Who? by Michael Dell Three friends perched around a small, circular table at a not-so-crowded bar. Regulars. Two are talking. "I'm not saying I wouldn't walk anyone." "Oh, you'd walk someone." "I could even give up one or two scratch hits." "Yeah, probably just one or two." "But I wouldn't give up a run. One scoreless inning. Guaranteed. You can wrap it up and take it home with ya." "Whatever." "You don't think?" "When was the last time you even threw a baseball?" "Favs and I hit some balls last week. Tell 'im, Favs." The third looked up from his drink. "What?" "Tell this non-believer here how I was throwin' smoke the other day when we hit balls." "That was like last month." "Last month, last week, it doesn't matter. Tell him I got the goods." "To do what?" "My arm, Favs! Tell him about my golden arm!" "You could barely hit the backstop." "That is so wrong." "Even your boy there knows you're full of it." "Full of talent? Yes. Undoubtedly." He took a healthy gulp of spirits. "All I'm saying is, I could pitch a scoreless inning in the major leagues. Nothing more. Nothing less." "You know you're quite mad." "I'm sure they used to say the same thing about Koufax." The disbeliever stood and produced a wallet from his back pocket. "Well, I'm sure Kathy's home from her mother's by now." "Dude, you're so whipped." "And loving it." He dropped a five-dollar bill on the table and worked his coat free from the others on the vacant stool. "Take it easy, fellas." "I'll take it anyway I can get it." As soon as the coast was clear, Andy gave Favreau a shot in the arm. "What the hell?" "Sorry." "You could at least back me up. Would it bust your ass to back me up?" Favreau sipped his drink. "What's wrong? You've been miserable all night." "It's nothing. Well, it might be something. I don't know." "What is it?" "Let me ask you something." "Fire away, chief." "Do you have any regrets?" asked Favreau, never lifting his head from the swimming ice cubes of his Scotch. "Yeah, I should have gotten a bottle. Every time we're here I get the draft because it's cheaper, and it always tastes awful." "No," stared Favreau, "I mean a real regret." Andy pushed his glass across the table. "Taste it and you tell me." "No, c'mon, I'm serious." "Like stuff I'd like to do over again?" "Yeah, or stuff you never did but wish you would have." "Well, let's see. I'm 26, live at home, have a piece of shit job, and am sitting here with you on a Friday night. Yeah, I might have a few regrets." "But anything specific?" "I don't know. I guess that whole blowing-off-college thing may not have been the wisest decision." "Nothing more important, though?" "I told you about the beer." Favreau didn't even crack a smile. He just sat there and swirled the contents of his drink. Andy tried again. "I'm guessing you have a regret." "Kind of," admitted Favreau. He drank what was remaining of the Scotch and let the glass rest peacefully in his hands. "Let's hear it." "It's stupid." "Most regrets are." "It's about a girl." "Most regrets are," echoed Andy. No more information was forthcoming. Andy spoke again. "Who was she?" "Just a girl I went to high school with," forced Favreau. "Did you guys go out?" "No. We never really even talked that much. I mean, she knew who I was and everything." "But she didn't like you?" "It's not even that. I knew she liked me. She gave me opportunities to make a move but I never did. I was just too shy back then." "So why is all this bothering you now?" Favreau edged up on his stool to slip his wallet free. A slit on the left side revealed a tiny slip of white paper. Favreau tossed it to Andy with a careless flick of the index and middle fingers of his left hand. Andy read a string of digits. Local. "Her number?" "Her number," confirmed Favreau. Andy returned the paper to its owner; sliding it across the table much in the same manner one would raise the pot of a poker game. "Call her." "It's been six years." "So what?" "So she wouldn't remember me." "What if she did?" "What if she didn't? It's just..." Favreau, staring at the phone number now stretched between his hands, was careful in selection, "She was someone special. I knew it the first time I saw her." "When was that?" "Freshman year. Spanish class. We were both in the back row, she was about three seats over on my right. She was beautiful." "Blonde?" "No. Long straight black hair parted in the middle. She was flawless. Like, if I had to describe my ideal woman, then or now, she was it. And I don't think anyone else in our class ever realized how beautiful she was. She was very mature. She had like a classic look about her, know what I mean?" "Like old Hollywood kind of thing?" "Yeah, sort of. I guess. I don't know. She was just beautiful. I couldn't believe she even existed let alone was in our class. I just assumed she was older. We had some sophomores because they either failed the year before or they switched languages. I just figured she was one of them. There was no way we could have been the same age. She was so far out of my league. That was the only class I had with her. It was a good five months before I realized she was a freshman." "What did you say her name was?" "Claire." "So you didn't talk to her at all that whole year?" "Not really. Like I said, I was pretty shy back then. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm even pretty quiet now." "Are you sure?" Sarcasm was easy. "I remember one time we both missed a test and had to make it up at the same time. The teacher sent us to different rooms down the hall to take the test while the class went over it together. But the room I was in was empty; everyone was at lunch or something. So near the end, Claire came in and wanted to compare answers." "You had to like that." "I was so nervous," the memory brought a smile. "I didn't know what was going on. I never cheated on anything in my life. But I wasn't about to tell her that." "Chicks dig bad boys." "I was scared we were gonna get caught. I was torn between wanting to hurry up and wanting to just sit there all day with her." "Did she need a lot of answers?" "No, she helped me more than I helped her. What the hell do I know about Spanish? I don't even like tacos." "I guess you guys didn't get caught." "Nope. I sent her back first and then waited a few minutes. When I walked in I could tell she was looking at me but I played it cool, I just handed my test to the teacher and took my seat without even glancing at Claire. I probably played it too cool. Afterwards, we never even talked about it." "So one minor cheating scandal in freshman year was the height of your interaction?" "No, we had some more classes together over the years and would exchange the occasional word. Sometimes I'd catch her staring at me. And she always smiled when we passed in the hall." "And, of course, you still never did anything." "It was different back then. I always thought I'd have more time. I kept putting it off. And she had other boyfriends over the years, too. I never really thought I had any chance at all." "Then why the regret?" "Because I think I did have a chance. She gave me one." Andy sensed they were finally getting to the point. He adjusted for comfort. The stools were unforgiving. Favreau, still holding the paper in his hands, continued. "It was senior year. Early December, I think. Claire and I didn't have any classes together at all, but I'd still see her in the halls and stuff. Each day was a holiday when I did. Anyway, we had a day off for some reason or another and a buddy of mine wanted to go ice-skating. I had never gone skating before so I figured what the hell. He just got a pair of new hockey skates and let me borrow his old ones. They were way too big for me. It was brutal. I could barely stand up. It was a public skate, so there were people everywhere and all these little kids were zipping all over the ice like crazy, and there I was inching my way along the boards." "How many times did you fall?" "I was too scared to fall. I clung to the boards for life. I was only there about fifteen minutes and already had enough. I was ready to split. But then I hear a voice asking if I'm okay. I look up and it's Claire." "No shit?" "She was a skate guard. I had no idea. So there I am feeling like the biggest dork imaginable and the love of my life just appears out of nowhere." "You should have fell. She probably would have thought it was adorable. Girls love it when guys can't do something." "It was weird, but I wasn't real nervous around her or anything. Maybe it's because it was such a surprise seeing her and I didn't have time to think. It just felt really natural. We talked for a good five minutes or so. It was an actual conversation. And she was cool as hell. She was trying to give me some tips but I really wasn't paying attention." "Yeah, you definitely should have fell." "She couldn't stay with me too long, though. The place was packed and she had to get back to work. It took me forever to make my way back to the entrance. She was at the other end of the rink helping some little kids when I left. I tried to wave but she didn't see me." "And that's the big regret?" "Are you kidding me? That's a cherished memory." "So when's the grief?" "The next day at school. It's after lunch and I'm at my locker getting my books ready for the afternoon when I see Claire walking down the hall. I kept thinking she would turn off but she never did. She just kept coming towards me. Once again I tried to act all cool like I didn't see her but I was trying