#; 【 your fists carry weight. so allow me to carry you | subaru 】 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trey-ff · 8 years ago

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01.

JANICE Droplets of sweat seeped past my forehead and down towards my chin. Releasing a harsh breath, I used my gym-towel to gently pat around my heated face. After collecting myself for a moment longer, I hopped down from the treadmill, being sure to grab my iPhone and water bottle, which rested in the machinery’s provided holders.

After two hours of an exhausting yet exhilarating work-out, it was time to head back home and catch up on some much-needed and well-deserved rest.

I sauntered towards the lockers provided by the gym and using the designated key, opened the metal door to gather my personal belongings.

In doing so, I felt a pair of eyes intensely monitoring my every move, causing me to peer over to my left. A man, one who I had never seen before, stood at a locker that was a couple feet down from mine. When we made eye-contact, we sent one another polite smiles before I whisked away from the lockers and returned my key to the woman who was stationed near the double-doored exit.

“Have a good afternoon.” I grinned at the receptionist, earning a wave and a smile from her. Going straight towards my car, I popped the trunk, carelessly tossing my gym-bag and other belongings inside. As I slammed the trunk closed and trekked towards the driver’s side of my car, I realized that I didn’t have my keys. My breathing hitched as I anxiously patted around my being to see if they were anywhere on me, though, my jet black athletic attire of a sports-bra and coordinating tights didn’t contain any pockets. “I just had them.” I muttered, observing the cracked tarmac beneath my feet to see if I had dropped them by mistake. I walked towards the trunk, coming to the sad realization that I had locked my keys inside. Irritably, I jabbed my finger against the black rubber-pad that would normally pop open the trunk. To my dismay and expectation, it didn’t work. “No, not again. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I gritted, banging my fist repeatedly against the trunk of the car. Behind me, I heard low chuckling and harshly turned around to see who could possibly be laughing at my expense. Surprisingly enough, it was the man who I had seen by the lockers. He stepped towards where I stood by my car, allowing me a better view of his face and physique.

Donned in a gray graphic-tee with red lettering that read Don’t Talk Just Train and black basketball shorts, the brown-skinned man stood at over six feet tall. He appeared very athletic and in shape, that determined by his well-defined muscles.

It was impossible for me to not have noticed him before; he had to be new around here. “Having trouble?” he asked rhetorically, flashing a dimpled-smile as one hand pointed towards my all-black Subaru and the other rustled around his thick, yet curly plot of hair.

Releasing a helpless chuckle, I nodded my head. “Yeah, I locked my keys in my trunk. And, my cell-phone.” I sighed before pouting angrily at the car. “Do you carry spare keys? Or, are those locked in the car, too?” he asked through a smile when I made an uneasy expression.

“Yeah, one’s in the glove-compartment and my brother has the other,” I muttered, “pretty stupid, huh?” I attempted once more to use the rubber-pad located near the trunk in hopes that it would miraculously work, but came up fruitless. I inwardly blamed my brother, who encouraged me to purchase this idiotic and defective car. One of the most efficient cars out there, my ass. Groaning, I turned back around to see him still smiling at me. Nothing was worth smiling about, but then again, he wasn’t the one who had locked his keys inside his trunk. “Ah, people do stupid things all the time. Would you like to call your brother? You can use my phone.” he offered, unlocking his iPhone 7. Taking his phone from him with a thank you, I dialed Clayton’s number. “Please pick up, please pick up,” I chanted, knowing that his work at his self-owned auto-shop kept him tied up, “please pick up--Clay! Thank God. Good, I need you.” “What happened? And, whose weird-ass number is this?” he pondered, being his normal inquisitive self. “That doesn’t matter right now. I’m in a bit of a quagmire. Promise you won’t laugh.” I ordered sternly, glancing up to catch Mystery Man, as I had decided to title him in the meantime, trying to stifle his own laughter by tucking his lips inward. “What happened?” “I locked my keys and my phone in the trunk… again. I’m stranded at the gym and--” Of course, his boisterous and obnoxious laughs filled the receiver, sounding off so loudly, Mystery Man began laughing, too. “That’s funny as fuck! I swear, you’re like Murphy’s Law--anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Clayton guffawed, earning a sigh. “You know, I’m glad my inopportune situations could serve as comedy for you. Just go ahead, laugh at my problems. But, Clayton, you have to help me. You’re the only one with the other key” “Aight, aight. Gimme ‘bout twenty minutes.” he responded, simmering down from his heavy laughter. Balancing my weight on my right-side, I released an exasperated breath. “Twenty whole minutes? Fine, Clayton, fine.” I murmured, ending the call after he assured me that he would arrive as fast as he could. Handing the phone back to Mystery Man, whose existence I had completely forgotten about, I leaned against my heated car. “Thank you. My brother will be here in twenty minutes.” I smiled a fake one, still bothered and embarrassed that I had allowed this to happen again. “Well, that’s good,” he grumbled, his speech drifting off, making the moment a slight bit awkward for us both, “listen, I’m sorry I laughed at your, uh, quagmire… You’re just very… dramatic, for lack of a better word.” I couldn’t help but to smile and then, break into soft laughter at his words. I licked over my lips, squinting up at his amused face. He was quite the sight for sore eyes. “I can be dramatic, I’ll admit that before anyone else.” “The first step is admitting to it,” he grinned, earning another smile from me, “so, I never caught your name.” “Janice. And, you are?” “Dane.” he grinned, taking my small hand into his burly one for a friendly handshake. During this interaction, I noticed that he had a tattoo on his wrist and forearm.

