When You Were Older (retail)

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Of course. You are my good friend. Well. New. But good. Please come in.’

  He stepped back from the doorway to allow me to enter. The bakery kitchen seemed to be infused with a long-lost warmth. It looked the way home might look after you’ve been lost in a storm for days, thinking you might never see it again.

  I stepped inside and breathed deeply.

  ‘Pour yourself a coffee,’ he said. ‘I have a pot going.’

  I did as directed, then rejoined him in the kitchen.

  I leaned on a stool, and for the longest time I watched him scrape down the inside of the big industrial mixer as it turned. Without speaking.

  In time he looked up at me.

  ‘You don’t do much talking for a man who needs to talk.’

  ‘True. I guess I’m having trouble getting started. Maybe you could get me going. Ask me what’s wrong, or something.’

  ‘I don’t have to ask you what’s wrong,’ he said. He turned off the mixer and leveled his bold gaze on me. ‘Your mother just died. The place where you worked was attacked, killing most of your colleagues and friends. No one can take care of your brother now but you, and he’s not easy. And someone has apparently been beating on your face.’

  I nodded three or four times.

  ‘That sums it up surprisingly well. I wonder why I even need to talk about it now.’

  Nazir shrugged. ‘You tell me,’ he said.

  I watched him remove the mixer bowl and hoist it on to the table, turning and scraping the mountain of donut dough on to the floured surface.

  I sipped the coffee. It almost blew the back of my head off.

  ‘I make it strong,’ Nazir said.

  I hadn’t known he was paying such close attention to me.

  ‘I feel like I’m stuck in some kind of bad dream,’ I said. I turned my gaze out the window. A streetlight illuminated the empty miniature intersection. Like a dollhouse. This town was sleeping. And possibly not real. ‘I hitchhiked here with nothing but what I could fit in my big backpack. Because there were no planes. There was no transportation to be had, but I had to get here. And it’s like I stepped into this dream, and now it won’t let me go again. I wasted a month’s rent on my apartment in New York.’ I never said Jersey City. New York sounded better. ‘Because my stuff still lives there. Now I’m going to have to pay another, soon. For all intents and purposes right now I own like, two pairs of jeans and three shirts and four pairs of socks. And I don’t even know when I can get to New York to get my stuff because Ben probably can’t be left alone that long. I thought I’d go back there. To live. Or at least to make some arrangements to really move. But I don’t see how I can. But everything I have is still there. Except me. It’s like I don’t even know where I live.’ I dropped my head into my hands for a minute, and then made a sort of growling, angry noise. ‘Listen to me. I’m pathetic. I should pull myself together.’

  ‘You are too hard on yourself,’ Nazir said.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Much too hard. Anyone would be having a hard time in your situation. And you would be patient with them. Why won’t you be patient with you? If my mother had just died, I would be a mess. Even just that one thing. I would be a mess.’

  ‘Is your mother alive?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She died ten years ago. When Anat was only ten. I was a mess.’

  My brain ran in circles, figuring out that Anat was only twenty. Somehow I’d thought she was my age. Or close, anyway.

  ‘You have friends you can talk to?’ Nazir asked, interrupting my brain.

  ‘I guess not, or I wouldn’t be here. I have Ben, but I can hardly talk to him. There was a woman before I left New York – just a friend, nothing more – but I’ve broken that off. And there was one guy at my office who survived, but I don’t really know him. Anat has been very nice. And you. You’ve both been very nice to me. But I’ve only known you for …’

  I stopped to think how long I had know them. Had it been the fourteenth or fifteenth of September when I stumbled into town? This was the twenty-second of October. I had known Anat a little over five weeks. That didn’t seem possible.

  While I was trying to wrap my brain around this readjustment, we were startled by the sound of glass shattering. Nazir made it around the counter long before I did. I let the moment freeze me.