to get up the courage to talk to her. And there was really no reason for her to be walking my way unless she wanted to talk to me. My locker was at the end of the hall and she had never been down that way all year." "And you still didn't do anything?" "Well, I wanted to..." "What a puss." "But the kid with the locker next to me was a real dick. He was always on my case about something. And just as she was getting close, he showed up at his locker and started yappin'. And I knew if he saw me talking to Claire I'd never hear the end of it. So I just got my books as quick as I could and tried to bail before she got there. When I turned I couldn't help but see her. She was still about twenty feet away but she looked right at me and smiled. All I had to do was smile and say something. Anything." "But you didn't." "I pretended to be fixing something in my backpack and walked right past her." "And that's the regret." "Yeah," moaned Favreau, returning once more to swirling the ice in his empty glass. "That's the regret." "You never talked to her again?" "I always meant to. You know how it is, you always think you have more time than you do. I can still see her walking down that hall smiling at me. It sounds stupid, but I just always felt it was meant to happen so it would happen. Even after graduation I still didn't worry about it. I was sure we'd get together somehow. But then the years just sort of went away. I keep thinking I'm going to see her somewhere. Run into her at the grocery store. Maybe bump into someone at the mall and look up and see her face. The only reason I agreed to start coming here was I thought she could be a waitress or could wander in for a drink." "How'd you get her number?" "It was in a book the school sent to all past graduates. I saw it the last time I was at my mom's house. It was a Catholic school. Always about the community." "Call her." "It's probably not even her number. It's probably her parents'." "Her parents would know where she is." "Yeah, that wouldn't be awkward at all." "Life is awkward." "It's too late," moped Favreau. "She probably has a great life goin' for her. The last thing she needs is some idiot she hardly knew calling her out of the blue. It's been six years." "Would you rather it be ten?" Andy sat up straight. He was on to something. "How do you know she isn't sitting somewhere thinking about you right now?" "I think we can safely rule that one out." "You don't know. Or maybe her life is just as miserable as yours." "Thanks." "You know what I mean. She could still be looking for someone special. This whole thing is rather romantic in a sappy way." "It's just pathetic is what it is." "C'mon, it's a Jimmy Stewart movie waiting to happen! The sweet, nice guy goes out on a limb to find the girl he loves and comedic high jinks ensue." Favreau wasn't swayed. Andy swatted him in the shoulder and added, "Call her." "I can't." "You could either do something about it now or you could be depressed about it for the rest of your life. Five years from now, instead of thinking why didn't I talk to her that day at school, you'll be asking why didn't I call her when I first found her number. Look at it as a second chance. You gonna walk by this one, too?" "I don't know." "Call her!" Favreau didn't respond. Andy stood up and dropped another five on the table, joining the one left by Johnny. "Well, I'm out. This place is Deadsville. I said my piece. This is something you're gonna have to decide for yourself." Favreau looked up and extended a hand. "Thanks, I appreciate everything you said. I'll give it some thought." "That's what I figured." Andy shook his hand and headed home. Favreau was locked in the trap of the past a few minutes longer before rising to the bar to settle the bill. The phone number was now in his front pocket. He gathered his coat and walked for the door. Before leaving, he turned and gave the room one final inspection. There were no familiar faces. It was still early. It couldn't have been any later than eight o'clock. The sky was dark. Winter was coming. The bare skeletons of trees lined the parking lot. Cars were passing. A couple was walking, hand in hand, to the door he had just let fall from his shoulder. A search for his keys found the phone number first. Buzzing parking lot lights showed white. Reading the past? Reading the future? He stood by his car under the heavy sky and cursed the day he took pen to paper. He crumpled the number and stuffed it back in his pocket. Throwing it away was no use. Memory had it, the numbers a rhythmic song in his head. He'd have to forget it. He would never call. It was his regret and his alone. He didn't want to risk losing it. He needed his regret to ache and cause pain and chase away the sun with rain.