"The Comfort in Being Sad"
by Michael Dell

CHAPTER EIGHT (Jerry, Michael, and Mel at mall)

Jerry went to school at Computer Tech in Pittsburgh. It was an eighteen-month course that, upon completion, would almost guarantee him the sort of employment opportunity so desired by the masses. All he had to do was pay attention, not goof around, do satisfactory on the tests, and attend classes on a regular basis. He had school from seven to four Monday through Thursday. Today was Wednesday. The afternoon. So naturally he was throwing football with Michael at Lynch Field.

"Have you been drinkin' already?" asked Jerry as they descended upon the public recreational park deep in the heart of Hadleyville. An ice rink, tennis courts, soccer fields, baseball diamonds, a track for joggers and one for bikes and rollerblades; Lynch Field had it all.

Michael smiled. "Why, can you smell it on me?"

"A little bit."

"My stomach was bothering me this morning so I just did a couple shots of Mandrin," explained Michael, gripping the football tightly in his right arm and stepping onto the grass field.

"Yeah, that's gotta be good for ya. That stuff is brutal."

"It smells good."

"It tastes like shit."

"I don't drink it for the taste."

"You drink it for the smell?"

"I think we both know why I drink it. Hey, how much more time you got down there anyway?"

"At school?"

"Yeah."

"Til March."

"Only five months left." Michael flipped the first pass of the day, just a short one to loosen up the arm. "Doesn't seem like it's been that long."

"Oh, it's been that long. Trust me."

Michael accepted the return pass with ease. It was the middle of October, so while nippy, the air wasn't cold enough for the ball to sting their hands. Both were even still wearing shorts. Michael, due to his diminishing weight, dressed more suitably above the waist, sporting a ratty old thermal shirt, its cuffs frayed and holes tearing at the wrists, underneath two layers of t-shirts. "Learnin' anything yet?"

"Fuck no." Catch. "The place is a joke." Throw. "I actually think I know less about computers now than when I joined. I don't even think I could recognize a computer at this point."

They gradually drifted farther and farther apart, testing the strength of their arms until they settled into a distance of about forty yards. The rhythmic pulse of catch reduced all conversation to a bare minimum, consisting mostly of comments such as "nice catch, jerky" upon a dropped ball or "way to go, Kordell" when a hopelessly errant throw found turf. Michael eventually began spicing things up by running patterns or scrambling around an imaginary pocket before flinging a toss downfield. Hey, it beat Computer Tech.

On one occasion Michael's pass tumbled from its planned trajectory due to the unexpected hand of nature.

"That was all wind," explained Michael.

Jerry collected the ball. "Autumn Wind."

Michael made the reception and froze. "What?"

"Autumn Wind," hollered Jerry. "At least it wasn't a Summer Wind."

"What a dick," smiled Michael. He then rifled a bullet at Jerry in hopes of tattooing an X on his chest.

After a few more tosses the proceedings were called to a halt when Jerry announced his need for nicotine. They both sat down on a wooden bench provided by the city for just such an occasion and watched the world age.

"I didn't even know what you meant at first," said Michael.

"I couldn't pass it up." Jerry lit his cigarette and took a deep, rejuvenating hit. "I figured you were thinkin' about her anyway."

"Yeah, but I didn't bring her up. You brought her up."

"It was only a matter of time." Jerry was enjoying the poisoning of his lungs. They weren't allowed to smoke at school. "You feel like throwin' anymore?"

"Not really."

"What do you wanna do?"

"I don't know."

They both knew what they'd end up doing, but they sat a while longer staring at the mundane scene before them, trying desperately to think of another alternative. Options were limited.

"There aren't even any joggers today," commented Jerry as he expelled second-hand smoke into the atmosphere.

"Yeah, that kinda sucks." The possibility of seeing an attractive young woman in the midst of an aerobic workout was always an alluring aspect of the Lynch Field experience. Once there was a particularly fit specimen that rendered all to silent observation with her firm, churning legs and the playful bounce of her ponytail. She had only been seen that one time, causing her existence to seem more fantasy than reality, but it was enough to keep them coming back.

Convinced that no such beguiling apparitions of feminine athleticism were going to make an appearance, Jerry extinguished his cigarette with the aid of the bench and flung its useless corpse into the grass. Keep America beautiful. "Mall?"

"Sure."

Westmoreland Mall had become a fixture of Jerry and Michael's weekly grind. It seemed almost every Friday afternoon, Jerry's permitted day off from school, found the two meandering through the mall without the slightest direction or hint of purpose. Well, that's not completely true. There was the Piano Girl. Trombino Music. Second floor.

"Yes!" cheered Jerry quietly upon seeing she was working. And, damn, how she was working. Piano Girl was positively stunning. She looked to be around 23, had long blonde hair, and possessed the kind of body that inspired sleepless nights. Today she was wearing a red, spaghetti-strap top and a long black skirt that was provocatively slit up the left side. She was sitting at a piano near the front of the store elegantly playing a piece of music in an attempt to lure customers. Curiously enough, of all the times they had seen her, not once was she ever waiting on a customer. They couldn't even recall ever seeing another person in the store when she was there. Who goes to the mall to buy a piano? Nevertheless, there was always heavy traffic in front. Granted, most of it was Jerry and Michael, but it was still traffic. The slit skirt made sure of that.

They tried to play it cool whenever they passed her. Jerry seldom looked at her directly, fearing that one look from her would send him into nervous convulsions. Michael was less reserved in his veneration of her beauty. On this occasion he couldn't help but stare. She must have felt his visual scrutiny, for in the middle of her one-woman recital she looked up from the sheet music long enough to make actual, sustained eye contact. Michael smiled and nodded, drawing forth a polite, yet faint, smile of recognition in return. She never stopped playing, he never stopped walking.

