“Well, I know yours is Tyler because of your nametag. My name?” I sighed and bit my lip. “Blossom Springtime Weatherby Franklin.” I sunk my head into my burned and blistered hands so quickly I forgot to anticipate the pain and I yelped. I shook it off and looked at him sheepishly, proud of myself for not letting a very loud f bomb slip out.
“Seriously?” he gasped.
“Seriously. I guess we all have our family stories.”
“I’m not one to judge,” he started, surprising me because I presented such an easy target. I realized this is what it looks like when someone has a filter...and manners, both of which I wanted now more than ever. “So, Blossom Springtime Weatherby Franklin, are you planning to hang around tomorrow so I can fix your hands and introduce you to St. Louis or will I come home to find you gone?”
“I think I’ll stick around,” I said. If nothing else, I’d like to get my hands fixed.
Tyler was home from his shift by 6:15 in the evening. He entered the apartment shyly, knocking on the door before slipping the key into the antiquated lock and once he opened the door, he stuck his head through the slight space to announce his presence.
“I didn’t want to scare you and I wanted to make sure you were decent,” he remarked.
“Decent?”
“Yeah, dressed. You know, I’ve seen your boob and once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” He winked. “How was your day?”
“Nice,” I remarked. My day had been nice. I took a medium heat shower, obeyed his suggestion for how to judge the water, and successfully managed to wash all of my grime and dirt off without adding any new puss filled pockets to my body. I washed my shoes and gas covered jeans in the bathtub before hanging them over the rail to dry, with extra care to wring out the excess water so it didn’t drip all over the small hexagonal white vintage tiles. I didn’t want to create a puddle I could slip in and break my neck. I somehow managed to let my hair dry in a semi-impressive bundle of waves, encouraged by a tightly twisted bun. If I saw myself, I would say I looked halfway decent instead of halfway bad.
Tyler opened a dark brown leather messenger bag, pulled out a white tube with blue writing, and a roll of spongy gauze. “Let’s get you fixed up and then we’ll head out. Sorry I took so long to get home. The bus was slow and I missed the 5:40 while I was in CVS picking up the gauze.”
“You take the bus?”
“Yeah. I have the money for a car but with insurance, gas, parking, and potential tickets equating to ½ of my yearly tuition payments. I decided I would rather graduate with lower debt and rely on public transportation.”
I watched him wash my palms with lukewarm water, making sure the temperature didn’t cause me any pain before gently rubbing the strong smelling ointment over the blisters with a cotton swab. He unwound the gauze and rolled the loosely woven strips over my hands, explaining the thin cotton would allow air to penetrate and help with the healing process unlike my knitted old gas station t-shirt rags. He also advised me to stop with the ice. Even though it felt good, keeping my skin wet would slow my healing, and put me at greater risk for infection when the blisters did pop. I promised him I would do everything I possibly could to follow his instructions, although I didn’t like to be a slave to rules. He laughed and his eyes twinkled. He was magic wrapped quietly in humbleness.
“I’m going to jump in the shower real quick and change my clothes. Those little mini-onions really stay on you after you have to fry them. I swear sometimes when I work out, I sweat onion juice. But hey, it’s all for the greater end, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “I’ll be waiting right here.”
I listened to the shower water start up, eventually putter and spit, and the curtain rings slide against the metal oval rod crowning his vintage ceramic claw foot tub. Slight hums and notes slid out from under the bathroom door and brought a smile to my face. I wondered what song he was singing. He seemed to really enjoy every single note.
The bathroom door creaked open and the soft smell of the same lavender soap I had used earlier floated out in a steamy mist of post shower aromatherapy. “I’ll be ready in about five minutes,” he called and slipped across the hardwood floors wearing a low-slung fluffy brown towel over his chiseled abdomen. I willed myself to look away, and I was sure this was the closest I would ever get to any fine art sculpture.
Punctuality was definitely ingrained in his practices. He said five minutes and he meant five minutes. He slid open the pocket doors and emerged in straight leg distressed denim jeans topped with a striped t-shirt and lightweight jersey knit zip hoodie. He looked like the model for a casual clothing line instead of the BurgerBarn cashier who took pity on the girl sleeping in her car with one boob hanging out and trash bags of her life sloppily tossed in the back.
“Anything interesting happen today?” he asked. We exited the apartment and he gingerly twisted the doorknob behind us to securely lock his apartment.
“Not a thing. I was kind of hoping someone would break into my car and steal my old life so I wouldn’t have to worry about those trash bags anymore. What a blessing this would be. Next parking lot, I could lay my seat back. Not every fast food joint will have a nice person offer me a couch and advise me my goods are on display for the security cameras.”
“The security cameras didn’t catch it,” he chuckled and elbowed me softly in the ribs. “I checked just in case I forgot what they looked like.”
“Hey! You acted like you weren’t looking! I thought you were a gentleman.”