“Okay, Dane. So, do you come here often?” I pitched that mediocre pick-up line, eliciting laughter from him. “From now on, I do.” he smirked, slowly guiding his tongue along his bottom-lip. I didn’t know if he were flirting with me, or if he in fact meant that World Fitness would become his new gym. Either way, I smiled politely and played it safe with a friendly response. “And, you should. It’s a great gym. I’ve been coming here for years, religiously as of late.” “Oh, yeah? I’ve just gotten back into working out again. So, you always do afternoon work-outs?” he pondered, pinching his subtle chin-hair between his fingers. “Most of the time. I switch up sometimes, depending upon my work-schedule. Listen, I really don’t wanna keep you with meaningless conversation. It wasn’t you who locked your keys inside the car.” I joked through a smile while brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “No, it’s fine. I’m just keeping you company until your brother gets here,” he grinned, “so, what is it that you do for a living, Janice?” “I’m a bartender at Friday’s…” I mumbled, trying to see if that would cast any judgement my way, “and, a self-employed caterer.” Both were honest answers. I worked two jobs, Friday’s being part-time and catering being on-call. To be able to support my real dreams of owning my own catering business one day, I needed the extra income that Friday’s provided me with. It took three long years, one of which was dedicated to the certification program and two that went into earning my Associate’s degree in culinary management to get to this point in my life. I was extremely close to living out my dreams and I couldn’t be in a happier place. “Self-employed, huh? Pretty impressive… if you’re any good, of course.” he teased with an alluring smile sketched onto his face. “Oh, I am plenty good. That may seem arrogant, but hey,” I chuckled, shrugging, “everybody’s arrogant about something that they’re good at. Which takes me to my next question. What do you do for a living, Dane?” “Oh, I’m an architect,” he simpered, disregarding my surprise with a nonchalant shrug, “ah, it’s nothing.” “Nothing? You design and practically sculpt buildings that lasts forever. That’s huge.” I grinned, impressed with his talent and modesty. It was rare to see a man of his caliber be so humble. He flashed me a charming smile. “I guess it is pretty cool, huh,” he confessed through a boyish grin, “so, I take it you’ve always lived here in Cincinnati?” “My brother and I moved out here about five years ago,” I replied before elaborating on the topic, “him and I are two out of four. My other brothers stayed in Toledo, where we were born, and we moved here. So, you could say I’m pretty acquainted with Ohio. How about you? I sense you’re not from here.” “What makes you say that?” he asked amusingly. “Your accent. I hear a little Southern twang in there.” I smirked, earning his hearty chuckle before he wiggled his finger at me. “Good ear. I’m from Virginia.” “Oh, wow. What brings you here?” I pondered, folding my arms. Just then, a black Chevy Tahoe blasting Nas, cruised into the parking-lot. Dane’s eyes followed mine before he looked at me. “Your brother, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” I giggled, watching Clayton’s lanky figure exit the truck, “thank you so much for keeping me company.”

“Well, I’d really love to do some more of that so, we could finish our conversation. Now, I would ask you to take my number, but you don’t have your phone.” he teased with innocence, watching my mouth playfully fall agape at his words.

“How rude! I don’t think you deserve my number now.” I smirked, pursing my lips to the side. Still, he slipped out his silver iPhone for the second time and handed it over to me.

“Oh, but I know you really want me to have it,” he grinned coyly, “I’ll be sure to call you soon. I’d love to take you out sometime, Janice.”

I loved how my name sounded leaving his mouth; I could get used to that.

“Like, a date?” I bashfully grinned while entering my number into his phone.

“Yes.” he affirmed, intently staring at me. I felt myself blushing and getting hot at how intense and intimate his eyes were. Then, Clayton traipsed towards us, killing the moment. He looked Dane up and down, already passing judgement on him.

“Wassup, man? Who you?” he grumbled, earning a punch to the arm from me. He could be so rude. Dane snickered.

“It’s fine,” he assured me before extending his strong, veiny hand for Clayton, who engaged in the assertive handshake, “Dane, Dane Neverson.”

“Clayton.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dane greeted with a nod before looking back towards me, “and, it was a real pleasure to have met you, Janice. Now, since you’re good, I’ll be on my way.”

“Okay, thanks for helping me out, Dane.” I said, reinvigorating our intense stare-down. He just smirked at me as I handed him his phone, our hands gingerly touching.

“No problem. I’ll be calling you very soon.”

With that, he meandered towards his sleek, black car and jumped inside. I was in such a lust-induced trance that I would had probably watched him leave the lot altogether, but Clayton interrupted the moment. Again. “Yo, here’s the key-pad. This is the third time that you’ve done this, Janice.” he scolded, his parental tone seeping through his words. I sighed exhaustively.

“Well, the car has a bug, Clay. The pad doesn’t work. Shouldn’t the car unlock anyway since the key is near it?” I complained before popping the trunk to grab the valuables that had mistakenly been locked inside.

“I’ll fix it this weekend, but that’s no excuse for your irresponsibility. You gotta be vigilant out here, Jan. It’s dangerous.” he argued. I pursed my lips together. Before, he thought it was comical that I was practically stranded and now, it was dangerous.

“It’s broad daylight, in a safe area, next to a local gym, and--”

“And, next time, it might not be,” he interrupted, “just be more responsible. You out here speakin’ to strangers and givin’ niggas ya’ number? And, I hope you know I’m tellin’ Ed and Lance.”

At that, I had to laugh obnoxiously.

I had three annoying brothers. Clayton and Eddie, aged at twenty-nine and twenty-seven respectively, were the eldest, and Lance, who was twenty-three, was the youngest. Each of them, including the baby, possessed an overprotective gene that was inherited from my father’s side of the family.

While it was something to admire and even appreciate at times, it was aggravating to have built-in bodyguards who scared off and threatened any and all potential prospects in my life, especially when I was a grown woman who could and had been taking care of herself since the tender age of eighteen.

“I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not a child, Clayton, and you guys need to seriously quit treating me like it. Furthermore, he helped me. It wasn’t like he was a creep or something.” “Nah, I sensed a vibe. He gave off a creepy vibe to me,” he said, making me kiss my teeth, “no matter what I think, though, creeps come in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Don’t be fooled, J.” I tiredly rolled my eyes and hiked to the car-door. I was ready to get away from Clayton and his sketchy sixth-sense.

“Whatever, Clayton. You could be so paranoid and judgmental sometimes.” I murmured, getting inside of my car. Starting the engine, I rolled down the window once Clayton knocked his knuckle against the glass.

“I’m just lookin’ out for you, that’s all. Get home safe and call me when you get in.” he grumbled and I couldn’t help but smile. Even though Clayton was a pain in the ass, he often meant well.

“Okay, love you.” I simpered, watching as he stepped back a little and allowed me to back out of the parking-space. While reversing, a painful yelp shot from him, making me panic as he hopped up and down while holding his left foot.

“Clayton, are you okay?!” I asked hysterically, watching his face contort in pain before his dumb-ass erupted into senseless and goofy laughter.

