What a shock! I would never have pegged Alec as the literary type. “You read?” I asked him.
“I did in high school—voraciously.”
“You can borrow that one, if you want.”
“Nah. Don’t read much anymore.”
I had bookmarked a page with a three-fold brochure from Leisure Dale Manor. “Planning an early retirement?” he said.
“That belongs to Hubert.”
“Is he an old man?”
“He’s my age.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Just friends.”
It was only small talk, but at least we were communicating. His curiosity about Hubert and me was unexpected. Maybe this was his way of permitting me to ask him more personal questions.
“You got a girlfriend?” I asked.
Alec flipped through the pages of the book, pretending not to hear my question. It was his way of telling me that delving into his personal life was a boundary not to be crossed.
While stopped at a red light, Alec leaned forward, staring at something out the windshield. “Pull over after we get through this intersection,” he said.
On the far corner stood a haggard, middle-aged man in military fatigues, holding up a cardboard sign that read Homeless Vet. Please Help!
Alec rolled down his window as I pulled up to the curb. The homeless man’s skin was blackened from overexposure to the elements, and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months. Alec handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Hang in there, buddy,” he said.
The man smiled, showing his stained and missing teeth. “God bless you, sir!”
Alec saluted him before we continued on.
“I know you meant well,” I said, “but how do you know what that man’s going to do with that money? For all you know, that twenty will go to buy drugs.”
“You could be right,” said Alec. “I may have just been scammed, but sometimes you gotta take a chance on people.”
I admired Alec’s steadfast trust in his fellow man. It showed the goodwill in him. But, he didn’t look overly thrilled in what he had just done. He didn’t radiate that warm and fuzzy glow you’re supposed to have. He seemed unsettled, as if he had seen himself on that street corner.
We rumbled over some railroad tracks where no train had traveled in years. On the other side was a rundown, old shack. “There!” said Alec, pointing to the public eyesore. It was a derelict beer joint—a perfect meeting place for bikers and boozers, but definitely not for me. In the window, above the flickering neon beer ads, hung a sign that read Duke’s Place.
“That’s where we’re going?” I said.
“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”
He was right. I didn’t. But confessing that would be admitting defeat. I had challenged Alec that any greasy spoon he chose, no matter how grungy, would be good enough for me, too. Now I had to prove it.
“Looks fine to me,” I said, praying it wasn’t so disgusting on the inside.
That nauseating smell of stale beer hit me the moment I walked through the door. The dark saloon looked exactly as I had imagined, from the moose head above the bar to the crushed peanut shells under my feet. The brawny men hunched over the bar turned and looked at me, like I was a pound of meat tossed into a lion’s cage.
“Sit anywhere’s y’all want,” called out the husky-voiced bartender. He immediately spotted me as a minor. “Hey! She can’t be here.”
“It’s cool, Duke,” replied Alec. “How about a brew for me and a couple of lunch menus?” Sitting down at a booth, Alec smirked at me across the table. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Hubert.”
The heavyset barman waddled over with a bottle of Jiffy Beer and two menus, each one covered with grease stains. Mine was too gross to even pick up.
“I’m really not very hungry,” I said.
“You hate it here,” said Alec. “Admit it!”
“Actually, I kind of like it. It has . . . character.”
I wished he would stop ragging on me about the stinky bar. I wanted to move on to something we could both relate to. But that wouldn’t be easy. I knew nothing of Alec’s interests, except for his attraction to books.
“I’m curious,” I said. “What kind of books do you like? Have you read any of the classics?”
Alec twisted off his beer bottle cap. “Some.”
“Really? What’s your favorite?”
He leaned back, raised up his fake leg, then slammed it down on the tabletop. “Moby Dick,” he said. “Call me Captain Ahab.”
“What did you do that for?”
“So you can get a better look at it. You’ve been staring at my leg ever since we met.”
“That’s not true.”
“The hell! You look at it and wonder things like: How does he put his pants on in the morning? How does he shop for shoes? How does he go to the can on one leg?”
Alec’s combative side was showing itself again. He was trying my patience, but I remained courteous.
“Why shouldn’t I be curious?” I said. “It’s a marvel of medical science. It helps people get back to normal.”
Returning his metallic foot to the floor, he pulled on a silver neck chain hanging down his shirt. Attached to it was a medallion, engraved with an image of a runner holding a flaming torch.
“See this?” he said. “Silver Medal: World Championship Finals, 800-meter Dash. You know how hard I worked to earn this? How many years I trained? Now, tell me about getting back to normal.”
In my effort to boost Alec’s self-esteem, I had tapped into that dark place I was trying to draw him out of. Staying positive was turning into a real chore.
“Have you considered the Paralympics?” I said.
“Don’t you get it? I was an Olympic hopeful. Competing against the best in the world was my dream. I guess that’s too much for a pinheaded teenager to comprehend.”
“I know it’s a setback. But you can’t wall yourself off from the world because of it.”
“You’re just full of clever answers, aren’t you? Well, let me ask you a few questions. Have you ever gone to a high school dance?”
“Yes.” (I hadn’t.)
“Ever thrown a pajama party.”
“Yes.” (I hadn’t done that, either.)