As soon as they were past the store front Jerry collapsed along the railing overlooking the first floor and shook his head in disbelief. "God damn..."

"Did you see that skirt?"

"I love long skirts on chicks. That's so hot."

"I actually made some eye contact."

"Really?

"I didn't mean to, she just caught me staring at her."

"That's why I don't even look at her. What did you do? Did you smile?"

"Yeah."

"What she do?"

"She kind of smiled back."

"No shit?" Jerry was impressed. "Go talk to her?"

"I can't."

"Why not? You said she smiled at you."

"Yeah, but I'm not one of those guys."

"Well, I think it's about time you start. We're talkin' Piano Girl here! C'mon, let's make this trip to the mall one to remember."

"I can't. Why don't you go talk to her?"

"I'd be too nervous. You know I can't talk to good lookin' girls. Do it for me."

"I can't. My heart wouldn't be in it."

"Here we go again..." Jerry knew what that meant. Before he gave up he needed to make one final desperate attempt at persuasion. He chose his words carefully. "Dude, she's so fuckin' hot." Yes, Jerry was a poet. "It's Piano Girl!"

"She's no Melanie."

"Yeah, you're right, I didn't notice her fucking two guys when we walked by." Michael had become so accustomed to the jokes regarding Melanie's questionable morality over the past few weeks that they failed to register. "I think it's time you get over her already. And Piano Girl is the perfect girl to do it." He shoved Michael. "Piano Girl!"

"I'm sorry, man," grinned Michael, "but I can't."

"What a puss." Jerry's face wore the expression of grave disappointment. "Would it kill ya to try and learn to play the piano? Let's at least walk by one more time."

She was still manipulating the ivory, not to mention their breathing patterns. The sight of her golden hair draped across her creamy white shoulders made both of their hearts skip a little as they passed. And then there was that skirt. Jerry didn't dare risk another glance. Michael, secure in his convictions to another, didn't hesitate to look over his shoulder as they passed in order to prolong the agony. Once again she looked up. Good solid eye contact. Another smile. She kept playing, he kept walking.

"God damn..." cursed Jerry. "Let's go to the food court. I gotta sit down."

The Westmoreland Mall food court was set up like a horseshoe; its ends attached to the main body of the mall, and its curve containing a main entrance from the outside world. The proud citizens of the food court included, from left to right, Rax Roast Beef, Pup-A-Go-Go, Sbarro's Pizza, Fajita Palace, a hallway leading to restrooms, Bane's Deli, Monchu Wok, the main entrance, a Ruby' Tuesday's restaurant, Teriyaki Japan, McDonald's, Tropical Bungalow, and Blimpie's Subs. In the middle of this arching array of fine eateries was the seating area, trimmed with pastels and plants and filled with clusters of white tables and chairs that when occupied for too long inspired comparisons to medieval torture devices. The food court also featured a raised center hub accessed by a ramp. This hub apparently provided sanctuary for those who enjoyed eating their fast food meals slightly elevated above their more common peers. If Hadleyville had royalty, they'd eat their lunch in the hub. The last remaining attraction was a coffee kiosk that straddled the boundary between food court and mall. Fat, grease, empty calories, abundant caffeine; the Westmoreland Mall food court was a modern day land of milk and honey.

Being a Wednesday afternoon in October, everything was wide open. Jerry really wasn't hungry yet and Michael's appetites couldn't be met by establishments without a liquor license, so the duo decided to merely loiter. They had free reign in choice of tables. Michael was about to secure a place at the far end of a long bench, the back of which formed one side of the food court's elevated center hub, when Jerry pulled out a chair at an adjacent table. Michael fell in line and joined Jerry, forsaking the bench. He had never sat on the bench before. Oh well. There was always next week.

"Have you heard from any of those agencies yet?" asked Jerry.

"Nope, not yet."

"That sucks."

"I just have to keep sending it out. Something will happen eventually."

"It's a good book. It's gonna get published."

"Let's hope."

"Did that stats place call you?"

"Yeah, I already started working for 'em. I had five games this week."

"So what's that, $250?"

"Yeah."

"And how long does it take you to do a game?"

"Like two or three hours. Four tops."

"What a cock. That's like the perfect job. You work out of the house, decent money, easy work, involves hockey... you're so fuckin' lucky. And you didn't even have to look for it, either. Just fell in your lap."

"Providence will provide."

"That's the kind of job I need."

"You're too busy with school."

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

Feeling guilty for constantly burdening Jerry with the woe of his failed love life, Michael decided to try and return the favor. "So how are things goin' with you and Stacy?"

"Things got a little ugly the other night," said Jerry, sliding down in his chair and stretching his long legs in front of him.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She started on me again about getting a job and stuff. And the last couple weeks she's been droppin' all sorts of hints how she wants to get married, blah blah blah."

"And you do not wanna get married," repeated Michael from past conversations.

"Hell no. But that's like all she's been talkin' about."

"How long have you been goin' out? Four years?"

"Four and a half. But I told her before I don't want to get married. Anyway, so get this..." Jerry sat up, closing the distance. "I told her that she shouldn't be surprised if I break up with her once I get the money to pay back what I owe her."

The words even stung Michael. "You said that?"

"Yeah," muttered Jerry, embarrassed by his own cruelty.

"What did she do?"

"Nothing."

"You're lucky she didn't slap the hell out of ya."

"She didn't even go home."

"She stayed after that?"

"Yeah."

"She must have some low self-esteem."

"I'll tell you right now, Mike Malloy, this is it. Once Stacy and I are through, I'm done with women."

"You think so..."