“Gotcha!” he exclaimed, shooting his long fingers in my direction. I kissed my teeth before rolling my eyes.

“Asshole.”

-- -

“Rochelle, will you please quit eating all the damn food? It’s for a party.” I fussed, smacking my best-friend’s hand away from the platter of shrimp. After getting home from the gym, I took a shower and a quick catnap before preparing the food for my catering event tonight. Not too long into my cooking, Rochelle came knocking.

Rochelle and I had been friends since I moved to Cincinnati so, we had known one another for about five years. Though I had other friends, associates or otherwise, life without her would be incomplete and boring as all hell.

She pushed me out of my shell a lot; I had always been a little socially awkward and reluctant to try new things. Rochelle, on the other hand, was a lot less apprehensive than me. Whatever felt right, she did it with no hesitation, no matter the consequence. She lived for the moment and while I still took caution with everything that I did, I admired Rochelle’s carefree personality. “It’s so good, though. And, you didn’t make me samples like you usually do.” she pouted, snagging another shrimp. Giggling, I moved the tray out of her reach. “I didn’t know you were coming by. I thought you said you were working later hours this week.” I said, wiping my hands on my stained, white apron. Rochelle was a genius… an Apple Genius. Aside from working from home for Apple, she also offered support at a Genius Bar in one of their retail stores. Ironically enough, she hated customer service, but always found herself in positions that required it. I always told her to use her technical abilities to find a more satisfying career, but she was too comfortable with where she was. “No, that’s next week. It’s like you don’t even listen to me anymore.” she exaggerated before opening my fridge. “Oh, please,” I chuckled while grabbing the cooling-rack that held the miniature red-velvet cupcakes from the countertop and placing it on the island, “don’t you dare touch one.” “You know those are my favorite. Who are you making all this good food for anyway?” she whined. “Asad. You’re invited, too so, you can eat until your heart’s content when we get there.” I said, grabbing my homemade cream-cheese icing from the countertop.

Asad was a good friend of ours that ironically enough, we had met at a party three years ago. Every now and again, he would host an event and I was always his go-to for food. He used his connections and the reputation that he had built from his career as a senior account executive for an advertising agency to promote me and find me other high-paying gigs. He genuinely wanted to see me thrive and succeed within my occupation and I couldn’t be anymore appreciative of it. He was very supportive of my aspirations and overall a good, kind-hearted person.

“What is he even celebrating? Every time I turn around, he’s throwing a damn party.” she muttered, earning laughter from me. “This one probably has something to do with his work. Either way, it’s a win-win for me because I can get paid and have a good time doing it. I can use this Friday to unwind a little bit.” I admitted while coating each bite-sized cupcake with a dollop of the cream-cheese icing. “You can use a man to unwind a little bit.” she teased, earning a middle-finger in return. It was not a secret that I had been alone for a while, but that was strictly by choice. “No thanks,” I chuckled before I thought of the gym incident, “speaking of a man, I did not tell you what happened today.” “What happened?” she inquired while grabbing some of the seasoned french-fries from the tin-pan and burning her fingers in the process. I laughed. “That’s exactly what yo’ ass get. I told you to quit eating the appetizers.” I giggled as she ate the fries without a single care in the world. “Shut up, I told you I was hungry. Now, continue with this here story.” she mumbled, rotating her fingers at me. “So, I locked my keys in the trunk--” “Again?” “Yes, again. I know, it’s a shame and I’m the most irresponsible person ever. I’ve heard it all from Clay so, I don’t need to hear it from you,” I smiled playfully, “so, this guy that I’d never seen before comes up to me and because I threw my phone in the trunk like a dumb-ass, he lets me use his so that I could call Clay. We get to talking or whatever and before he goes, he took my number and said he’d call. He wants a date.” “Oh my God, I’m too happy for you! What’s his name? Was he cute?” she badgered as I continued working on each of my cupcakes. I snickered. “His name is Dane Neverson. And, cute is for little boys, darling. He was sexy,” I said dramatically, laughing along with her, “no, but he’s an architect, though. He’s very well-spoken and such a gentleman, from what I could see. Before any more details about him could be discovered, Clayton shows his ass up. Oh, and he’s from Virginia. That’s all I really learned.” “I say you give him a chance.” she blindly encouraged. “You don’t know a thing about him and neither do I… I mean, other than the things that I mentioned.” “Then, you get to know him. I mean, duh. How do you think relationships become relationships?” “See, that R-word,” I sighed, clicking my tongue, “not interested in that. At least not now.” There were two reasons as to why I wasn’t fascinated by being in a relationship. Number one, between catering and bartending, my work could be too demanding sometimes. If I could barely pave time for myself, it would be nearly impossible for me to factor in a man, too. When I finally owned my own catering business and quit bartending, I hoped that things would smoothen out and there would be a window of possibility for a relationship, but now it just seemed unrealistic for me. Number two, I had just gotten out of a semi-bad situation with my ex-boyfriend, Ian, and while it’d been about five months since we split, we were together for two years prior to that. It was difficult to just move on so quickly after someone who had marked such a huge part of your life, walked out of your life. Our demise wasn’t entirely bitter, though, it was definitely filled with pain and heartache. Ian had followed his dreams of becoming an athletic-trainer after much persuasion and support from me, and had gotten accepted into a college in New York. Initially, he wanted to be the man on the football field, but due to an awful ACL injury during one of his practices, his dreams of going pro were shattered and had led him into a deep depression. Around this time, we were just friends, but began to see one another romantically. Anyway, maintaining the long-distance between Ohio and New York was harder than we’d anticipated so, with heavy-heart, we called things off. We promised one another that we’d at least continue to speak on friendly terms, but that didn’t last very long. I couldn’t hold conversations with him as if everything was okay when it wasn’t. I was hurting and pretending to be fine only pained me even more so, I made the final decision to sever all ties. Still, I missed him everyday and sometimes, I even caught myself thinking about our relationship. Like, what it used to be and what it could have been. Moving on was much more difficult than I thought it would be.

“If this is about Ian, woman, you have got to let that go. You know how many opportunities you’ll miss out on by hanging onto that? Besides, it was obvious that he was eager to move on, right?” she mumbled, expressing doubt as she spoke, not wanting to upset me with her truthful words. Maybe a month after our break-up, he jumped into another relationship with another woman. This, I learned through the plethora of photos he plastered all over his social-media. Even though we were over, that still killed me to see. I thought that Ian and I were both sulking and that he wouldn’t be too hasty with moving onto someone else, but it seemed I was the only one.

