Friday, November 5, 2010

Paul Fisher

The setting: a college diner. The time: midday. Paul is sitting by one of the diner windows, his eyes fixed outside. He isn't looking at anything in particular, but it is a beautiful day. Summer is fast approaching, but everything is still green and alive like it's spring. Today, there are no clouds in the sky, and his eyes casually rove the scene. He spends equal time watching a squirrel grooming itself, a flock of birds darting between the trees, and girls walking by in tanktops. Although he's not particularly interested in any of these things, he enjoys looking at them in the same unfocused way somebody might enjoy looking at a Monet.

In front of him is a half-eaten plate of sandwiches and an untouched mug of coffee. There is also a thin school report lying by the plate. He is wearing a simple university t-shirt and jeans, and a varsity jacket hangs on the back of his chair. Apparently, he played soccer. His senior year, he even spent some time as captain. He is clearly not a high school student anymore, though. He looks more like a college sophomore.

At a nearby table, several girls in spring pastels are giggling and eying him. When he turns away from the window to return to his meal, he notices this and smiles faintly. His expression is friendly, but he's trying not to encourage them. One of them smiles back, but the others look disappointed. Turning his attention to the table, he grabs one of the sandwich triangles with his right hand and the report with his left. In the top right-hand corner of the first page is his name, followed by RHE-317 and DR. SAMANTHA RICHARDS. At the page's other corner, written in red ink, is the number 84. He looks at this and is clearly pleased.

The diner door opens and another young man walks in. His hair is longer and shaggier than Paul's, and strands have been bleached blond. Like Paul, he has an athletic build, and when the girls in pastel notice him he gives them a big smile. He slaps Paul on the shoulder before sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “What's up!” Paul simply turns his papers around so other guy can see. His lips are a straight and somber hyphen, but his eyes are obviously smiling. The other guy looks the paper over, then laughs. “You must be like the next fucking Shakespeare or something! Eighty-four. . . . Man.”

Paul grins at the compliment. It's the slightest curl of the lips. The girls in pastel are watching him again, but he doesn't notice. His eyes are on the paper. “I didn't leave my room for two days.” He flips through the pages, re-reading some of his favorite lines. “And I still had to stay up all night.” The other guy whistles, then deciding that isn't enough, he pounds on the table appreciatively. The hostess shoots him a nasty look, and he waves her over to place an order. She obligingly walks over.

“Get me a grill cheese and OJ.” She gives him another scathing look, and he grins wildly. As she walks away, he twists around to look at the girls in pastel. One of them is still looking his way, and he smiles at her before turning back to his friend. “I ended up hiring that Trevor guy. Seventy bucks, and he didn't do much better than you.” Paul frowns. “I mean, an eighty-seven. And he's an English major, too. Guy should consider a change of majors. Sociology or something.”

There's a long silence between them. It's obvious that Paul is trying to find a way to tell his friend to grow up and do his own work, that he won't be able to pawn it off on others for the rest of his life. Paul's never been good with words, though. Eventually, his friend just shrugs, then leans in with a grin. “I think those girls like us.” Paul's eyes flicker up to the girls in pastel, then back to his friend. “Wanna do something about it?”

Paul shakes his head. “No, dude. I've got Erin.”

Kevin grins, then pretends to slap himself on the head. “Of course! Sorry, dude.” They eye each other a moment longer, then his friend slides out of his chair. “If you'll excuse me.” And he saunters over to other table. The girls smile at him as he approaches.

Paul turns to the window again. His eyes grow unfocused.

No comments:

Post a Comment