"I know so. I will never be in another relationship. This is it."

"So you're gonna be a monk?"

"There's always internet porn."

"True."

"I just haven't been the same since Stephanie. Do you know that whole story?"

"I know she cheated on you."

"Yeah, but did I ever tell you she came back to me?"

Now Michael was sitting up. "No. When was this?"

"It was like two months after we broke up. She showed up at my house saying how sorry she was and how it would never happen again. I let her in and we, you know..." At this point Jerry made a genteel movement with his arm, thrusting it forward like a piston. "But then as soon as we were done, I kicked her out."

"What?"

"I told her to beat it. She was still trying to put her clothes on when I shoved her out the front door."

Michael held his tongue. He was trying to comprehend what he just heard. He wasn't having much luck. "That's amazing."

"I loved her so much. I knew from the first second I saw her she was the one. She's the only girl I've ever been in love with. I'm supposed to be with her. But she ruined it."

"And you couldn't forgive her?"

"She cheated on me. There's no going back after that. If she loved me, she wouldn't have cheated on me."

A young woman in flared jeans and a very small t-shirt that was straining to harness her obvious charms sashayed nearby. Neither noticed.

"Have you talked to her since?"

"Nope. It's been five years. I saw her once. I was driving to work and she was going the other way. That was two years ago."

"Do you still think about her?"

"Every day."

Admitting it caused numbness. He was immersed in reflection for a brief moment before realizing where he was. He needed to swing the conversation. "Is that how you feel about Mel?"

"Yeah," declared Michael. The mere mention of her name made his limbs tingle. "When I look at her, it's like I've been looking at her my whole life. I know she's the girl I'm supposed to be with. That's why I don't want to give up on her. I know the girl I fell in love with is still there. I know you're always ripping on her, but deep down I know she's who we thought she was."

"I don't rip on her because I don't like her. You know I like Mel."

"I know."

"Those are just good jokes. I can't pass 'em up. And I'm tryin' to help you get over her."

"I know your heart's in the right place. If I thought for a minute you meant the things you say about her..."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, you can't keep 'em all bottled up inside. You might hurt yourself. You'd probably explode the first time we walked past a vacuum cleaner. But you know if Mel and I ever get together the jokes have to stop."

"I don't think I have to worry about that. Are you still planning to go see her again?"

"Yeah, I have to apologize to her. I just want to make sure and give it enough time. I'll probably go out next weekend."

"I still don't know what the hell you have to apologize for."

"The last time I saw her I basically called her a whore."

"So what? She's the one that should be apologizing to you. She should be on her hands and knees. Come to think of it, she probably is."

"I was talkin' to Michigan Frank the other day..."

"Oh yeah? How's Michigan Frank doin'?"

"Good. He calls me every Friday because it's like free call Friday or somethin' with his phone card. So I was saying how hard Friday and Saturday nights are for me since I know she's out at the Twilight Zone and he was like, 'I thought you said she worked Fridays and Saturdays?' And I'm like, 'yeah.' And he goes, 'Then what are you worried about, it's every other night of the week she's out fuckin' everybody.'"

"Michigan Frank!" rejoiced Jerry with a pump of his fist. "That was a good one."

"I didn't expect if from him."

"Are they even gonna let you back in that place?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. That guy was real cool about the whole thing."

"How many times did you end up goin' back?"

"Like three or four. He was so nice about everything I figured it was the least I could do."

"What a fag. You should have never went back at all. Fuck that place."

"It's not right I punch a hole in the wall and then someone else has to fix it. Besides, even if Mel and I never do get together at least I've acquired a skill. I now know how to dry wall."

"You think that place still does good business?"

"Yeah, I guess. But did you hear that one of the bouncers got stomped into a coma?"

"When?"

"Like last week. Three or four guys jumped him in the parking lot. The one hit him over the back of the head with a pipe and then they just kept kicking him in the head when he was down. They had to life flight him to Pittsburgh. He'll probably be a vegetable if he lives."

"Don't worry, I'm sure Mel will fuck him back to health."

"And then some kid got stabbed there a few weeks before that. It scares the hell out of me to think she's out there."

"She's out there for a reason."

Michael hung his head. "I know... I know."

"I still say you should give Piano Girl a shot. I guarantee you Piano Girl is smarter than Mel. A bag of rocks is smarter than Mel."

"Watch yourself."

"C'mon, dude, you have to admit she's not that bright."

"I'll admit in some respects she may not be my intellectual equal but..."

"The word is 'dumb'."

"Okay, now this is starting to piss me off..."

"C'mon, she didn't even know who the Penguins were! How can you live a half hour from Pittsburgh and not know about the Penguins! Doesn't she turn on a TV? Pick up a newspaper once in a while!"

"So she's not into sports, who cares? I actually like that."

"There's a difference between not being into sports and being so dim you aren't even aware they exist."

"That's not her world. I'm sure she knows lots of stuff I don't."

"Yeah, like how to suck cock. And I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt on that one."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. But I think a lot of it is an act with Mel. You can't be dumb and manipulate people the way she does. She knows what she's doin'."

"You might have a point there."

"I almost wish I didn't." Michael began to play with the table's molded plastic centerpiece. It was a little stand that held two pieces of paper, advertisements slipped into the middle of the plastic and held firm. One was for a new variety of milkshakes at McDonald's and the other announced a concert to be held at the mall in a few days. Michael's sudden restlessness had the sign spinning and flipping between his hands. "My sister keeps telling me about that Claire girl."

"Is that the one she works with?"

"Yeah. She keeps threatening to set me up with her."

"Why don't you let her?"