For the most part, our relationship was generally good; it was certainly something to miss. A reunion could had been in the cards for us, but he ruined that opportunity by getting with someone else so soon on when my our wound was still fresh. At some point, though, I had to learn how to let those cheap theories go and just face the music. He moved on and it was about that time for me to do likewise. “This is true,” I admitted through a murmur before shaking my head, “but, I hate dating. I’m not good at it.” Though I was in no committed relationship after Ian, I did go out on two dates, per my friends’ requests. Both were epic fails; we were incompatible. Plus, it was during that phase of the break-up where I compared every man to Ian, good or bad. Furthermore, those men were complete strangers. Other than the a-okay from the individuals who situated the blind-dates, I knew nothing about them and that made me tremendously uncomfortable. In a nutshell, far too much was interfering in my attempt to get out there so, I took a hiatus. With Ian, everything came about naturally. We used to work together at a movie theater; that was where our one-year of friendship was established. One invitation to see Dawn of the Planet of the Apes after work and we were nearly inseparable; we became best-friends. Eventually, the attraction between us grew stronger with time as our friendship deepened and we made things official. Now, with Dane, for example, there was no foundation, just a conversation. Things weren’t set in stone that we’d even go on a date, but that was an example of how fast-paced things could be without the gradual build-up of establishing a friendship first. I wanted to know who I was dealing with as a person before I got too involved. I may have nagged my brothers for always being judgemental of people and their intentions, but in reality, you had to be. Not everyone was as genuine and virtuous as they often depicted themselves and I would hate to be deceived by that due to the naivety from wearing my rose-colored glasses all the time. “Jan, it ain’t rocket-science. Just go with the flow. Not everything’s consistent or has a system. It’s going to be a different experience than with your ex because every man is different.” Rochelle explained. “You’re absolutely right, Ro. I want everything to have an organized plan, but life isn’t perfect. I hate change.” “It might be hard, but you gotta embrace it because it’s life. And, like I said, you’ll miss out on so much with that shelled mentality. Just wing it, Janice. This goes for everything, not just with men.” she advised. “That’s easier said than done for someone like me, but I’ll keep that in the back of my mind,” I promised, earning her trusting smile, “now, let’s get ready for Asad’s party.” While Rochelle’s words were always encouraging and motivating, I was still learning to actually put them into motion. Taking risks usually led to danger and the idea of that alone deterred me from doing anything too far out of my comfort-zone. On the other hand, taking risks could lead to great things and new opportunities. I just needed to discover who and what was worth the risk before I put anything into jeopardy. DANE After parallel-parking alongside the building of my loft, I jumped out of my all-black 2016 Jaguar XJ. Hiking into the building, I sauntered towards the elevator and rode up to the twentieth floor--the highest floor. Once inside of my loft-apartment, I tossed my keys on the white-colored island of my kitchen. Looking around the house, I sighed contently. Most would deem my home boring and empty. When my mother visited me some months ago, she complained that it was way too solemn, lifeless, and barren for her liking. However, me, possessing a bit of a minimalistic mindset, loved the overall simplicity of my loft. It represented me accurately, in a sense. I was a simple man. I didn’t like too much going on. I hated confusion and distractions, as it clouded my focus and altered the way that I functioned. I was most at peace when everything was straightforward and logical, just as I was.

I couldn’t lie, though, it did get pretty lonely living here by myself. Heading into my bedroom, I tossed my gym-bag onto the floor of my closet and sauntered into the bathroom to start on my shower. Turning the knob inside the glass-shower until it was hot, I stripped from my gym-attire and got inside. After twenty minutes, I stepped out and completed my usual post-shower routine. Then, I put on sweatpants and a white tee-shirt before tiredly throwing myself down onto my very comfortable king-sized bed. Almost immediately, my eyes started drooping shut and I was out like a light.

-- -

“Thanks.” I grumbled after tipping the delivery-boy. Balancing two boxes of pizza and a Sprite, I sauntered into the kitchen. After placing the items down, I stuffed the designs that I had been working on since my nap back into my folder, deciding that I had worked enough for the night. “Well, looks like I’ll be doubling-up at the gym.” I mumbled, taking a large bite out of the ham and pineapple covered pizza. Carelessly tossing three slices onto a plate, I grabbed the soda and ventured inside the living-room to relax.

Flicking through the channels, I came across one of my favorite movies of all-time, The Purge: Anarchy, and got comfortable. About forty minutes into the movie, I heard loud banging against my front-door and immediately knew who it was. Not bothering to rush to the door, I finished watching an intense scene of the movie, not wanting to miss it.

“They just not gon’ quit.” I snickered, now hearing loud yelling accompanying the obnoxious banging. Dusting the crumbs from the crust from my hands, I pushed myself up from the couch and headed towards the boisterous knocks. Unlocking the front-door, I opened it to reveal my annoying best-friends, Broderick and Ted. “Man, what took you so long to answer the door?” Broderick complained as he sauntered straight to the kitchen.

“I figured if I ignored it, you guys would go away.” I snickered, dapping up Ted. “And, you see how that worked out for you, right? What’re you doing tonight?” he inquired as we walked into the kitchen to see Broderick already devouring a slice of the pizza that I had ordered.

“Just about the same thing I do every night. Working hard, yet hardly working.” I chuckled, venturing into the living-room to pause the movie and grab my unfinished pizza. “Well, then that means you’re available.” Broderick smirked, forcing me to raise an eyebrow as I bit into my pizza. Just as I entered the kitchen, Ted had taken a seat at my centered, white marble island.

“Available for what exactly?” “We’re going to Cheeks and yes, you have to come.” Ted chuckled, earning a dry chuckle from my end.

“Too bad I’m not,” I grumbled, in-between bites, “I’m not driving over an hour just to see some ass.”

