Accidents

The date was miserable. He showed up late. I could tell he was nervous, but he stared at my chest the whole time. I cleared my throat but he never got the message. Told blasé stories in a monotone voice. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, nor did I care to. I knew he was a keeper when he scoffed at the waitress’s outfit too loudly. I can never respect a person who cannot respect a person in the service industry.

By dessert, he could tell the date had gone disastrously. He heard that I liked Neruda. Tried to quote some. Butchered the pronunciation. I cringed. Check came, I asked to split it. He offered to walk me home. I politely refused. I said I had errands to run. I did, but not for a few days. He understood, and left without protest.

            Got home, realized I left my purse at the restaurant. It had my keys, my cell phone, my wallet, a pen and notepad. Rang the buzzer for five minutes. No reply. Looked up, saw the out of service sign. No go. Hurried back to the restaurant.

            Three cop cars blocked the side street. I saw police tape surround the front of the restaurant. Out of morbid curiosity, I peered over. The waitress was talking to the police. Her hand was bandaged up. She had a smile on her face. A man lay on a stretcher. His nose looked broken. He was in handcuffs. His eyes were pressed closed. They peeped open and he accidently made eye contact with the waitress. She gave him a glare and a smirk and did the stereotypical male nod, exposing her imaginary Adam’s apple. He looked straight up and pretended not to notice.

            I knew I wouldn’t be able to get my purse tonight, so I walked back to my apartment. I wanted to text my roommate to tell her the funny story. I also wanted to go home and take a nap. Or go for a jog. Or finish one of the many books I’m halfway through. But mostly I wanted to get into some more comfortable clothes. Women’s fashion can be painful.

            And I walked into a pole. I heard a snicker behind me. Looked back, and the man could not hold his laughter in. He had a deep, rhythmic laugh. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. He laughed for a while, and my laughs turned into gasps for air. We quieted down, but we couldn’t resist eking out a few last chuckles.

            “Pole came out of nowhere,” I said.

            “Because poles tend to do that,” he said.

            “I’ve had a strange day.”

            “Means you’ve had a good day.”

            “That’s one way of looking at things.
            "By the way, the name’s John.”

            “Nice to meet you. I’m Megan.”

            “Want to grab coffee and tell me about your strange day?”

            “I really should get home. It’s getting late.”

            “I should get home too. Doesn’t mean I want to.” He flashed a toothy, unabashed grin.

“Actually, I can’t exactly go home right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Left my purse and keys at a crime scene.”

“Now you have to tell me the story.”

“Know a good place?”

“We’re in Boston. We are in a good place.”