"I don't know." He had now reversed the pieces of paper in the stand so that only their plain blue and pink backs were exposed to the world and Ronald McDonald could read about the symphony. "She keeps sayin' this Claire is perfect for me."

"Like you're gonna do anything about it."

"Probably not." Michael pushed the centerpiece away. "But you never know what'll happen. One time when I was at the Twilight Zone, it all just sort of hit me at once. I mean, think about it. If a year ago someone would have told me I'd be waxing the dance floor of a night club in Greengate Mall trying to make up for punching a hole in the wall because I was so frustrated at falling in love with a waitress that worked there, I'd have said they were nuts. A year ago I didn't drink, I would never be caught dead in a dance club, there wasn't even one at Greengate Mall, I'm hardly someone that goes around punching walls, and like I could possibly fall in love with a waitress... so who knows where I'll be next year."

"That's true."

"So I don't know, maybe I should just forget about her. Learn from it and move on. I keep thinking that she needs me, but I'm sure she's well over me by now."

"Yeah, and under someone else." Jerry spotted a cute little brunette in line at Sbarro's pizza. "Dude." He directed with a nod.

"She's all right," reported Michael.

"She's more than all right. Oh wait, you wouldn't like her, she doesn't have a dick in her mouth." Michael just shook his head in quiet disapproval. "Well," continued Jerry, "I think it's Mon Chu Wok time. You want anything? Some water?"

"No, I'm cool."

But Mon Chu Wok would have to wait. Jerry never even made it to his feet. He was rooted in place, staring in disbelief over Michael's left shoulder. "Oh no..."

Michael looked up and saw the bewildered expression on his friend's face. "What?"

"Is that her?" Asked Jerry of himself. "Yep, that's her."

Michael immediately spun around in his chair to see Melanie walking on the other side of the food court. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt, khaki pants, and tennis shoes. Her hair was pulled back in her traditional tight ponytail and she was holding a restaurant drink of some sort in her right hand. Another girl was with her. The mystery woman was wearing a green apron, obviously a uniform of one of the nearby stores, and carrying a tray of food. Melanie was several steps ahead of her and appeared determined to sit somewhere in the back of the food court out of sight from Michael when her friend placed her tray down on the nearest table and called Melanie back to her. Melanie didn't argue the point. She turned around, returned to her friend and sat at the far end of the very bench Michael almost chose for himself. So there they were. Michael and Jerry at one end and Mel and her friend at the other. All that separated them was a long wooden bench of about fifty feet and several empty tables. Not months, not lies, not regretted words. Just a bench.

"Did she see us?" asked Michael, turning back to face Jerry.

"Yeah. I saw her first and wasn't really sure it was her. Then we made eye contact. That's when I knew. No one else has eyes like that."

"Did she see me?" worried Michael.

"Oh yeah. As soon as she realized it was me she looked over to see who I was with. She saw you. No doubt."

Michael carefully peered over his shoulder, trying not to be too obvious about it. But the more he saw of Melanie the more he turned. He couldn't help but stare. All those weeks of regret and now there she was. Right there. He could see her. She was back in his life.

"Are you gonna talk to her?" asked Jerry.

"I have to apologize," said Michael, almost in a whisper. "I can't waste an opportunity like this. But I don't want to go say anything in front of her friend."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"I'll wait until they're done eating and then go over. It looks like that other girl works someplace. She's probably just on her lunch break."

"Maybe she works at that coffee place?" theorized Jerry.

"Could be."

"Fuck. I can't believe this. Like it's not bad enough I have to hear you moan about her all the time, now I have to be here for this."

"Just relax. Go get your food."

"I can't go now! If I get up she'll look at me."

"So?"

"I don't want her looking at me. Because then what am I supposed to do? This is gonna be so awkward."

"I'm the one who should be nervous!" countered Michael.

"What are the odds we'd see her today? And like she couldn't wait until I got my sweet and sour chicken."

Michael was leaning forward, his arms folded on the table, but periodically peeked over his shoulder at Mel. He continued to speak in hushed tones in fear she might hear his words. "It is pretty weird. You realize this is like the first time I've ever seen her away from work. She looks good, doesn't she?"

"Yeah."

Melanie was listening quietly as her friend carried the conversation. Michael hadn't even seen Mel open her mouth yet. That friend of hers was quite the little chatterbox. Michael could hear small bits of the monologue but really didn't care enough to try and connect them. He was too busy watching Melanie. She was clearly uncomfortable. She was trying so hard to not look Michael's direction that she appeared unnatural. Then, as her friend droned on, Mel lowered her head a bit to the straw of her drink and took a sip while stealing a quick glimpse at Michael. Then it was back to her friend, never letting on as to what she just did.

"Well, she saw me that time," said Michael, dropping his chin on his hands.

"Oh, she definitely knows you're here, dude," confirmed Jerry, staring at the floor and doing his best to appear completely removed from the happenings around him.

"I had a feeling I was going to see her today," proclaimed Michael. "I just had a feeling."

"So how long are we gonna wait?"

"As long as it takes. I have to talk to her."

And so it went, Michael waiting anxiously for his opportunity while contemplating the precise words to use in contrition, Jerry writhing humiliated in his chair, the no-name girl ignorantly blathering away, Melanie sitting quietly and stealing glances of confirmation whenever needing proof of Michael's existence. Then slowly, gradually, things began to change. Melanie, having come to grips with the situation, relaxed and actively participated in conversation with her friend. She spoke with confidence, she laughed, she joked, she told stories of her own. Stories that involved "He"s and "Him"s. She made sure to hit each masculine word, driving the point into the air for all interested parties. Michael was too busy rejoicing in the angelical hymn of her voice to feel any real jealousy.

