The only reason I was at all prepared for where I was meeting Bobby was that to figure out the best way to get there, I had to look up the address he had e-mailed me. He had asked me to meet him on Sunday at 4:00pm, for maybe an hour or so, at what turned out to be a cemetery. I didn't call him out on not mentioning the place, I guessed he was visiting his mother's grave, and I could tell by the lack of information that he provided that he was finding it incredibly difficult.
As I walked through the cemetery entrance, I stopped to pick up a smooth, clean pebble. I held it in my gloved hand, looking at the oval shape against my palm. I ran my thumb across the polished surface as I stood, looking for him. He was not near the entrance, he had not specified where I was supposed to meet him, and I was actually about 15 minutes early.
So I walked along a path, looking at some of the head stones, thinking about the convention of graveyards, and families and loved ones visiting grave sites. Some found comfort in visiting with the dead, some found it incredibly difficult, and some found it both difficult and comforting all at the same time.
I walked for a few minutes, considering heading back to the entrance. As I looked around, I realized I could see his tall, broad frame silhouetted against the grey winter sky. He was standing off the path, his head down, his hands kind of clasped in front of him. He looked very solemn, very still. I paused to take it in, thinking it was not often I did not see him in motion, moving his hands in some way.
"Bobby." After I had made my way over to where he was standing, I softly laid my hand on his arm. I had assumed correctly, it was his mother's grave that he was visiting. I could see on the head stone that today was her birthday, which explained a bit why he was visiting on this day.
"I remember this one birthday, my dad, he was still living with us." Bobby started talking like I had been standing with him the whole time.
"He brought her flowers. He never really had ever done that, bring her flowers. She seemed so happy, she kissed him." Bobby continued talking, he continued to stand very still, hands clasped in front of him.
"I'd never seen her do that, kiss him, kiss my father." Bobby breathed, deeply, a bit shaky.
"I followed her into the kitchen, she said she wanted to put the flowers in water. She was cutting off the blossoms." He said, "not the stems, you know, how you cut the stems so they are fresh, she was cutting off the blossoms, and kind of placing the stems into the vase."
"I didn't understand, I didn't understand what she was doing. But I understood enough to not say anything." He did not look at me, but I could see his breathing, more uneven, more ragged. I placed my arm around him. My arm barely reached, but I kind of pulled him close to me, as best I could. We stood there a while, in silence, Bobby looking down at the ground, his hands so still in front of him.
"She left the kitchen, without saying a word to me. I looked at the blossoms spread out over the counter. I touched the crinkly green paper that had been wrapped around the flowers. And, a small card caught my eye. The card was not for her. It had another woman's name." He kind of shrugged a bit. I was speechless. I had thought this was a story about his mother's illness, instead it was about his cheating father. We stood for a while, in silence, with my arm around him as I kind of leaned against his shoulder.
"Thanks, thanks for meeting me here." He said, after a while, looking at me. I simply nodded. I could sense he was ready to go. So, I stepped forward and placed the smooth pebble I held in my hand on the top of the grave stone.
He looked at the pebble for a moment, and then looked at me.
"Are you Jewish?" He asked.
"My grandmother was." I replied. He nodded, and I could tell he was filing this piece of information away in whatever Lucy Jones script he had created in his brain. I wondered, for a moment, what other tidbits he had filed away about me.
"Thirsty?" He asked, as we walked along the path leading back out of the cemetery. I said yes, knowing he was inviting me someplace for a drink.
"An Irish coffee please." I was still cold from being outside, and I was still emotionally reeling from the last few days, so an Irish coffee seemed perfect. Bobby smiled, and he looked like he was going to laugh.
"I'll have the same, but forget the coffee." Bobby ordered, causing the server to smile.
"Do you even like coffee?" He asked.
"Not often." I admitted, but I liked all the fixings associated with Irish coffee.
The server was back in a flash, with my drink topped with a heap of whipped cream, and his whiskey, served neat in a highball. I watched him drink practically the entire contents in one swallow, and motion for another before I had even touched the whipped cream.
"So, what're going to do with that?" He teased me about the frothy concoction in front of me.
"Drink it." I said, smiling.
"How?" He asked, referring to the whipped cream on top. I reached out and scooped up some whipped cream onto a spoon and popped it into my mouth.
"It's the best part." I said, referring to the sweet cream.
"This is the best part." He countered, taking the rest of his whiskey down in a single swallow.
"You don't know what you're missing." I scooped up a large portion of the whipped cream onto my spoon and held it out to him. He surprised me by taking me up on my offer and he ate the whipped cream off my spoon, licking his lips thoughtfully.
"I guess that's pretty good." He said, smiling at me. I liked his smile. I stirred the rest of the whipped cream into the coffee and took a sip, letting the hot coffee with the touch of whiskey warm my insides.
"So your grandmother was Jewish." Bobby said, taking a sip of his second drink.
"On my mom's side." I offered, "but she didn't raise my mom Jewish, mom was raised kind of without much religion, I think. So, when she married dad, who was Catholic, mom kind of went with that. So my sister and I were Catholic school girls." I continued, and without much prodding from him, I ended up talking about myself for the next hour or so.
"Can I get you another?" The server came by, noticing I had finally finished my coffee. Since I was doing most of the talking, it took me a while to finish my first drink. And I realized, since Bobby was doing most of the listening he had managed to drink quite a few drinks.
"I, uh," I said, and glanced at my watch.
"You said you were having dinner at your sister's." Bobby offered, and pulled out some cash to pay the check.
"I can call her, I could stay." I offered. He shook his head no. I watched him stand, pausing for a moment before picking up his coat. I guessed he was a little drunk, nothing to eat, too much to drink.
"You're always telling me I need to sleep. Well I need to sleep, tomorrows another week." He allowed. He helped me on with my coat, and followed me closely as we left the restaurant.
"Let me give you a ride home." I turned, realizing I had turned into his arms. I looked up into his eyes. I stood, not moving, waiting to see what he would do with me standing so close. I wanted to know what he wanted from me.
"Uh, no, that's OK, I, uh, live the other way." He said, and he was right, he did live in the opposite direction.
"I will, um, catch a cab." His voice barely above a whisper. He stood very still, looking at me.
As I stood, looking up into his eyes, I suddenly I realized I was being selfish. I wanted him to express something to me, when in fact he already had in his way told me what he wanted from me on this particular day. He had wanted me to go with him to visit his mother's grave. He had wanted me to join him for a drink, and talk with him while he got a little drunk. And by the way he had kept me talking, he had wanted me to talk about my nice, neat, normal childhood so he could maybe get a little lost in my memories instead of obsessing about his own.
"Thanks," I smiled, "for the coffee," I took an ever so slight step away and fished my keys from my pocket.
"Lucy…" He said my name, as if to say something, I waited a moment, maybe he was going to ask me to stay, or perhaps take me up on the offer to take him home.
"Say hello to your family for me." He said, and I nodded. I recognized he had done something gigantic by sharing this day with someone, and for him to reach out further was probably completely out of his current emotional repertoire.
"I will." I looked at the keys in my hand.
"Call me." I said the words, in the same why I had said them before, as in call me anytime.
He watched me walk the short distance to my car, and before he got into the cab that had stopped for him, he stood to make sure my car started, and then he watched me pull away from the curb.
When I stopped at the stop sign about a block away, I leaned forward, placing my head against my steering wheel. I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating on breathing. I was struggling, trying to find the right path. A horn honking behind me reminded me that my immediate path was to go to my sister's for dinner. So, I looked both ways across the intersection, and continued on my way.
A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews. I love to know that people are reading.