“You went before.” Broderick counteracted, opening my refrigerator to grab three Coronas. He always made himself at home no matter where he was. “Yeah, for a bachelor-party. Ya’ll are just going to go. Besides, you told me last-minute. Who’s to say I didn’t have any plans, or guests of my own?” At that, they both glanced at one another and erupted into hearty laughter at my expense. I kissed my teeth. “No offense, but what plans could you possibly have? All you do is sit at home, having to be forced to do anything fun.” Ted laughed, cracking open his beer as I did likewise with mine. “Yeah, right. Guests? What guest you got coming around here? A woman? I seriously doubt that.” “Rick, I can get a woman if I really wanted one,” I argued, getting annoyed by his goofy expression of disbelief, “as a matter of fact, I met one today.” “Dane talking to women? Are pigs flying?” Ted asked sarcastically while spinning around from his seat on the stool to peer out the windows. I chuckled. I had known these fools for about three years and during that time, they had never seen me in a relationship. They knew about my ex-wife, Cherri, whom I was married to before I moved to Ohio and met them, but that was it. Yeah, I had the occasional fling and one-night-stand to satisfy my needs, but I was far too engrossed in my work to be committed. Better yet, I hadn’t found a woman worth the time and energy, and one that could handle and value up to a man of my caliber. But, I hadn’t necessarily been searching for one, either. On the other hand, Broderick had dated a gang of women throughout the years for time-spans as short as two weeks. All he wanted from them was sex and he made that known from the gate; he had no interest in the emotional and mental strains that a relationship had to offer. As soon as any woman got attached and started smothering him, he dropped her ass like a bad habit and was onto the next one. As for Ted, he was married with two kids, had been for five years. However, that didn’t stop him from fucking any woman with a pulse, his wife or otherwise.

If anything, I was the only one between us three who didn’t have a warped perspective on love. I didn’t possess that feeling yet, but I wanted it more than anything in the world at that moment.

Even though I didn’t always know how to show that emotion, I missed being able to.

“Yeah, talk on that.” Broderick said, snapping me out of my brief daze. I laughed before shaking my head. “At the gym, I met this woman named Janice. She locked her keys in her car and I gave her a hand. Ain’t too much else to say.” Truth was, Janice already had me intrigued and we barely even knew one another. Our situation wasn’t love at first sight or anything extreme, but I definitely wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. She was beautiful, witty, driven, and had major potential that I had plans to pursue. “So, what does she look like? Holding up in the T and A department?” Ted asked, Broderick just as interested in this ridiculous question. “Ya’ll are dogs. She was beautiful, I’ll say that and only that.” I snickered as I envisioned her body. She was a petite little thing, but womanly nonetheless. “Man, you’re no fun.” Broderick grumbled, shaking his head. “Wait, Rick? Why are we sitting here talking about tits and ass when we can be seeing it?” Ted proposed, evoking thought from Broderick who deeply frowned his brow. “Yeah, what the hell are we still doing here? Dane, last offer. Sure you’re not coming? You’re missing out, man.” “Nope, I’m good. I’m just ready to turn in.” I admitted lowly before placing the leftover pizza inside the fridge. “You need to learn how to have fun, man.” Broderick chuckled as he pulled me in for a brotherly hug. “Ya’ll versions of fun just ain’t for me.” “Well, you need to find your version and start doing it because I know that this isn’t it.” Ted said seriously as I reciprocated the same brotherly gesture with him that I had done with Broderick. “Don’t worry about me,” I chuckled, shooing them to the door, “just don’t be late or hungover tomorrow. I scheduled a meeting at the Diamond Lane house at ten that you both knew about.” All three of us worked in the same field; that was how we met. Both Broderick and Ted were architectural engineers; Broderick specified in structural engineering, while Ted specified in mechanical engineering. Their purpose was to see through that my designs could come to life without any technical difficulties that could interfere. And, though they goofed off, they were one of the best in their respective fields, within Cincinnati at least. “You would schedule that on a Saturday,” Broderick complained as he opened the front-door, “I'll see if I can make it. No promises.” “No promises, my ass. This is work. We gotta have this house finished by August. That’s just four months away and we cannot fall behind schedule.” “No promises.” he quipped again as he exited the front-door and forced laughter from Ted. I couldn’t understand how Broderick and I were friends; I couldn’t stand people who didn’t take their work seriously, especially when I needed to depend on them in order to efficiently execute my own job. “He’ll be there, Dane,” Ted assured me through chuckles as he patted my shoulder, “but like I told you, man, find you some fun and start doing it.” “Sure, Ted. Just be there, ten o’clock sharp. Got it?” “Got it, Sergeant.” he rumbled, saluting me before snickering and leaving. I exhaustively shook my head and locked the door behind them. Padding inside of the kitchen, I cleaned up whatever mess was left and went into the living-room to turn off the TV. It was pushing nine-thirty and to most, that wasn’t late considering it being a Friday night, but that didn’t halt me from wanting to get some shut-eye.

-- -

“Your coffee, Mr. Neverson.” Carmen, one of my two assistants, smiled as she placed down my black coffee-mug that had the motivational phrase the future depends on what you do today carved in gold lettering on it. My mother had gotten it for me as a Christmas gift the year before.

“Thank you,” I grumbled, clearing my throat and focusing my attention on my second assistant, Monica, “so, like I was saying, aside from Diamond Lane, Saturday is yours. I know you guys aren’t into working on weekends, but I’m a workaholic. It never, ever quits.” Both women nodded understandingly, though, I knew they were upset about having to basically, be on-call for whenever I had an urge to get things accomplished, which was often. I needed two assistants in order to help get me through a day of work. Carmen catered to my more basic and personal needs, some of which weren’t necessarily work-related, like getting my morning coffee, for instance. Monica assisted me with actual architectural work; she served as my second pair of eyes, managed interactions with bidders, and was the only one I trusted with the budget. “I get it, boss. You’re a perfectionist and a workaholic. It’s admirable.” Carmen grinned, not being the least bit subtle with her flirtatious advances. My father once told me that working with attractive women was hell; they were nothing more than distractions. Why I never took heed of his words, I didn’t know, but she proved him right every time she found herself in my presence with her skin-tight dresses and plunging necklines. If it weren’t for our professional relationship, I would have been given her what she’d been so shamelessly begging for, but sex complicated things and that was the last thing that I needed on my plate.

While I didn’t appreciate distractions and she often caused me temptation, I never brought myself to fire her because she was good at what she did, which was catering to my needs, no matter how ridiculous or demanding.