It continued that way for several minutes. It was impossible for Michael to measure the exact time, all reality bent and contorted in Mel's presence. He had been waiting anywhere from fifteen minutes to fifteen days when Jerry spoke.

"Jesus Christ, how long does that girl get for lunch? She was done eating ten minutes ago. It's just a waiting game now."

"You think?" asked Michael reflexively over his shoulder.

"Oh yeah. They're just hoping you leave first."

"I'm not leaving without talking to her. I'll wait all day. I'm not scared. Hell, I do less by nine AM than most people don't do all day." Michael turned. "But I don't think her friend even knows anything's goin' on."

"How could she not? She has to notice Mel lookin' at you. It's not like she's doin' a good job of hiding it. If I wanted to ignore somebody, believe me, they get ignored. She's terrible at it. There! She just looked at you again, dude!"

Michael spun around to see Melanie taking another sip from her drink, completely engrossed in her friend's blank noise.

"I gotta get out of here," groaned Jerry, "I can't take this anymore." Just then a phone rang. "Ooh, here's your chance!" Mel's friend was producing a cell phone from her purse. "Go talk to her while her friend's on the phone."

"I don't know..."

"It's perfect!"

"I'd rather just wait until her friend goes back to work and I can get Mel by herself. I don't want to embarrass her or anything."

"What a fuckin' fag." Jerry rubbed his eyes. "Well, I gotta get out. I'm gonna get a drink of water. And I will be taking my time."

"That's cool. I'll be here."

"No shit." Jerry checked to make sure Melanie wasn't looking and then carefully slipped from his chair and streaked towards the restrooms. Michael turned to see that Mystery Girl was still on the phone. Melanie now had her right foot on the bench with her, sending her bent knee up to her ear as she kept busy with the laces of her shoe. Michael watched, smiling despite himself. Then Melanie disappeared. Michael discovered that another young woman had entered the picture. The woman in question, unbeknownst to her, had just placed herself directly in the line of fire. Sitting at almost the exact midpoint of the bench between Michael and Melanie, this poor innocent was simply trying to find a quiet place to eat her lunch, which consisted of the usual fast food staples that fill brown plastic trays at malls all over the globe. She was a downtrodden, homely sort, showing the signs of indifference and disenchantment with her current employment situation as clearly as she displayed the golden 'Bon Ton' name tag over her left breast. She unwrapped her sandwich and mechanically lifted it to her mouth. At least she was alone now. She had some time to herself. She would enjoy her lunch. The chicken tasted like rubber. She sipped her Coke.

Michael noticed nothing about the girl other than that she was shielding him from bliss. He frantically shifted in his chair so as to bring Melanie back into focus. His heart again beat in rhythm. Michael's abrupt movement drew the attention of the lunching Bon Ton employee. Was he looking at her? Men never looked at her. At least not in that way. But maybe he was. It's possible. No, it wasn't. The revelation didn't prohibit her from nervously dabbing her lips with a napkin. Once she was convinced there was nothing on her mouth, she carefully resumed eating. This time much more demurely, chewing each bite with royal precision. The stranger was still looking in her direction. Was it be so hard to believe that some guy would find himself staring at her? She was starting to feel uncomfortable. She didn't know what to do with her eyes or her hands, so she began to eat a little faster. She focused on the sandwich. Maybe she should say something? Maybe he'll say something? This kind of thing never happened to her. She should make eye contact. That's the first step in such matters as this. At least that's what she heard. She was going to do it this time. She was going to do it. She placed her sandwich back on its tray and casually rolled her face to his, fluttering her eyes ever so slightly, much in the same way she had seen Gwyneth Paltrow do in the movies. That's when she first realized he wasn't looking at her. His regard fell somewhere behind her. And worse, he seemed completely immune to the fact that she was now staring at him. Humiliated, she went back to eating. She was tempted to turn and see exactly what it was that so captivated him, but she didn't want to be obvious about it. Maybe it was some sort of trick? She didn't want to look foolish. She never wanted to look foolish. But what was it? What was he looking at? Oh. She knew he couldn't have been looking at her. She tried to go back to eating her lunch, beauty to her left, admiration to her right. The fries were too salty. The chicken still bounced. The Coke was watered down. Lunch was over. The thought of getting up and breaking his adoring gaze for the brief moment it took her to cross the table made her perspire about the waist. She nervously crept to her feet and hurried to the nearest trash can to deposit her meal. She was sure neither of them even noticed she was gone. No one ever did. She was right.

Melanie was still waiting for her friend to get off the phone. Michael's patience began to wilt. He called to her in a hushed tone, "Mel." She didn't even flinch. He tried a little louder. "Mel." Still no response. Melanie simply stared straight ahead, as if actively taking part in her friend's phone conversation. With the first step taken, Michael began to be more brazen. The next call of her name was accompanied by a tapping of the bench. "Mel!" Nothing. He continued to drum a distress signal with the middle knuckle of his left index finger. She laughed, either at his futile attempts at persuasion or at something her friend said. It didn't really matter. Melanie's companion flipped her phone shut and placed it back in her purse. Then the two friends picked up where they had left off as if never interrupted. Discouraged, Michael turned back to his table in time to see Jerry's return.

"Well?"

"Nothing," reported Michael. "I even tried calling her name and she just pretended she didn't hear me."

"Has she even turned her head to the right yet?"

"Nope. Not once."

Jerry reclaimed his familiar slouched position in his chair. Michael crossed his arms in front of him. Neither said a word. There was nothing more to say. They had to wait.

It was during one of Michael's occasional checks over his shoulder when events finally began to unfold. He saw Melanie say something that caused her friend to look in his direction.

"That's it," said Michael, spinning to face Jerry. "She just told her friend."

Jerry perked up. "They're leaving?"