“I am, but it took a little while to wake you up and what can I say? I’m a man. We like boobs.” He winked and held the front door of the redesigned house open for me to exit onto the street. “Do you mind if we take the bus? Parking downtown can sometimes be a real bitch and as much as you want to lose your old life, I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet. In my neighborhood, the neighbors watch out for each other because we’re all poor and our belongings are needed. You take from one of us and you take from all of us. Downtown? They’ll see your out of state plates and not think twice.”
“Wow, that’s really nice of you. Yeah, we can take the bus. I’ve never taken public transportation before. It’s not really an option where I’m from.”
“You’ve never been on a bus? What about the subway, or a taxi?” he asked in amazement.
“I took a train once in eighth grade when we took our class trip to Washington D.C. I think that’s the closest I’ll get to qualifying for public transportation.”
“Okay. Well, you are in for a treat then. Do you like to people watch?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. I suppose my confusion and curiosity was written all over my face. I wrinkled up my nose and squinted my eyes. The tighter I pushed my face to look like a Shar Pei, the deeper in thought I believed I was.
“I’ll take that as a no. Where is this small town you come from? Did you even have electricity or indoor plumbing?” He laughed. I punched him in the arm and then yelped in pain when one of my blisters push itself to the edge of releasing its jailed ooze all over my palm.
We made small talk for the next fifteen minutes until the bus finally arrived, seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds behind schedule. I learned Tyler had three sisters and two brothers, of which only one was a complete failure in life, and of which zero had stayed behind in their hometown to help take care of their grandmother. Tyler was the last man standing and he believed it was his duty as the youngest to pick up the pieces of what other people decided was not for them. Smart. Selfless. Handsome. The list of adjectives to describe this one human was growing and growing beyond comprehension, while at the same time, the list of things I needed to learn about myself or improve upon was growing and growing beyond comprehension.
“Hey Tyler,” the portly bus driver called down the steps in his scratchy voice, giving a
way that he had smoked one too many cheap, harsh cigarettes in his day. His hairstyle looked like a driver’s education student conducting their first u-turn, too tight on the inner turn and too far swung on the outer turn. The unfortunate buttons of his city uniform screamed against his beer belly and there was a faint grape jelly stain on his right breast pocket. “The route’s been busy tonight. You know how it goes.”
Tyler went to put his change into the small box to pay for our fare before the driver shooed him off. “Not today, friend, not today. I owe you one. Just take your lady friend to your seats. Where are you two headed on this fine evening?”
“Thanks Roddy. We’re heading downtown. This one is a Saint Louis virgin who probably thinks ‘the blues’ is a new box of crayon colors. How’s the wife, by the way? Are the stitches holding up?”
“Absolutely they are. Quite nicely and she is following all of your instructions. Thanks again, you really saved us since the city cut our hours and this new healthcare system isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He shrugged his rounded shoulders. I watched the buttons on his shirt, pledging in my mind like a drunken bookie which one would pop first. I was sure the first button to blow would shoot off with enough force to crack the windshield. They held tight, however, and I became amazed at the power of perfectly sewn thread.
We shuffled back to our navy blue seats with the atomic bowling alley print that felt like carpet. I watched Roddy pull the large metal arm controlling the door and the glass accordion come together with a sucking sound masked by the hissing of air breaks before we lurched forward. The air had an odd scent mixing oil, brake dust, steaming hot coffee, leftover spaghetti, and imposter CKOne perfume. I took my seat, trying to match each smell to who they should belong to, forming little stories about each person in my head.
“You got it,” Tyler interrupted my inner monologue.
“Got what?” I asked.
“The people watching. I can already see your head mixing around in itself. You have the smells and the sights and you have to put two and two together…or just make up four.”
“Four?” I felt like he was much smarter than I could ever be, and in only one day, he’d shown me advanced conversations exist beyond the high school classroom. Which, in itself, was completely new to me. I hadn’t had a smart conversation since I left high school and I’m not sure if I blame that on the company I kept or my lack of wanting to be smart.
“You’re funny. You know, you put two and two together to get four. When you’re people watching, you look at smells, sounds or what you hear, and put it to the face. The sensation is two, the face is two, the end result is four. However, when someone is completely silent with no food or drink, isn’t talking or listening to something super loud, and isn’t doused in perfume or stinking like their place of work, you don’t have the extra two to put their story together. You just have lonely little four and you have to make up the rest. Kai peche?”
“Kai orange,” I slipped out before I mentally face-palmed myself.
“Kai orange? I don’t think that’s a word,” he laughed.
“No, it’s not. It’s just something we did when we were small. My mom would say, ‘Kai peche,’ and we thought she was saying, ‘Ok peach?’ in a funny voice. We would reply, ‘Kai orange’. It was just our little thing.”
“Interesting. Somewhat cute,” he chided and elbowed me in the ribs. “Now, let’s make a four. That one, right there.” He pointed to a woman with a young face but old hands, a designer handbag, stiletto heels with the red sole I knew meant money, and her hands tightly clasped onto a keychain with a BMW logo emblazoned on a heavy silver medallion. “What’s her story?”
“That one? I thought she was the one with the horrible imposter CKOne with the bitter undertones from cheap ingredients.”