Just to test her limits and my boundaries, I once had her drive an hour away from town just to bring me breakfast from this diner that I had a vague memory of during a business-trip that I went on months before. Turned out, I didn’t even like the food. Most would complain, or mutter beneath their breaths about my indecision and inconsideration. But, Carmen? She just asked me if I wanted her to get me the usual instead. Her intent, goal, and purpose was to please me and I loved that.

“Mr. Neverson,” Monica spoke, clearing her throat to steal my attention away from Carmen’s smooth legs, “I wanted to talk about the numbers. The budget is starting to--” “Hold on,” I grumbled, silencing Monica and directing my attention to Carmen, “do you mind? We gotta have this talk in private.” “Okay, I’ll be at my desk. Call if you need anything.” she simpered, getting up from the black, leather seat and sashaying towards the frosted-glass office door. I cleared my throat, diverting my attention away from her round ass and towards Monica’s very unimpressed expression. I chuckled. “Now, what about the budget?” I waited to ask once my office door was securely shut.

“Nothing, I just wanted her gone.” she admitted, forcing me to break into hearty laughter. Though having a strictly platonic relationship, Monica and I bonded like we were brother and sister. I consulted her for both professional and personal matters; we were highly compatible on both spectrums. Despite that, the reason why she hadn’t thrown herself onto me like Carmen and vice versa was due to her being a lesbian. Once she informed me of it, I left her alone, aside from playfully flirting with her from time to time. I still found her very attractive and deeply valued our dynamic. “She’s just being flirtatious.” “She’s just being scandalous. Hasn’t she taken the hint? If you wanted her, you would have had her by now.” “Oh, so you acknowledge my skills, then?” I smirked, watching as she rolled her hazel eyes and chuckled. “I acknowledge your persistence and territorial nature. I don’t know if I would call those skills, though.” she said, probably reflecting on how I attempted to get her, which literally forced her to reveal to me that she was a lesbian in order to cease my advances. This was before I had hired Carmen and didn’t quite take into consideration the never mix business with pleasure rule.

“Hey, I’m ambitious. When I want something, I go for it. Life slips by when you ride the pine.” I shrugged, dampening my lips with my tongue as she only shook her head. “You’re a mess.” she snickered. “Says a lot more about you since you put up with me,” I chuckled, checking my phone once it vibrated with a message from Ted, “Broderick and Ted are on their way, finally.” “Those goof-troops… they were at the strip-club last night posting pictures all on Instagram. Why didn’t you go with them?” she pondered. “Wasn’t interested.” I said. Unlocking my phone, I went straight towards my contact-list and to the entry that read Janice. I had been debating all morning on when I should call her. I didn’t want to call her too soon and come off as desperate, but I didn’t want to wait too long and come off as arrogant, either. “Dane not interested in the strip-club? That’s a new one.” “Is it really? I haven’t been to the strip-club in a year. It’s never really been my thing like it is Rick and Ted’s.” I shrugged, placing my phone aside to check the email on my laptop. “Is Mr. Sachs still coming to see the progression of the home today?” she questioned, transitioning our conversation from personal to professional in the snap of a finger. I nodded. “Yeah, and let’s hope he’s satisfied with it because all of his irrational and abrupt redesigns have been slowing us down.” I grumbled, speaking on my latest and totally impractical client. “Hey, at least he’s paying generously.” “I guess that’s a way to look at it,” I said, exiting my email account once I was finished, “money makes up for anything.” “That is an untruth. Money doesn’t buy happiness.” she argued, using that same old tired cliché that everybody and their mothers pitched.

“Money buys food, shelter, clothes, and most importantly, stability and access. I don’t know about you, but all those things make me happy as a dog.” I shrugged as she did her signature eye-roll. “What about love?” “I can buy that, too. It won’t be too authentic, but it’s definitely available for purchase,” I insisted through a chuckle as she eyed me irritably, “why do you care? You didn’t wanna love me.” “Oh, please,” she laughed along with me, “I don’t like men and you are not worth making the exception for.” “Why don’t you come over here so, I can change your mind?” “And, that’s my cue to go,” she giggled, standing from her seat as I only smirked at her nervous nature, “I’m about to get an ETA on Sachs. He’s running late.” “Hey, before you go, I need a woman’s opinion on something.” I grumbled, taking a generous sip of my hot coffee. “Yeah, grow the beard.” she replied dryly, forcing me to furrow my brow. “You think I need a beard?” I asked, gliding my palm over my mustache and goatee.

“I don’t know. Is that what you were gonna’ ask me?” she snickered. “No,” I chuckled, “it’s about a woman. I met her yesterday at the gym and I took her number. I’m just wondering when I should call her.” “And, you said you can just buy love.” she smirked, folding her arms. “Who said anything about love? And, if love were the case, how do you know I don’t have plans to do just that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “Because you wouldn’t be worrying about when to make your next move. What’s her name and story?” she pondered, folding her arms as she leaned against the space near my office door.

“Janice. She works at Friday’s and is a self-employed caterer from Toledo. That’s pretty much all of the important information that I got. So, onto the answer. When should I call?” “Well,” she dragged, “it depends.” “On what?” “On when you want to call her.” “Honest to God? Now.” “Then, call her now.” she shrugged nonchalantly as if it were that simple. “Wouldn’t I come off as desperate?” “No woman thinks a man is desperate unless he acts desperate. So, the problem ain’t calling her too soon, it’s calling her and well… acting desperate.”

“Thanks for the lovely advice, Monica. Dr. Phil, who?” I said sarcastically, forcing her to burst into a round of giggles.

“Don’t mention it.” she smiled, clicking her tongue and exiting my office. I got up from my leather chair after clicking Janice’s name. The phone rang about three times before she picked up.

“Hello?” she answered sweetly, instantly making a smile mask my face. She already had an affect on me.

“Hey, uh, it’s Dane.”

“Oh, hi, Dane. I see you used my number.”

“I told you I would call,” I chuckled while rubbing the nape of my neck, “so, how’s your morning going so far?”

“Good, I’m just watching TV.”

“At ten o’clock in the morning?” I asked while moving the brown curtain to peep outside of my window.