"I think so."

"Together?"

"Looks that way. I saw Mel say something and then her friend looked over at me. So she knows now."

"Free at last, free at last," mocked Jerry. "So what are you gonna do, follow them out?"

"If I have to."

Michael prepared for action. He was going to simply walk over and politely ask Melanie if he could speak with her. If she refused, he'd first try more politeness, then begging, groveling, and finally tears if necessary. He marveled as Mel and her friend rose to their feet and began to leave in the opposite direction. Michael was about to follow when they began to circumvent the food court, skirting its outer edge without ever venturing into the main mall fairway. They walked very close to each other, hip to hip, with Mel to the outside. Michael watched vigilantly, prepared for pursuit, as they both turned back into the food court.

"Here they come," announced Michael to Jerry, who invented yet another way to squirm uncomfortably in his chair. Michael stood up as the two women approached. They were no more than twelve feet away. It felt like miles. The two had conspired beforehand on how this would work. They both appeared stiff and artificial, walking straight up, staring forward, and not speaking a word to one another. They were clearly on a mission of scorn. Melanie never once looked in his direction. She kept focused straight ahead and walked with conviction. Her friend was less determined. Whether it was to grade the appearance of Mel's devotee or whether Michael's standing up simply caught her eye, curiosity killed again. Mystery Girl tried to disguise her actions by lowering her head and pretending to fix the ribbon in her hair, but Michael saw that she was giving him the once over. He didn't care. His life was walking away from him.

"Mel!" called Michael, wearing a friendly smile.

She kept walking. Her partner continued to have difficulty with her hair.

Michael tried again. Harder. "Mel!"

"Oh, Christ, now he's waving," lamented Jerry under his breath, unable to watch any further.

"Mel!"

Nothing. Melanie kept walking, turning a deaf ear to Michael's pleas. She was the only one. Every other mall patron within range was now witness to Michael's humiliation. All eyes were turned to him except the two most cherished. He was frozen as she passed, suddenly aware of the torn thermal flapping from his shirt sleeve and the fact he was wearing shorts in October. Why'd they just have to come from throwing football?

"Did she even look?" asked Jerry.

"No." Confident they would be looping around to the front entrance, Michael set out after them. But his journey was only a few steps old when he saw them both duck into the corridor leading to the restrooms. Michael couldn't help but notice that Melanie took an unnecessarily sharp turn around the corner, as if wanting to disappear from sight as soon as humanly possible. "They're going to the bathroom." Michael, still cognizant others were watching him, retraced his steps back to his table without once taking his eyes from the entrance to the restrooms.

"What are you gonna do now?" asked Jerry.

"Wait for them to come out," answered Michael without hesitation.

"Well, I gotta get out of here. I can't take this anymore."

"You want me to meet you somewhere?"

"No, I'll just be walking around up top. I'll find you."

"Okay."

"Good luck."

Michael was alone. Of course, for all he knew Jerry could have been standing right behind him. He never watched him leave. He kept his eyes glued to the bathroom entrance. Michael couldn't see the bathroom doors from where he was sitting. They were positioned farther down the hall. All Michael could see was the edge of the wall behind which Melanie vanished and a few feet of the opposite side. His heart stopped each time someone emerged from the corridor. He had to be patient. Melanie and her friend were probably discussing what to do next. He began to consider all the possibilities as he monitored the passing stream of shoppers for his beloved's face. It wouldn't be out of the question for her friend to come out first and maybe act as a mediator, trying to broker some sort of ground rules for the eventual meeting. Or maybe Melanie herself would surface poised and controlled, much like she did when she returned from getting her coat and backpack during that last fateful trip to the Twilight Zone. Only time would tell. Time. Michael didn't even know what time it was, or how long he had been waiting. He looked around for a clock. Was this a mall food court or a casino? All the establishments seemed united in their lack of timepieces. The chopsticks in the "O" of the Manchu Wok sign almost fooled him. He was about to give up his search when he glanced above the entrance to the restrooms. No clock. But there was a glowing red "EXIT" sign. His blood rushed. He had been coming to the mall his entire life and he never knew there was an exit by the restrooms.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

It was a mall employee. An overweight, fortyish mall employee of questionable gender pushing a broom and dustpan. Michael got to his feet without even bothering to address the questioner. "Yeah, but I don't think she's comin'." There was an exit sign. Since when was there an exit sign?

Needing proof, he barreled his way down the hall and past the restroom doors. At the end of the hall, to the right of the water fountains, was indeed a heavy steel door but it lacked any promise of 'Exit'. No sign whatsoever. Michael flung the door open, letting it crash into the wall, and stalked through the adjoining fluorescent passage, following it through to another steel door that met with a similar fate as the first. He was outside. At first he didn't recognize his surroundings. It was a few seconds before he realized he was near the loading dock behind JC Penny's. The parking lot was conveniently close. The door must be an employee secret. He scoured the parking lot in vain for signs of Melanie's car. They were both probably long gone by now, enjoying a hearty laugh at his expense.

Michael stormed back around and re-entered the mall through the food court's main entrance. Other shoppers were wise to get out of his way. He angrily tore a path back to the restroom corridor and tried to calm himself with a drink of water. As he was turning to leave, a woman left the ladies' room and Michael saw what he thought was the reflection of a blue sweatshirt and brown hair in the bathroom's mirror. The door swung shut. Maybe she didn't leave after all? He'd wait a little longer.

He resumed his vigilant watch, this time positioning himself at a table directly in front of the corridor in able to have an unobstructed view for the length of the hall. He made a mental note of each and every woman that used the restroom. He marked when they entered, when they left. The business woman, the mom of three, grandma, average lady, two teenage girls. They all came and went. Still no Melanie. Action was needed. The teenage girls were the last of the group to leave the bathroom. They were elected.