  When I caught up with him, the dark seating area in the front of the bakery looked like a broken-glass sea. I could feel the cold of the wee hours of our Kansas morning pouring through. Nazir turned on the lights, and I was able to make out some of the bits of glass painted with what I knew were the letters of his name.

  In the middle of it all was a rock about the size of an orange.

  I threw open the bakery door and ran out on to the sidewalk. I heard the bell jingle, but vaguely. Like it was far away. Or I was. I looked in every direction. But the street was empty. Empty and unreal, still like an old unused movie set. Whoever it was had gone.

  I stepped back inside.

  Nazir’s face looked too flushed. I couldn’t tell if he was about to release sorrow or rage. But I could see something trying to come out.

  He kicked viciously at the glass once, but barely grazed the top of it. One piece flew across the floor and made a clinking sound when it landed.

  ‘All right,’ he said. His voice sounded deathly calm. Eerily calm. ‘All right. I thought we were done with this, but all right. I will not go to pieces. I will just get a broom and sweep it up, and then at nine o’clock I will call some kind of glass company, and that’s it.’

  He looked up at me. Straight into my eyes. I was startled by the anger I saw in his. Not at me, of course. But still.

  ‘Until next time, eh, my friend? That’s it, until they decide to have some more fun with us.’

  He clapped me on the shoulder before he moved off toward the kitchen.

  ‘Shouldn’t you call the police?’

  ‘How can the police catch them? How can they know who did this? This could be anybody.’

  ‘I was just thinking … you’re insured, right? I mean, are you? If you’re insured, you might need a police report before you can file a claim.’

  Nazir stood like a statue for a weird length of time, halfway between me and the kitchen. I was starting to worry about him. Then the spell broke, and he hit himself in the forehead with the heel of one beefy hand.

  ‘That is absolutely right,’ he said. ‘You are so right. Where is my brain? It’s a good thing you were here with me, because I can’t think with a thing like this. You probably just saved me a lot of money. Something I can’t afford to lose any more of right now. Wait here. I will call.’

  I don’t know where the phone hid in that bakery. Maybe way back in the storeroom. Because I never heard him call. I never heard what he said to the police. But I know he called. Because less than ten minutes later, we received a visit from one of Nowhere-ville’s finest.

  Unless things had changed since I left town, that was one out of all two of Nowhere-ville’s finest.

  ‘I need to know you can make me safe!’ Nazir roared.

  Somehow, in the intervening ten minutes, he had found his voice.

  ‘Sir—’ the cop said, but got no further. He was a guy, I swear, no older than me, with blond hair in an army-length buzz cut. His name badge said he was Officer N. Michelevsky.

  ‘You are the police! If you can’t keep us safe, who can keep us safe? What am I to do? I ask you this! Why can’t I live in this town like anybody else? Why can’t I live in peace? What have I done to anybody that I don’t deserve to live in peace? I lead a quiet life. I hurt no one. Who do I hurt? Next time it will be a bomb.’

  Michelevsky got a word in edgewise. ‘I doubt that, sir. I don’t think they’re trying to hurt anybody. Maybe scare you. Maybe even get you to move.’

  ’This is my livelihood. I know there are those who want us to pack up and move away, but how can I do
that? Business is so bad I don’t have the money to start again. I must know you can keep me safe.’

  ‘I didn’t say you should move. Just that it doesn’t seem like they’re out to hurt anybody.’

  ‘My daughter. My daughter is only twenty, and she works by herself at night. And it’s a small town, so everybody knows this.’

  ‘If everybody knows this, did it ever occur to you that somebody purposely did this when you were here, not your daughter? Maybe it’s easier to pick on a grown man than a young woman.’

  ‘I’m surprised they have even that much honor. So what if you are wrong?’

  ‘Here’s what we can do for you, sir. We’ll increase the patrols by here – drive by three or four times a day between four and seven in the morning. And, this being a small town and all, we got a pretty good idea who our small batch of miscreants are, so how about we put out the word that we’re taking any vandalism against this shop very seriously. That we’re watching, that we’ll come down hard if we don’t like what we see. That sort of thing. What do you say?’