“Well, I don’t work my bartending job until eight o’clock tonight. My schedule is pretty clean up until then, aside from if I’m fulfilling an order. I’m self-employed, remember?” she inquired. “You definitely did tell me that,” I simpered before shoving a hand into my pocket, “not meddling, just curious. But, does your work keep you living good? I imagine it must be tough.” “I manage. I get enough clients to afford my own place and whatnot. It is tough when your career is based mostly on word-of-mouth and networking. But, I can’t complain, you know? This is what I’ve chosen to do so, I just gotta make it work so, I can take care of myself and as of late, I’ve been doing well with that. So, to answer your question, I’m living great.”

“Well, look at you. An independent woman? I like it.” I chuckled, truly admiring how put-together she was. She had her own and that was a plus for me. That meant that I didn’t have to worry about any foul intentions because she was good with or without me.

“Well, you gotta be in this day and age,” she giggled, “so, what about you? How’s your morning going?” “Great. I’m actually about to get ready for a meeting at this house I’ve been working on since November last year.” “That must be exciting. Is that what an average day is like for you?” “Sort of,” I said, “I meet with clients, take phone-calls throughout the day from clients and partners alike, create designs, and then propose them to my team. It’s just me juggling a ton of responsibilities all day long.” “That can be tiring, huh?” “Yeah, but I love it. I love engaging tasks, you know? Something that keeps me involved.” “That’s so me. That’s why I love cooking. So, are you the boss, or do you work beneath someone else?” “No, no. I’m my own boss. I have my own firm, Neverson Associates. I have a team of people who work for me and handle different components of the business. I just opened up shop in February of last year so, I’m somewhat new on the scene, but it’s been lucrative nonetheless.” “That’s… motivational. I’m praying by the beginning of next year I’ll be set like that, with my own business and such.” she expressed, making me smile. I admired her ambition.

“It’ll happen for you. I can tell you want it enough and as long as you have the drive, your dreams will become a reality… Wow, I sounded very preachy and cliché just now, didn’t I?” “No, no, you sounded inspiring.” she assured through giggles as Broderick and Ted bursted into my office.

“Yo, yo, yo! Wassup?!” Broderick shouted, obnoxiously announcing his presence.

“Shh!” “Don’t shush me.” he argued, opening my black mini-fridge to grab a water. “Monica said that Sachs is en route, which means we need to go,” Ted said, pointing his thumb at the office-door, “let’s ride together so, we can tell you about last night. You missed out!” “Hello?” Janice sang, regaining my attention. “Sorry, gimme a second,” I grinned, that being replaced by a grimace as I placed my phone against my chest, “don’t you two see that I’m on the phone?” “Who you talking to?” Broderick asked. “None of your business. Just wait outside, I’ll be done in a minute.” “He rushed us here and he ain’t even ready. Typical Dane.” Broderick rumbled as Ted laughed and followed his lead outside of my office. I sighed. “Hello? Yeah, I’m sorry about that. My idiot-friends just barged in my office.” I chuckled smoothly. “They bother you at work?” “Well, they kinda work for me, and with me. We’re about to go see that house I mentioned earlier.” I informed her while sitting down at my desk. “Okay, I don’t wanna keep you any longer so, I’m gonna’ let you go. But, before I do,” she said before pausing, “this might be soon of me--” “And, soon can be good.” I interjected, eager to see what she had in mind. “It can be. So, Friday night, I’m gonna’ be apart of a bottle-tossing competition at my job. You’re welcome to come.” “Bottle-tossing competition?” I asked, genuinely not knowing what that was. Her cute giggles rang through the line again. “Well, the correct term for it is flair bartending. But, I basically do tricks while I make my own signature drinks. When I’m done, the highest bidder gets the drinks. And, if I get highest amount on my drinks, I win the competition.” “That sounds fun. I’ll be there,” I grinned, “and, I’ll be sure to buy every drink you make, too.” “Well, I hope I amount to your expectations, then,” she chuckled, “it’s my first time entering.” “So, where’s this gonna’ be at?” I pondered. “At Friday’s, the one near Home Depot. You know where that is, right?” “Yeah, yeah.” I assured as I picked up my black ink-pen and wrote down the details on the desk-calendar. “It’s at eight o’clock.” “Alright, you’ll see me then.” I smiled. “Okay,” she said and I could hear the smile in her voice, “and, just so you’re not bombarded and caught off-guard, my friends will be there, too.” Based on that, I knew that if I wanted to impress her, I would need to hit it off with her friends. If that weren’t the case, she wouldn’t have invited me out on a night where they were all present, considering the fact that we hadn’t even had any solo-time to get to know each other yet. So, I wasn’t even worried about them being there; I always made good first impressions.

“That’s fine.”

“Alright, then. I can’t wait to see you, Dane.” she confessed, expressing my sentiments exactly, though, hers sounded much more friendly. I was aiming for something a little more than just a friendship.

“I can’t wait to see you, either. I’ll talk to you later.” I grinned before she said bye and we hung up. Sitting my iPhone aside, I glanced down at the calendar-block and broke into another smile.

9PM with Janice on June 4th.

#me4u

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wendyimmiller · 5 years ago

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Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest

From the editor: Rant readers following the verbal sparring between our own Scott Beuerlein and guest ranter Marianne Willburn may be wondering if the daggers had been sheathed for good or just for the holidays. This week, after the two met up at the Mid-Atlantic Nursery Trade Show (MANTS) and Scott spent an evening good-humoredly roasting her at Maryland’s Brookside Gardens, Marianne offers an olive branch with a few thorns and a tough topic for discussion….in letter form. Will he answer?

Lovettsville, Virginia

January 22, 2020

Dear Scott,

I’m trying to remember now how we left things in November. It’s probably safe to assume you were bitter; and I believe I was sitting in front of a roaring fire stroking a cat, reading Lloyd and quietly chuckling over a sharp sentence or two.

In truth, it is a Jack Russell that I stroke, though the fire exists, and so does the chair. I have an unreasonable love for these little dogs which I must admit was fostered by a friend in England and her series of intelligent, ball-obsessed terriers.

Mungo. Garden dog. Vole killer. Part-time writer.

The love affairs one experiences in one’s twenties – be they man, beast, plant or country – make a deep impression on the psyche, and are tough to shift. I foresee an equally long series of JRTs in my own life (Mungo is my second), punctuated by my husband Michael’s desire for sloppy, loveable labs. I would tell you to try the breed, but they can be little devils and you certainly need no further reason to give in to that opioid addiction you keep mentioning.