He laughed. His eyes lit up and my heart dropped down into my lady bits. I have to leave this town tomorrow. There’s no ifs ands or buts about it. I refuse to be the girl who has a mission and gives it up because she falls in love immediately. It’s settled. Tyler is in med school and advanced beyond my social skillset and I, well, I am just a girl on a bus with a random stranger and two burnt to shit palms from one hot aluminum roadside cross.
“So,” I began sheepishly, feeling the irony and feeling somewhat hypocritical to assume I had any right to pass judgement on anyone else. “She is out for a night on the town with her friends. She is dressed in expensive shoes and she clearly has a car — a nice car. She probably didn’t want to pay the high price of parking downtown, so, she picked a decent neighborhood where she could safely walk and leave her car before taking public transportation back.”
“Blossom, you are so sweet. You have a good heart. Here’s my take and forgive me for being drastically different than you. If you look at her shoes, they look like Louboutin’s – I know because of my mother, don’t judge — but they aren’t. The sole is painted red because she knows no one will take a closer look. The paint is flaking and it’s dull – the real pair would have a nice glossy overcoat on the coloring. Second, the BMW keychain is attached to a Toyota key that doesn’t have a keyless entry fob. It’s a total tool to attract someone who doesn’t pay attention to the full details and only sees what they want to see. Third, her hair is a wig and she doesn’t want to have her real, natural look be known to whomever she is with tonight.”
“Wow, I guess I was wrong.”
“No, you’re not wrong but you’re too nice. You need to ride the bus a few more times. But, I don’t think you’re wrong about her parking her car in a nice neighborhood to catch the bus to somewhere else, and I will tell you why. She’s clearly looking for a partner for the night or someone long term, but she thinks she can’t catch someone by simply being who she is. She needs to have the long flowing hair men get attracted to in dimly lit bars. She needs something that says she believes she has money but isn’t so big the item screams she’s desperate — hence the keychain. Finally, the shoes. She knows a man will notice the red but won’t notice if they’re fake or not, especially in a bar. This shows she has style but red is also a power color. It screams dominance and confidence. And, all the men she’s marking will think about is getting those red soles pointed towards the ceiling.”
I laughed so loud that all heads turned our way — including the current subject of our assessment. “Is that what YOU think when you see those red shoes?” I chided.
“It depends on the woman. In this case? Not at all,” he laughed. “But many men would just for the thrill. Now, she’s in one of two scenarios. One, she was downtown at some swanky blues bar looking for a rich visitor or businessman with money to burn and no wife in sight for the night. She robbed him in their hotel room after spiking his drink, or two, she struck out downtown and is now heading towards the Central West End to look for a successful young adult with money to burn and a taste for danger.”
“There’s only one problem with your theory,” I interrupted.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I don’t know St. Louis well, at all, but aren’t we heading downtown? My theory is she has yet to strike out. I think she parked her car in a ritzy neighborhood near where we started…”
“The Central West End,” Tyler interrupted.
“See? Your knowledge of your city helps you profile people better,” I chided. “But yes, she started there and will now head downtown, with us, as that’s the direction we are going. When she finds someone, she will use where her car is parked as a tool to make them believe her friends left her and she needs a ride home, or something along those lines. She will drug them with just enough time where they can walk her back to their own ritzy cars before they pass out on the sidewalk next to their car. She’ll rob them, steal all their money, and then take their car and sell it to a chop shop. She’ll use the money to pay for wigs and eventually buy a real pair of Louboutin’s.”
/> “Wow. I think you just upped the game a little bit.”
“Did I do good?”
“Maybe, but should I be scared about you staying at my house another night? Are you going to drug me and dump me?” He smiled. His eyes twinkled. I pictured those perfectly sculpted abs that slipped past me earlier with beads of lavender scented shower water hanging over them like I wanted to be.
“No. You don’t have anything I want. If only your grandma believed in hand-me-downs.” I elbowed him in the ribs. Apparently that was our thing now, and I suppose this simple act would be considered flirting. Flirting is something I had never done before because the class of guys in my hometown attracted to a girl in hand me down polyester thrift store sweaters were not the type of guys you need to flirt with.
“Tyler,” the portly driver rang out, “here’s your stop.” We rose from our seats and I snuck a peek at the subject of our conversation on my way down the black rubber isle. I noticed I had to actually walk and put effort into moving my feet due to the spongy ribbed floor working to keep me from sliding. The door opened with a hiss, perfectly timed with the air breaks being set to let us out of a standing bus instead of a rolling one. I realized maybe I needed to live somewhere I had the option of stalking people I didn’t know. If nothing else, just for laughter therapy.
“Where are we going?” I whined. “We’ve been walking FOREVER.”
Tyler sighed with a half smile. “You are not a city girl. Wherever you go, make sure it’s not a big city with public transportation or you will die on your first day in town.” Previous plan erased — people watching must commence in other random public areas with a bench I can sit on. “We’ve only walked for six blocks. Just a few more.”
“How many is a few?”
The Wrong Side of Twenty-Five Page 4