  I watched Nazir to see how he would react. He stared into the cop’s face for a moment, proud and defiant.

  Then he said, ‘This is far from a guarantee.’

  ‘There are no guarantees,’ the cop said. ‘I think you know that, sir.’

  A long silence. I could feel a cool breeze on my neck.

  ‘I have to go make the donuts,’ Nazir said. ‘I can’t afford not to go on with my work.’

  Then he walked away. Marched into the kitchen, and that was that.

  The cop turned to me, and motioned with his head to a table away from the direct cold of the broken window. We sat down across from each other.

  ‘He seems a little upset,’ N. Michelevsky said.

  ‘I’d say.’

  ‘Not that I blame him.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So maybe just fill in a few details for my report.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘This happened right before he called? Or you came in and found it this way?’

  ‘We were here when it happened. But we were in the kitchen.’

  ‘You work here?’

  ‘No. Just a family friend. I couldn’t sleep, so I came down here to talk to Nazir.’

  ‘And did you see anyone? A car, or someone on foot?’

  ‘No. I ran out into the street, but I didn’t see anybody. It was too late by then.’

  ‘OK. Well. You know. I’m not going to lie and say the investigation will go much further than this.’

  ‘I know. I think he just wanted the police report for insurance purposes.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I worry about his daughter, too. You don’t think they’ll really throw a bomb next time, do you?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said, standing up. ‘Your name, for my report?’

  ‘Russell Ammiano.’

  ‘Spell it?’ he asked.

  And I did.

  ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. So far the crimes seem to be about expressing an opinion. Maybe costing them some money. Nobody seems to be out to hurt anybody. Things’ll cool down after a while.’

  ‘Hope you’re right,’ I said.

  ‘Me, too.’

  And he picked his way through the sea of glass to the door, and let himself out.

  I walked back through the kitchen to get a broom.

  I found Nazir standing with his head bent forward to the table, resting on his fists. I thought he was crying. But when he looked up at me, I saw it was rage he was battling. Not tears.

  ‘I’m going to get a broom and sweep it up,’ I told him.

  He nodded. Not as though nothing needed to be said, but as though his speech was not currently functioning.

  I found a big push broom in the storeroom. I also found a gigantic roll of plastic wrap. I wasn’t even looking for the plastic wrap. I just leaned in to get the broom, leaned over the big white buckets – the storeroom was a sea of those five-gallon white buckets with snap-on lids – and there it was, in front of my eyes.

  Working slowly, being careful not to cut myself, I swept up all the glass. I cut myself once, anyway. Then I shrink-wrapped the open window, stretching the plastic wrap from one side of the window frame to the other in several long strips, securing it to the frame with tape from a dispenser on the counter. For extra good measure. As I did, I noticed there was still a smudge of paint on the bricks under the window.

  I looked up at the clock. It was well after five. Ben would be up. Ben always got up at five.

  Back in the kitchen, I leaned the broom against Nazir’s big refrigerator.

  ‘I have to get back,’ I said. ‘Ben gets up at five. If he sees I’m not back he’ll have a fit.’

  Nazir nodded. Without looking at me.

  ‘Funny, huh? I came in here to get some support from you, and you ended up having a night that made mine look happy.’

  ‘Life turns on a dime,’ he said, still not looking at me.

  ‘Well … bye.’

  I let myself out.

  I walked halfway across the parking lot, then turned and walked back in.

  ‘Got a pen and paper?’ I asked him.

  He flipped his chin in the direction of a small yellow pad adhered to the side of the refrigerator. Beside it, a pencil dangled on a string.

  I picked up the pencil and wrote ‘Russell’s cell phone number. Call anytime.’ And the number.