How we left matters as the sun shone on a little house in Maryland on Sunday is far easier to remember, as is the loveliness of your wife Michele, who, as you say, is far too good for you and has an incredibly sweet smile. I’m thrilled the two of you were able to venture East for MANTS and even happier that you were able to attend the dinner party held in your honor, deep in the country, and referred to by many of the DC Beltway Crowd as “way the hell out there.”

I did warn you to keep driving until the banjos started playing. If you thought it was tough getting to the festivities on Sunday, my house is just across the Potomac River and down a two-and-a-half mile gravel road. Many of my friends have had to buy four-wheel drive vehicles just to keep drinking our wine, and complain bitterly up until the moment they are sitting on the deck surrounded by the night sky.

I wonder what Michele thought of that motley Mid-Atlantic group of pedants and plantspeople, yards deep in an 1840’s Federal – and many of them exhausted after a week trudging through the wonders and warrens of a Baltimore nursery trade show? Michael can only handle a half an hour’s discussion on epimedium foliage before he begins to lose consciousness and begs for a glass of single malt.

Did you switch dinner partners between courses as instructed? I’m afraid that I interrogated a very decent native plant nurseryman and his wife a bit ruthlessly during the salad course, but I love a good discussion and he brought up a few excellent points that I will file somewhere in this poor brain of mine.

Soaking up the sunlight on that wide porch with you and Michele and a very nice gentleman named Paul, and not discussing global warming was one of the joys of the afternoon. It has disturbed me over the last few years that it is widely considered flippant or insensitive to take some pleasure in the weather when it is unseasonably warm; or to do anything other than discuss the impending apocalypse when a massive snowstorm forces us to unplug and unwind.

Well he’s happy, anyway.

Instead we must rend our garments and gnash our teeth and shake our fists at the sky or a passing politician (there’s always one within arm’s reach in this part of the world). Guilt and Anxiety I suppose to be our constant companions from here forward, whether or not our sinks carry the weight of compost bins (I have two), and we regularly use ancient green tools such as clothes lines. (Can’t beat that fresh scent.)

I like to think I have changed enough cloth diapers on the back seats of vehicles in Mid-Atlantic winters to earn me the ability to turn my face to the sun with pleasure during a January warm-up. Even if it means there will be no tight, touchable blossom heads on Hydrangea macrophylla again this year.

A handful of joy.

It is an interesting question don’t you think? If we somehow find the ability to turn off all the voices in our own heads shouting about the mortgage, the hydrangea, a new suspension system for the Subaru, and a pressing deadline (or five), are we allowed to turn off the voices around us and be happy in the short life we are given on this Earth – living as responsibly and as carefully as we can as individuals?

I feel increasingly that as gardeners we are soldiers in the literal trenches. Forced to cope with what is, while our generals bicker over another political win or loss, and civilians weigh-in from armchairs far away.

We learn to remediate early springs, late frosts, 35-inch-above-average annual rainfalls, a greenhouse full of lost stock, a crop devastated by blight, or bugs. We are adaptable in a way we should be proud of – and for that matter, so are many of our horticultural charges.

If we must cope with the effects of a changing climate, can we not admit to moments of joy in the midst of adversity without being shamed? Our anxieties will only line the pockets of the pharmaceutical companies.

Rainfall that did not stop – The summer of 2018.

…and Mungo could not have been happier.

Drugs aside, gardening is obviously the answer when it comes to quieting the soul. For all your bitterness over meconopsis, you and I both know this.

I have watched a cutting of Atlas cedar root over the last several months and felt the weight of the world melting away when I look at the tiny grey tufts of new foliage happily protected under a cloche. You could bottle and sell the endorphins coursing through my blood in those moments.

But I fear we are making our gardeners, and worse, potential gardeners, nervous wrecks with the sheer number of rules they must follow or be damned.

For example, I sat through a Master Gardener meeting not so long ago where hellebores were touted, only to have a freelancing health and safety officer making sure we all knew they were poisonous and that we might want to make other choices.

I’m afraid my exclamation of disgust was not as under-my-breath as a room of that size might have merited.

Hellebores for God’s sake. Call out the National Guard. Contain the area. Kiss your children.

Chris Martin put it best I think in Coldplay’s Don’t Panic:

“All of us are done for. And we live in a beautiful world.”

Did I mention that he and I started at UCL the same year? You were dropping so many names on Sunday I probably couldn’t get a word in.

Perhaps I am only feeling the weight of living so close to the constant turmoil in Washington. Friends in Missouri say their dinner parties rarely turn political, and when they do, there is no shouting over the bread pudding – only discussion.

Is this your reality? What did you call yourself… “a simple gardener from the heartland?” Are you viciously throwing miscanthus plugs at each other out there; or are you pushing chairs back from the table like Browning’s Bishop Blougram and settling in for a lively debate over your Big Gulps?

Speaking of which, I thoroughly enjoyed the roasting at your talk Friday night. Yes, there was a lot of palaver about African savannas and something about a woman with her white-trousered leg in an open pit toilet – the image of which I can never erase – but overall, a lot of laughter, and I do think we need more of that in this world right now.

That, and good red wine. I didn’t tell you (or anyone else for that matter) but I’ve gone off the grape for the month of January, and by the time you read this the horror may well be over. Even Michael doesn’t know. I can’t bear being watched. If you knew the temptations I have overcome these last two weeks. MANTS alone. Dear God. Gardeners and writers can drink, damn them.

Warmly,

P.S. There is new UK plant porn on the market – I knew you’d want to be informed at once. Jimi Blake’s A Beautiful Obsession has come to American shores. I can guarantee I will be able to grow less than a third of what he’s fondling with those magic Irish fingers, but I shall read it anyway.

P.P.S. Beth Chatto’s biography by Catherine Horwood is also here. I enjoyed it, and revere St. Beth perhaps a little more. Little pink pills and a lover, as it turns out. I guess none of us is superhuman. _________________________________ Marianne is a gardening columnist and the author of Big Dreams, Small Garden. Read more at SmalltownGardener or follow @smalltowngardener on Facebook and Instagram.

Winter Sun & Guilty Joy: A Letter to The Midwest originally appeared on GardenRant on January 22, 2020.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/01/winter-sun-guilty-joy-a-letter-to-the-midwest.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

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