by Don Zelma
Chapter Thirty
It was two in the morning and Joe walked along the street in the dark. His boots splashed through a puddle and he put his hands in his pockets. It was all too simple – just give in – don’t worry about what she may think. The more he thought about it, the more he relaxed. He had, for months, harboured a deep yearning to tell her but, inexplicably, it seemed possible only now after the preacher’s permission. There was an end in sight. By the time he arrived out front of the workshop, he was sure he would express all to Lola Bonita.
The building looked dark and daunting against the night sky and thick clouds were scudding by just above the roof. He watched the last vehicle of the nightshift pull out into the street and waited until its far-off taillights merged with the city. The shop looked empty but he knew Lola was inside – she was always last to leave. He sauntered up the drive, along the side of the building and arrived at the service door under the security light. He slowly slid his hood back and felt the frosty air on his cheeks. He gazed at the door – it looked like part of a dream. A dog under a streetlight glanced up and stared. He removed his hand from his pocket and prepared to knock.
‘If she opens that door,’ he thought, ‘I must tell her everything.’
He exhaled steadily and watched the condensation leaving his lips. Then, he struck the door. Inside, he heard a distant teaspoon clatter into a kitchen sink. There was silence then steps echoed like tap shoes towards the door. He rested his forehead on the wall and watched his breath disperse across the brickwork. Her steps grew louder and halted behind the door and the hinges started to creak. Then Lola’s beautiful face appeared. He suddenly felt, quite literally, like crying. He swallowed and stared at her eyes.
‘Oh, hello, Joe,’ she said. Her eyes were very black and shiny in the dim light. ‘What are you doing here?’ She glanced at her watch.
He kept staring at her, then cleared his throat. ‘Listen – things have been weird lately,’ he said. ‘I think I probably owe you an explanation.’
Her face softened and she rested her temple on the door.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
He placed his hands into his pockets and glanced down at his boots.
‘How do you feel?’ she said. ‘A while ago on the late shift you said you were sick, and you haven’t been the same since.’
‘I feel great,’ he said, nodding solemnly. ‘A lot better.’ He looked up.
‘Oh, that’s great.’ She slowly stepped back. ‘Well, come on in. It’s cold.’
He was committed. He walked in and slowly closed the door. It was dark inside the shop and he could see very little. There were locomotives ahead, each in their workstations. A light was on upstairs in her office and another issued from the tearoom on the floor. Her steps started and went on ahead.
‘I’ll make you a hot drink,’ she said.
He saw her now – a white sweater moving in the dark and her flank growing bright as she approached the kitchen. He slowly followed, eventually entering the light and seeing the aluminium table and chairs of the tearoom. Lola’s files were piled high on the bench and she was waiting in the middle of the room.
‘I’ll shut the door,’ he said and turned, and gently closed it. He stared at the door then looked over his shoulder. ‘What are you doing down here?’
Her voice was clear in the silence. ‘I have a lot to do and need coffee,’ she said. ‘Would you like one?’ She picked up a steaming cup from the table and smiled.
‘No, thank you,’ he said.
She sipped her cup, looking at him. He blinked, staring at her. He remembered their first day eating lunch on the bench. He remembered how long he had yearned to tell her what she had done.
‘So, what’s up?’ she asked.
‘Talk slowly and clearly,’ he thought. ‘Tell her everything from the beginning.’
Lola pulled out a chair, slowly sat and gently placed her mug on the table. He removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He remained standing, then removed his cap and held it shyly at his belt.
She took the files from the bench and put them on the table. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ she said. ‘I was worried about you. Really.’
He waited. ‘I know you were,’ he said.
She glanced at him as her hands started arranging the files. ‘You concerned me...’ she said. ‘Would you like that coffee?’
‘Sure,’ he said. Lola stepped to the sink and began rinsing a cup. He watched the back of her head – her hair hanging long and black. She was beautiful – he hadn’t just imagined it.
‘So, Joe, what have you got to tell me?’ she asked with her back turned. She looked over her shoulder, not overly concerned. She reached out for a tea towel and began drying the cup.
‘It’s pretty important,’ he said.
She pouted. ‘Oh… O.K…’ She slowly walked to the table, the cup loose in her hand and sat, guiding her skirt under her thighs. ‘O.K, Joe,’ she said politely. She gestured at the chair closest him. ‘Take a seat.’
Joe slowly sat, holding his hat. He cleared his throat and rested his hands on the table. A few seconds passed.
‘What is it, sweetie?’ she asked.
His lips parted and he heard the saliva click in his mouth. ‘Well…’ he said, ‘I guess…’ he cleared his throat, ‘The best way to do this, is just say it.’ He fell silent and began bending the peak of his cap.
‘Oh, come on, pumpkin,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
He leaned back and slowly stretched like waking. ‘Things are running well in the shop, you know,’ he said. ‘I think it’s because of you.’
Lola sat up. ‘Oh… Why, thank you, Joe,’ she said. ‘No one seemed to notice.’
There was silence. She tilted her head and he watched her hair gently touching her shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, Lola,’ he said, ‘but you’re not going thank me for this.’
It was close now.
‘Oh… I see,’ she said, expressionless.
‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘when you laugh we hear it throughout the workshop and it makes everyone happy.’
She winced then straightened. ‘Why… thank you…’ she said. ‘That’s very sweet of you.’ She was lost.
Joe wiped his forehead. ‘This is very difficult,’ he said quietly. The room was silent. It was time and he exhaled, flicking his cap to the table like a losing hand of cards. He reached up and covered his eyes with his fingertips and pulled downward like a child making a face. ‘This is very awkward,’ he said.
‘Joe – are you still ill?’
He let go of his face and slowly rubbed his hands together. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t slept properly in months.’
‘Do you have... some medical thing?’