“Ever teased a boy you like, just to get his attention?”
“Yes.” (Another lie.)
“When’s the last time you went on a date?”
His cockiness was really starting to annoy me. “What’s your point?”
“You avoid human contact as much as I do. You connect better with rhinos than you do with people. You’d rather curl up with a book than a warm body.”
Now I was really steamed!
“You’re crazy!” I shouted.
“You’re a hypocrite!” he fired back.
“You’re a quitter!”
“You’re a loser!”
Beer splashed onto the table as I batted the bottle away from his lips. “You’re one to criticize. You’ve got no commitments. You’ve got no responsibilities. You hide out here like a mole, then use that damn leg as your excuse. People tell me, ‘listen to him. Be sympathetic.’ Well, that’s what I’ve been doing, and now I’m asking myself, why bother? I should have never come with you to this dump. I hate it! I’m going back to the shop. You can walk back on your peg leg, for all I care.”
I stood up to leave, mad as I’ve ever been, when Alec grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the booth.
“Thank you, Amy,” he said calmly. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
The bartender shouted, “Pipe down over there, or I’m tossin’ y’all out on your butts. Get it?”
“Got it,” replied Alec, with that little smile I saw that first day in the barbershop.
Giving our egos a rest, Alec and I engaged in a frank and cordial conversation. He talked for an hour—describing his combat victories, his defeats, and the explosion, from which he alone would survive. He didn’t hold back his feelings, either, co
nfessing the terror he felt on that traumatic day. He recounted the agony of his painful recovery, and the frustration from months of physical therapy. At times his mood swayed from resentment, to gratefulness, to bittersweet. But there was no arguing between us, no exchange of anger. I was careful not to press him for any details he wasn’t comfortable sharing with me.
And while I listened, I watched in amazement as the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, as if by angels. By the time he finished, he had not only earned my respect, but my heart, too. I was overcome with a peculiar closeness to him I had never felt before.
It was time to leave Duke’s Place. Sliding to the edge of his bench seat, Alec caught his artificial limb on the table leg. He yanked on it with both hands, grunting like an animal with its foot in a trap. Freeing himself, I offered my hand to help him to his feet. This time he took it. Feeling his firm grip was like the two of us had merged into one.
As we walked out to the gravel parking lot, I was surprised to here Alec say, “I’ll drive.” I gave him a puzzled look. “I can do it,” he said. “Really.”
Alec had avoided any driving since his return from the war. I figured this was his way of proving his newfound confidence to me. Having mastered military vehicles, he was certainly capable of handling my little car. What worried me was the stick shift. He would have to shift gears using a clutch, and with no feeling in his left foot, how could he even find the pedal?
But this wasn’t about his driving skills. He was testing my trust in his judgment. Or as Alec had so plainly put it, “Sometimes you gotta take a chance on people.”
I handed him my car keys.
Alec drove us out into the street like an expert, observing all the traffic laws. He maintained a safe and sound speed, like an old spinster on her way to church.
“How am I doing?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I said. “What made you decide to take up driving again?”
“Look behind us.”
I glanced over my shoulder out the back window. “Yeah? So what?”
“See that red SUV two cars back? It passed the shop several times today. The same one followed you back from the Jiffy-Q, and it was just parked at Duke’s Place.” Alec shot me a suspicious look. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Was there ever! I hadn’t said a word about being under surveillance by the feds, who were surely behind us. I hadn’t confessed that my whole reason for coming to the shop was to finagle information about Harley Fink. Confessing that to Alec would be risky. He might look at it as a betrayal of his trust, but I had to take that chance. He had just poured his heart out to me, and I felt that I had to level with him.
“The cops are following me,” I said.
“For what? Are you a criminal?”
“I’m not, but they’re hoping that I can lead them to one.”
“And, can you?”
“No. I don’t even know where he is.”
Alec pondered my answers for a moment, then commanded, “Hang on!”
He downshifted into second gear, floored the gas pedal, then made a hard left just ahead of the oncoming cars. With the red SUV stuck in traffic behind us, we sped off toward open farm country.
Before long, we were whizzing past grazing sheep and fields dotted with hay bales. Our pursuers should have been miles away, but they somehow managed to catch up to us.
“Do you have to drive so fast?” I asked Alec. “It’s not like they’re shooting at us.”
“The sure way to avoid casualties is to stay out of range, sir!” He sounded like a military combat commander. That worried me. Subjecting war veterans to battle-like situations can trigger flashbacks. But, Alec showed no signs of freaking out—rather, he seemed to be enjoying it all.
Up ahead was Pa Parker’s Pumpkin Patch. Each year it hosted a seasonal festival, where locals came to mingle, feast on candy corn, and judge pumpkin pie-eating contests. With the autumn harvest still months away, the farm was an empty flatland.
At the entrance stood a massive walk-thru pumpkin—a throwback to those bizarre roadside attractions of the 1950s.
“How wide do you suppose that entryway is?” asked Alec.
“Five feet, if even that.”
“Wide enough for us.”
Alec raced toward the concrete pumpkin, and with only inches to spare, passed through its pedestrian entrance. The oversized SUV skidded to a halt behind us. We had escaped the claws of the cat by ducking into a mouse hole.
