I really want to hug you, but I won’t. But I want you to know that I want to.
She looked at me with one of those unexpected gorgeous smiles, and clasped her hands together in front of her chin. “Thank you. This is me hugging you.”
FAIR-LADY AND THE WAVERLEY GHOST BY DAN BERICK 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 130
—You haven’t told me about the girl from college, though...
--Right, you remember I mentioned the grocery co-op on campus? It was downstairs in a building near where all the lab classes were.
--Yes, I remember you mentioning it.
--It was mostly all that vegetarian stuff for the hippies, or vegan or whatever, and they had these juices they made...
--You wanted to talk about the girl?
--Right, the girl. Aoife. You’ll never guess how to spell it. It’s an Irish name, and those are just impossible to figure out how to...
--We can talk about this girl, or about comparative languages. It’s your choice.
--Okay. Yeah, okay. So I had a class that ended at something like 12.15, and like an idiot I’d registered for one of my literature classes, a survey course on German Romanticism, all the way back across campus at 12.45, so it was a scramble to find anything to eat in between. And that vegan co-op was there, right? I was in there with a bag of some vegetable chip things (they were pretty nasty) and looking at these crazy juices they had, and this girl’s voice from behind me said, “Prices are 50 cents higher for non-members than the ones marked on the price cards.”
I laughed and said, “Maybe I am a member, though.”
She said, “No, you aren’t. I know who all the members are.”
I turned around to look at her, thinking, well, I don’t know, but I guess I was thinking that some day this might be one of those funny “here’s how we met” stories.
She had this crazy haircut, the sides of her head were almost completely shaved, and her hair was in a knot on top like some kind of samurai. Glasses. Headphones around her neck, not earbuds, the full over-the-ear kind. Industrial, like the guys at the airport wear. One of those septum rings that those hippie kids all had. What were those all about anyway?
Okay. So it was how she was looking at me that was kind of unnerving. Her face was completely still, not smiling. Intent, like she was concentrating very hard, “Those total six dollars and seventy-nine cents. That’s the non-member price, plus the sales tax for non-members. I know who all the members are, and there is a notice whenever new members join. Unless you were joking. The register is over there.”
The place was getting full, and I was going to be late for class, again, but I stayed for a minute. She had gone back behind the counter. She was checking people out at the register, and after checking out a bunch of people in a row, she turned to the side and kind of snapped her head up and down, three times, sharply, just like that. Three times, I counted.
I started going back there every time between those two classes, three times a week. She just intrigued me, honestly. She didn’t always do the head thing, but she always had the headphones around her neck.
I tried to joke with her a little. “Hi, I’m a new member, how much are these?”
“I know you are not a member and you have been here twice already this week for the same items, and the marked prices haven’t changed.”
“If I became a member, would you show me the secret vegan handshake?”
“... ”
“Hi, so are these totally vegan? Have they been in the same room with any milk products?”
“That is not how veganism works. And there are a lot of other people in line.”
Look, the milk thing did make me wonder, because she always had some kind of coffee drink with her.
“Are those some kind of vegan lattes you always have? Do they make them here?”
Her face lost that look of intense concentration, just for a minute. She looked almost, well, confused. “Are you making fun of me with all of your jokes and comments when you come here? I don’t like being made fun of.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, no. I’m just curious... about the coffee, I mean... I’m sorry... I’m totally not making fun of you... I’m just, I dunno... just making conversation... I’m really sorry.”
Her face returned to its look of intense concentration. “It’s a whole-milk vanilla latte with two Splendas. We’re not supposed to have non-vegan products in here but the manager lets me. I have to check these other people out now.”
I got out of there as fast as I could, but saw her turn to the side and start snapping her head up and down. I didn’t stop to count but I know it was three times.
That was a Friday, so I had a whole weekend to kick myself about being such an idiot. I’d somehow offended her, or embarrassed her more likely, although I couldn’t figure out what exactly I’d said, other than by just generally being annoying, probably.
I gave up the jokes. I just said hi when she rang me up, thinking maybe she’d say something, but she didn’t. Just her look of intense focus, the glasses, the septum ring, and that crazy samurai hair.
They’d cancelled classes that one Friday, I can’t remember why, so I was at loose ends, and my paper on Certain Echoes of Continental Romanticism in the Waverley Novels of Sir Walter Scott wasn’t quite as interesting in the actual preparation as the idea of it had seemed to me. Plus it was nagging at me, that I’d somehow offended that girl and didn’t know how, exactly.
Faint heart never won fair lady, Sir Walter had written. So around 11 I stopped by the coffee place and then headed over to the co-op with a whole milk two-Splenda vanilla latte, wondering if that girl was working and hoping the co-op would be empty before the lunch hour. She was and it was.
“Hey, I thought you might want a coffee?”
She looked at me blankly for a minute, then that look of total concentration was back. “Thank you very much. If you don’t mind I won’t drink it right away, it won’t be my coffee time for another 20 minutes.”
Was she making fun of me, now? She looked so serious, it was impossible to believe.
“So, more like 11.45, for coffee?”
“Yes. 11.45 or 11.50. It depends on when I can get my break.”
“So...”
A group of kids started piling into the store.
“So my name is Terry, and...?”
Another blank look. “Oh. My name is Eva (I thought she said), you’re spelling it E-v-a in your head but it’s A-o-i-f-e. It’s an Irish name.”
So I found out her name at least, and the next time I was in there she said, “It was nice of you to bring me coffee last Friday, Terry.”