressing to be, of course, but spending too much time with a new acquaintance is strange. “Sorry, no really, I do have to be going,” Nina breathed, trying to be polite, and Gerard hurriedly agreed.
They gathered themselves, paid the bill, and went outside. Gerard had a bus to catch, and Nina really had no plans but to walk some more. Before they parted, Gerard expressed how glad he was to meet her.
“Same to you,” Nina said truthfully. He couldn’t have known how relieved she was to have such a simple reentrance into the world she’d forsaken months before. It gave her confidence to know that the very same day she’d decided to begin healing, she’d made such a large leap.
“Well, hey,” Gerard said, adjusting his jacket as it hung over his arm. “Let’s keep in touch. I mean, let me give you my number.” He dug around in his pockets and came up with a pen, but no paper. Nina had not carried anything from her apartment with her. So she held out her hand, and Gerard scrawled his phone number on it.
They stood there, unsure what to do.
“Well, let me give you mine, so the pressure to call is on both of us evenly,” she finally said, and penned her phone number on his hand.
“Don’t try to tell me you lost mine,” Gerard warned her, grinning.
“Back at ya,” she replied, smirking.
Gerard whirled as the bus pulled up to the bus stop. “Bye, Nina. Nice meeting you,” he called as he rushed away, his coat fluttering along behind him. He stepped onto the bus, the doors closed behind him, and the bus drove away. Nina watched it go.
Her first thought was to call Rhea and tell her about the odd circumstances under which she’d made a new friend. She remembered, her eyes filled with tears, and she began to walk home.
“Alcoholic?” Nina blurted. Almost covering her mouth, she chided herself.
Gerard, thankfully, was not offended. “No,” he said. “I don’t mean rehab or anything. I just needed a break from my area. My little boxed-in life.” He demonstrated by making a small box with his hands. “Maybe ‘drying out’ isn’t the right term. More like…soaking it in.”
“What exactly do you want to soak in?”
“Nothing in particular. Just new things. Things that aren’t the same old.”
The coffee came, slid in front of their faces by a waitress with red hair. She smiled, and it seemed to come easily although it looked fake. She walked off and Gerard’s eyes followed her casually as he spoke. “And Chicago’s a good place to see new things, I guess. Anonymously. The jazz clubs are nice.”
“They are,” Nina agreed, although she was never known to frequent them.
“What about you? What do you do? Any hobbies?”
Nina shrugged. “Not really,” she said. She had been a writer before the accident, but now, when she tried to write, it all seemed to run together and make little or no sense to her. It all seemed inconsequential. She didn’t even know what hobbies she’d like to have anymore. “Do you have any hobbies? Or maybe you’re just the type that goes out a lot.”
“Sometimes. I write.”
Nina’s mouth nearly fell open. “What do you write?”
“Music. I’m no Beethoven, but that’s why it’s a hobby.”
Nina sighed. Good. She hadn’t wanted to be any more creeped out than absolutely necessary. Gerard continued. “I do like to draw. And I like to paint. Some people ride horses or plant gardens—I’m more of an art dabbler, I guess.”
“Me too,” Nina replied. “Personality type just works that way, I guess.”
Gerard nodded as he flipped through the menu. “I hope you can’t hear my stomach growling, but I’m dying for a fucking waffle, if you’ll excuse the language.”
“Excused,” Nina said, smiling.
They ordered—Gerard actually settled for stuffed French toast, and Nina decided on buttermilk pancakes. They made small talk with the same waitress. They seldom spoke during the meal, both realizing that they were nearly ravenous once the food was in front of them. Of course, Nina was unable to finish her pancakes, hungry as she was. Gerard barely fit the last bite down his throat. They sat back and surveyed the table.
“Well, yum,” Gerard sighed.
“It was good,” agreed Nina.
They both looked at their watches and caught one another doing so. Neither of them really had anywhere pressing to be, of course, but spending too much time with a new acquaintance is strange. “Sorry, no really, I do have to be going,” Nina breathed, trying to be polite, and Gerard hurriedly agreed.
They gathered themselves, paid the bill, and went outside. Gerard had a bus to catch, and Nina really had no plans but to walk some more. Before they parted, Gerard expressed how glad he was to meet her.
“Same to you,” Nina said truthfully. He couldn’t have known how relieved she was to have such a simple reentrance into the world she’d forsaken months before. It gave her confidence to know that the very same day she’d decided to begin healing, she’d made such a large leap.
“Well, hey,” Gerard said, adjusting his jacket as it hung over his arm. “Let’s keep in touch. I mean, let me give you my number.” He dug around in his pockets and came up with a pen, but no paper. Nina had not carried anything from her apartment with her. So she held out her hand, and Gerard scrawled his phone number on it.
They stood there, unsure what to do.
“Well, let me give you mine, so the pressure to call is on both of us evenly,” she finally said, and penned her phone number on his hand.
“Don’t try to tell me you lost mine,” Gerard warned her, grinning.
“Back at ya,” she replied, smirking.
Gerard whirled as the bus pulled up to the bus stop. “Bye, Nina. Nice meeting you,” he called as he rushed away, his coat fluttering along behind him. He stepped onto the bus, the doors closed behind him, and the bus drove away. Nina watched it go.
Her first thought was to call Rhea and tell her about the odd circumstances under which she’d made a new friend. She remembered, her eyes filled with tears, and she began to walk home.