"Excuse me," said Michael, trailing the girls through the food court. They were no more than fifteen. Both seemed somewhat startled by his approach, but the desire to appear cool quickly did away with any apprehension of strangers. "I'm looking for my sister and was wondering if you saw her in the bathroom." They kept walking as he spoke. "She's like 21, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a blue sweatshirt and khaki pants. Did you see anyone in there like that?"

"No," answered the one walking closest to him.

"So there's no one in there at all?" They were out of the food court now and in the main body of the mall.

"Just someone acting like a baby," joined the other girl, more relaxed knowing that the stranger was only looking for his sister.

Michael didn't know what she meant. He needed clarification. "But it's not her?" They both shook their heads 'no' while uttering some form of nuh-uh. "Thank you very much." He pulled ahead of them and was gone. Every muscle in his body tightened. His stride was forceful and determined. The bones of his fists began to ache with pressure. Chest expanded, veins flushed, he sliced his way through the mall chaff. He spotted Jerry leaning against one of the railings overlooking the first floor.

"She left," proclaimed Michael, never slowing his pace. Jerry did his best to get in step.

"What?"

"She just left!"

"You didn't talk to her?" Jerry was struggling to stay at Michael's shoulder. Just when he was about to finally catch up, Michael came to a halt. Jerry, unable to stop his massive frame on a dime, kept lumbering forward.

"Did you know there was a fucking exit by the bathrooms?"

Jerry stopped. "So she just ducked out a back door?"

Michael was gone again, racing away from the past. Jerry, still trying to catch his breath, again chased after him. It wasn't easy. Sudden fits of movement weren't his thing. Asthma and smoking were quite the cardiovascular cocktail.

"So you never talked to her?"

"No."

"What were you doing that whole time?"

"Waiting. I didn't even know there was a fucking exit down that hall. But I still thought she might be in there so I stopped two girls that came out of the bathroom and told them I was looking for my sister."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"Did they think you were nuts?"

"What the fuck do I care? They said she wasn't in there." Michael slammed on the brakes again. Jerry passed by. "Did you even know there was a fucking exit down that hall?"

Jerry stopped, turned around, and slowly walked back to where Michael was standing. "No, and I got a drink of water. Didn't even notice it."

Michael was off. Jerry again chased after him, wishing he had fatter, slower friends.

"She just left," echoed Michael. Neither spoke another word until they were closing in on the parking garage. Then Michael, voiced to no one in particular, declared, "I need a drink."

Wild Wings wasn't crowded. It never was in the afternoon. Michael and Jerry were the only two people in the joint. It would be crowded by the time they left. Pam was tending bar. Jerry handled the pleasantries. Michael just ordered his drinks. Vodka. Cheap and mean. The first one was down almost before Pam finished pouring. He instructed her to "keep 'em comin'."

"What's with you today?" asked Pam, refilling his waiting shot glass. Michael didn't answer.

"Take a guess," said Jerry, pulling a long, refreshing drag from his newly lit cigarette. Nicotine, Nicotine, Rah Rah Rah!

"Don't even tell me..." She looked to Jerry for confirmation. He rolled his eyes and blew more smoke into the air. "How many months has it been? Forget about her already." Michael still didn't speak. He threw back his second shot. Pam poured the third. This was the worst she had seen him in a long time. "Well, I gotta go in the back for a minute. I'm getting ready to leave. Try to make that one last 'til I get back." She waited to see if he'd say anything. He didn't. "I tell you what," began Pam as she started to walk away, "Just once in my life if I could have someone care that much about me. Just once..."

"Are you gonna be like this all day?" asked Jerry of Michael, who was still brooding silently over his security blanket.

"Probably. At least until I get drunk."

"Then hurry up."

The more Michael drank, the more he started to talk. He and Jerry were conversing rather easily by the fifth or sixth shot. Of course, much to Jerry's chagrin, they were talking about Melanie. But at least they were talking.

"That was such a cunt move," said Jerry, now working on his second beer. "She just better hope I never see her anywhere. Because I will rip into her."

"It's not her fault."

"What do you mean it's not her fault? It's all her fault! What did you ever do to her? She lied to you. She treated you like shit. Then for her to just ignore you like that and slip out a back door!"

"It's not her fault. Think about it. The last time she saw me I put my fist through a wall. She could have been scared I was going to yell at her or cause a scene or something. She probably thinks I hate her. I don't blame her for doing what she did."

"I don't know..."

"I'd rather have her do that then just come up and talk to me and act like nothing ever happened. That would be a lot worse. That would kill me."

"Well, I still better not see her anywhere."

"If you do, you better treat her with respect. Tell her I'm sorry and that I miss her. Understand?"

"Whatever. Do another shot, ya drunk bastard."

Michael complied and added, "She didn't take her hand away."

"What?"

"She didn't take her hand away. That's what bothers me so much. The last time at the Twilight Zone. After I said what I said and she started to leave I grabbed her hand and she didn't yank it away. She stopped. And when I said what I said why didn't she say, 'It's none of your business,' or, 'So what?' She said they were lies. She said they were all lies. She didn't want me to know about that stuff. She didn't want me to think of her that way." Michael paused to reflect upon the bottom of his shot glass before continuing. "And you know she asked about me that night. She saw Matthew and asked how I was doing and she told him to tell me to get out there to see her. He tried calling me but I had already left. I didn't find out until the next day. That whole night I thought she was just putting on an act like she was happy to see me. But she really was happy. If only I had known that beforehand, I wouldn't have had to get drunk to go there and I wouldn't have had such a chip on my shoulder. All those weeks of waiting to go out to see her and if I would have just waited another hour or two and gotten Matt's phone call everything could have been different. She wanted to see me." He paused again to regroup. "That's why I can't get her out of my head. There are two possibilities. Either she's a completely self-absorbed, inconsiderate, lying whore, or she's the sweet, shy, insecure, vulnerable girl that I fell in love with. And I know that's who she is. I know it. I know the girl I fell in love with is there, she's just too scared to show it."