Joe slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, gazing at his hands. ‘I’m so tired of fighting…’ he whispered. He had spoken with a voice he did not recognize, hearing it start to quaver. He bit his bottom lip and felt a great welling up beginning inside him.
She leaned forward. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked, growing concerned. ‘We tell each other everything, so please tell me.’
There was a long pause. He felt a pressure building up inside his throat like he’d swallowed a tennis ball. He looked up, stared at her and held his gaze. ‘I’ve developed some pretty extreme emotions,’ he said.
‘Oh..? Really?’ she said.
He squeezed the tennis ball and it hurt. He thought about all the sleepless nights thinking about her. He remembered her kindness towards him since the day they had met and looked down at the floor between his feet. A droplet popped out of his eye and landed on his boot. Another came and slowly ran down his cheek and he raised a finger and caught it. More were coming and soon there were too many and he couldn’t stop them.
Please, he thought, not here... But it was too late. His face was wet – right in front of her.
‘Joe?’ she said. But he kept looking down. She reached out and tried to touch h
is hand. He saw it on the table and wanted so much to hold it. He looked up and she saw the tears.
She gasped – she got it and covered her mouth. There was a long pause and the room seemed to hum. ‘Oh, Joe…’ she said, through her fingers. ‘This is why you could not sleep?’
He stared a little longer then looked down at his hands. ‘Are you surprised?’ he said.
She did not answer.
His voice was raspy, ‘I’m sorry about this, Lola. It’s very unfair on you.’ He wiped his cheeks and glanced at her.
‘That’s OK,’ she said. She hesitated. ‘You’ll be fine. I kind of… I kind of knew something... I wasn’t sure.’ She waited a little longer. ‘Well…’ she said. ‘I’m glad you got that off your chest…’ She fanned her mouth. ‘Wow…’ she said, ‘that really took my breath away.’
Beautiful Lola was very sweet about it. She looked at him and smiled. ‘Maybe now,’ she said, ‘you can sleep?’ She continued smiling and with that, perhaps, she believed they had negotiated the difficult corner. But Joe knew he had not finished. He could not allow any misunderstanding about what he now felt, and why he was here.
He looked at her. ‘There’s three words….’ he said. ‘I need to say them. To verbalise what I feel. Only after that will I sleep.’
She glanced down and started picking at her sweater. ‘Words, darling?’ she said. ‘What are you talking about?’ She leaned forward and looked into her cup.
‘Lola?’ he said. She knows what’s coming, he thought. ‘Lola?’ She slowly looked up and they locked eyes. The ultimate expression was coming – he had dreamt of saying it every moment since the day they had met. ‘I love you,’ he said.
The room was silent and he could hear her wristwatch ticking. He was exposed now, like never before, but it didn’t matter. It was done and there was nothing more to say. It was sudden, but it was time to go. He slowly stood and took his cap from the table. She looked up as he lifted his jacket from the chair. ‘I had no control over it,’ he said. ‘It just happened, a long time ago on the bench.’
She waited and looked down and nodded. ‘I know,’ she said.
He looked down at his boots. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever said anything like that,’ he said.
Of course, he could expect nothing more. He slowly walked towards the door, took the handle and looked over his shoulder.
‘Hey… Lola?’
She looked up.
‘It’s unconditional,’ he said. ‘I don’t expect anything back – you know, in return. I’m guessing I’m not your sort of guy.’
She stared blankly at him. He had expressed everything now. He opened the door and walked slowly out into the shop, his steps clear in the dark. Far behind her shoes started to follow. He slowly opened the service door and stepped out under the security light, into a light breeze. He held the door and slowly put on his cap and heard her steps cease nearby in the dark. ‘I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship,’ he said. ‘But I guess that’s being a little optimistic.’
She was quiet.
‘Good night, Lola,’ he said.
There was silence. ‘Goodbye, Joe.’
He let go of the door and slowly headed down the steps.
‘Joe?’ she said. He stopped and looked back. Her face appeared in the doorway in the light. ‘Keep yourself warm,’ she said. ‘It’s very cold out there.’
The tin wall quietly rattled in the breeze.
‘Sure,’ he said.
‘Good night,’ she said. She smiled and he turned and slowly walked away.
It was over. There was nothing more to do than wander home and reflect on what he had done. He walked down the drive and out into the street. There was nothing but the cold breeze blowing in his ears and he felt like he was floating. His senses were alert and he looked up at the sky and saw that the stars were now easy to see. He had done it – he had been transparent, unequivocally, for the first time in his life.
I was once a bit of a cheat and liar, he thought, but now this beautiful gift has been given to me. I do not deserve it but will take hold of it with all my heart.
He wandered through the suburbs, wanting to tell the whole world what had happened. He stepped onto his front lawn at four, glanced at the neighbour’s house. A lion’s head rose up from the veranda, large eyes peered through the railings and Pilchard began wagging. He stood and scampered down the stairs and galloped silently across the grass. Joe knelt and mussed his large head and Pilchard’s giant tongue began licking his hand.
‘Hello, old mate,’ he said. ‘How are you tonight?’
Pilchard bounded off like a leopard and disappeared into the open garage under the house. His wagging tail knocked over a pile of tins as he passed through and Joe chuckled. He wandered in, up alongside his utility and saw Pilchard ahead, sitting on the grass. He reached down and stroked his head. ‘Goodnight, my friend.’
Joe slowly scaled the stairs. He wandered into his bedroom, removing his oilskin drover’s coat. He stepped to his bed and collapsed onto his mattress.
‘Thank God. Thank God. Thank God!’ he thought. ‘Finally, it’s over.’
Tiredness overcame him and his eyelids began to sink. He listened to the sound of his gentle breathing, feeling himself slowly and finally falling into a beautiful deep sleep.