The chase was over, but Alec couldn’t resist tormenting our opponents—parading back and forth past the narrow entrance, beeping his horn.
“You know they’ll just go back to the shop,” I said. “This didn’t really accomplish anything.”
“I know that,” said Alec. “This game is rigged in their favor. But today, we won!”
Alec pulled up to the barbershop, turned off the engine, and set the hand break.
“Well, that was quite an adventure,” I said. “Thanks for the joy ride.”
Alec didn’t respond, not even offering so much as a “you’re welcome.” He just stared out the windshield, quiet. There was an uneasiness about him. I thought perhaps he had more to confide in me, but I quickly learned that talking wasn’t on his mind.
I unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle when I felt his hand on my knee. I froze. His touch set my whole body trembling. I knew immediately what was happening. Alec and I had shared a profound, personal connection. Together we had broken through his emotional barriers, but his physical needs remained unsatisfied, and I wasn’t about to go there.
I slowly turned to face Alec. Still staring blindly out into space, I watched his shoulders rise and fall from his heavy breathing. Sweat beaded on his brow as he stroked my leg seductively. News stories of young girls being assaulted in broad daylight entered my mind. Here I was, alone with a man strong enough to overpower me, on an abandoned street. My racing heart felt like it was going to pound right out of my chest. He was the mighty jungle cat, and I was the frightened prey.
I reached for the ignition key, but Alec covered it with his hand. I should have bolted from the car right then, but I didn’t want to leave him this way. I thought maybe we could talk this out. But I instead batted his hand away, yanked the car key from the ignition, and flew out of the car.
I stood with my back to the barbershop wall, shivering. In the car Alec was slumped over, his forehead against the steering wheel. I heard the muffled sounds of him wailing in agony. He was having a complete breakdown right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to help him.
I screwed up. I was ignorant of the complexity of Alec’s disorder—that it wasn’t something you can reverse in a single afternoon. If only I had known how much more painful the wounded heart is, over the wounds of the flesh.
Finally, the car door opened. Out stepped Alec, calmly and quietly. His face was drained of all feeling. His reddened eyes didn’t once look my way, as he unlocked the shop door and went inside.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I got back in the car. I sat there a moment, wondering what I should do now. I was supposed to return to the shop the next morning. What was I going to tell Ravi? Should I even attempt to see Alec again? Hopefully, a night’s rest would lead to a promising solution.
I started the engine, when a shiny object caught my eye. Lying on the passenger’s seat was a broken neck chain—and Alec’s treasured medallion.
Chapter 8
The 2-Bit Solution
I arrived at the barbershop bright and early, way before opening. The night had cleared my head, allowing me to sort out the mishaps of the day before. I had prepared a speech to give to Alec, along with a pocketful of apologies. I wanted to show my regret for us getting off on the wrong foot—well, I wouldn’t use those words exactly, but something to that effect. I had a speech for Ravi, too, suggesting that we share equally in furthering Alec’s recovery.
I was chipper and ready to start the new day. My sel
f-confidence wasn’t the only thing I brought to work. My little dog Scraps came with me. A crew of painters were descending on our house that day, and my dad wanted to prevent any lawsuits resulting from a mean dog that bites. Of course, that same problem could arise at the shop, but I didn’t see that happening. Scraps spent his days sleeping soundly in his doggie bed, and was perfectly harmless, so long as you didn’t disturb him.
Ravi didn’t see me come in to the shop. Standing at the round wall mirror, he gazed deeply into it. He wasn’t looking at himself, but examining the reflection of the room behind him, as if searching for something. I hoped that this wasn’t somehow tied to Alec and me, but the worried look on his face suggested otherwise. Something told me there would be no singing in the shop today.
“Mornin’ Ravi,” I said.
The surprised barber saw me, then turned back to the mirror, scraping on it with his fingernail.
“Anything wrong?” I asked.
“No, no,” he said unconvincingly. “Just scraping the specs off this mirror.”
Scraps barked at him from his pet carrier as I walked by, but Ravi didn’t give it a second thought. He didn’t even question me dragging my box of doggie supplies down the hallway.
I plopped Scraps’ bed onto the floor, and by the time I finished filling his water bowl, he was already fast asleep. Good boy!
Ravi was now standing by the barber chair, holding a black cape out to his side like a Spanish matador. “Your hair looks a little frizzy,” he said. “Hop up on the chair and I’ll trim it up before we open.”
I checked myself out in the mirror. “It looks fine to me.”
“Now, Amy, who’s the expert here?”
I climbed up onto the chair. Ravi seemed to be his old self again. He hummed while draping the cape over my shoulders. But as he ran his comb through my hair, I felt his hand trembling. Now I knew something was wrong.
“You closed early yesterday,” I said.
“It was such a lovely afternoon,” said Ravi. “How was your time off?”
I didn’t know how much Alec had told him about us, if indeed he had said anything at all. Ravi might have been fishing for my version of what happened. I should have launched into a candid conversation with him right then, but I took the coward’s way out. “Fine,” I said.
The Age of Amy: Mad Dogs and Makeovers Page 6