"I'm gonna vote for that lying whore one myself," said Jerry. Michael kept his anger in check. "I just have no respect for someone who lies and acts all innocent and is really out fucking everybody in sight. She only acted all sweet and nice with you because she knew that's what you wanted. Maybe she just wanted to fuck a smart guy. I don't know. But once she realized you were a genuinely nice guy and weren't in it just for a cheap thrill, she didn't give a damn about you. She's a fuckin' man hole. You need an actual nice girl, not someone who pretends to be one."

"Ya know, you once told me everything would work out with Mel and me. Remember? You said, 'I know you and I know Mel, it'll work out.'"

"That's when I thought I knew Mel."

"Well, I still think we know her. I know she's the girl we thought she was. I know that girl's in there."

"Yeah, and so are about 350 dicks." Michael ignored the comment. Jerry changed the subject. "Why can't we run into Justine at the mall? I'd actually like to see her again. She still never called you?" Silence gave answer. "I didn't think she'd be like that."

"Well, what can ya do?"

"Have you tried calling her?"

"Don't have her number."

"You could look it up."

"Tried. Couldn't find her."

"You could try and get it from this place. I'm sure they'd have it on record somewhere. Pam could probably get it."

"Not sure I should do that. If Justine isn't calling me, she's not calling me for a reason. She has my number. She knows how important she is to me. If she's not calling it's because she doesn't want me in her life. Whether it's because of Anthony or whatever, she obviously doesn't want me around. I try not to think about her. There was a lot going on with Justine that you didn't know. I miss her very much."

"You never did tell me what the big secret was."

"I promised her I wouldn't."

"So you can't even tell me? C'mon, dude. Like you're ever going to see her again anyway."

"I gave her my word." Michael tilted his glass and waited anxiously for the last remaining drop of vodka to find his tongue.

"Does it rhyme with 'grape'?"

Michael faced Jerry with honest, non-alcohol-induced confusion. "What?"

"She wasn't raped was she?"

"No, no... nothing like that. I just don't want to talk about it. I think I actually get more deeply depressed thinking about Justine than I do Mel."

"Yeah, and we wouldn't want you depressed."

"Exactly." Michael got the attention of Renee, the bartender, with a slight wave of his hand. There was a shift change. Pam had left. The bar was much more crowded now. Renee was busy. But she knew Michael was a big tipper so she served him immediately.

While Renee poured Michael's shot, Jerry studied her chest a brief moment and then asked a question. "What's up with all the pumpkins?"

"What pumpkins?" asked Michael, tearing his eyes from the falling vodka.

"Those pumpkins." Jerry motioned with his hand all about the bar.

Sure enough, Michael looked around and noticed that there were little paper pumpkins taped all over every wall in the place. There were hundreds of them. Each one boasted someone's name scrawled in varying degrees of penmanship with thick black ink. "Oh. Those pumpkins."

"They're for charity," enlightened Renee, pointing to a poster behind the bar featuring Selma Hayek in a sexy witch costume, posing seductively in some sort of haunted pumpkin patch. "They're a buck a piece and all proceeds go to the Make-A-Wish Foundation."

"And people just put their names on them?"

"Yeah, their name, someone else's, whatever. You want one?"

"Sure," said Michael. "Bring me two when you get a chance."

Renee reached under the bar and pulled out two paper pumpkins and a black magic marker. "I had a chance."

"Fair enough." Michael handed her the two dollars. "Thanks."

Jerry sat up and bent forward slightly so he could watch Renee's ass as she walked away. "You don't think she's hot?"

"She's okay." Michael went about his work. Despite the large volume of alcohol he had consumed all afternoon and evening, his hand was rock steady as he carved the marker into the first pumpkin. To no one's surprise, 'MEL' was written across the top in large, capital block letters. Beneath her name, in the exact middle, was printed a tiny 'AND'. Then underneath, stretched neatly across the bottom half of the pumpkin, he placed 'JUSTINE'. He took a brief moment to appreciate what he had done. Now they were together somewhere other than his heart, immortalized for all time... or at least until Halloween was over. The second pumpkin was emblazoned with only one word: VODKA.

It was well after ten o'clock when Michael and Jerry left the bar, still sporting the shorts and t-shirts they had originally donned for an afternoon of throwing football oh so many hours ago. Michael staggered and swayed his way through the crisp night air, finding support from each cement pillar, sign post, and tree on the way from Wild Wings' front door to Jerry's car. His world was a numb, swirling mass of dull colors and bleeding shapes. He was in the moment. No time to think of anything else but the moment. Alcohol had come through again, just like he knew it would. Then came clarity.

"What if I wrote her a letter?" blurted Michael as Jerry, every bit as sober as Michael was drunk, began the drive home.

"Mel?"

"Yeah, there's nothing wrong with that, right?"

"What are you gonna say?"

"I'll just tell her that I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry if I ever hurt her. And I'd tell her how much she still means to me. There's nothing wrong with me writing a letter is there?"

"You shouldn't have to."

"I mean, she may not even read it. She'll probably just tear it up. But I would have written it. That's the important thing. I would have done my part. I would have apologized. Then maybe I can get on with my life."

"Then go 'head. Write her a letter."

"I'll write her a letter."