  ‘I’m leaving my number,’ I said to Nazir. ‘In case you’re ever here alone and you need me. Or Anat. If Anat was alone here and anything happened, I’m literally less than two minutes away. I could beat you here by half an hour. But make sure she knows it doesn’t matter if it’s four o’clock in the morning. And it doesn’t matter if she’s not sure. Even if she hears something she can’t identify. Or there’s a car idling out front. Anything that doesn’t seem right to her. She should call me. I mean, obviously if something really happens, she should call the police. But if there’s just something she’s not sure about, she should call me. And I’ll come down here and sit with her.’

  He looked at me then. Turned that searing gaze on me.

  ‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said.

  There didn’t seem to be more to say, so I just walked to my car and drove back to the house.

  Ben was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal. He seemed surprised to see me walk through the door. But he obviously hadn’t been upset. So apparently he’d had no idea I’d been gone.

  ’I thought you were asleep,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’

  That was exactly what I’d hoped he’d thought.

  ‘But you weren’t. You were out.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Why weren’t you asleep?’

  ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but I just couldn’t.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ben said, around a mouthful of half-chewed food. ‘OK.’

  Miraculously, he said nothing more about it.

  On the way in to his work, Ben spotted the broken window from blocks away.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Oh, no. Uh oh. That’s bad. That’s really bad.’

  ‘It’s pretty bad,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t sound like you think it’s as bad as I think it is.’

  ‘No. I do. It’s just that I already knew about it.’

  ‘Oh. Who broke it?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Somebody broke it and ran away?’

  ‘That’s about the size of it, yeah.’

  Ben whistled softly, obviously impressed by the scope of the crime. By small-town standards, it was quite a happening. By Ben standards, it was earth-shattering.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t do a bad thing like that.’

  ‘Me too, Buddy. I’m glad you didn’t, too.’

  23 October 2001

  WHEN BEN AND I drove by the bakery the following morning on our way to Gerson’s Market – it was a Tuesday but Ben had to cover another b
agger’s shift – we saw fresh new window glass already in place. Nazir must’ve gotten someone to come fix it in-between the time I drove Ben home and closing time.

  Only problem was, it no longer said Nazir’s Baked Goods on the window. That would take a little more time.

  I stuck my head in the front area of the bakery. The lights were on. It was ten minutes to seven.

  ‘It’s only me, Nazir,’ I called.

  I heard nothing in return, so I walked to the end of the counter and looked back into the kitchen. Nazir was cutting donuts, intensely. It gave me a trace of sudden indigestion. That stress level of his. On top of my stress level. Well. Anything on top of my stress level would have been a problem.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said, and he waved without looking up.

  ‘Get yourself a coffee,’ he said. ‘I have it regular. Regular coffee. For customers. You can’t strip paint with it, or anything such as that.’

  I poured a big coffee into a to-go cup, black, and took it into the kitchen with Nazir. I stood with my back leaned up against the long bar handle of one of the two ovens. The warmth felt good against my back. I thought, I remember warmth. Whatever happened to warmth?

  ‘Looks better,’ I said.

  He looked up for a fraction of a second. ‘The window?’

  ‘Yeah. That was fast.’

  ‘Except it doesn’t say what it is, this place. Could be a dry cleaner, like it used to be. Could be a florist. Who knows what it is unless you come and look in? You don’t know if you will see flowers or bread.’

  ‘I expect the locals have it pretty well memorized. You know. Which shop is which. Besides, you’ll get it repainted.’

  No answer.

  ‘Right?’

  ‘Will I? I don’t know. I suppose I will have to. I think it must say “bakery” or “baked goods”. But must it say “Nazir”? I don’t know why that’s so enraging to some. But I hesitate to pay to have that painted back on. It costs money to have someone come paint that, you know. I already have to pay five hundred dollars for the window. That’s the deductible for my insurance. No matter what the window costs my bill is five hundred dollars. Then I pay a hundred or two more to have my name painted on. Then some wise guy drives by when I have it all back to normal again. Throws another stone. I can’t keep up. I am feeling tired, my friend.’