Matthew Mohamed

English 409 – Prof. Henley

Thursday, March 25, 2010
Still Sitting

Greg wasn’t sure whether it was the four shots of vodka from the flask in his right

pants pocket or the nervousness that he’d had since he’d walked inside the Starbucks

coffee shop that was making the walls spin. He didn’t usually drink out of sheer anxiety,

but then again he was doing a lot of things differently today. The most extraordinary had

been that morning; it had taken him an hour to get there, but only five minutes had been

spent in transit.

He had taken twice as long as usual to shower, scrubbing his face with a brand-

new loofah and using a pheromone-infused shampoo he saved exclusively for special

dates. He had opened a new razor, taking fifteen minutes to make sure there wasn’t a

single blade of hair or the most miniscule scratch on his tan-darkened face. He wore blue-

tinted shades that accented his sapphire eyes; a pair of aviators that were custom-framed

for his face. The process of picking out clothes that matched the cool autumn weather left

him exasperated—he couldn’t decide if she would be more attracted to the earthy tones of

his winter clothes or the more vibrant hues of summer. He finally decided on the latter.

The onyx-inlaid silver ring and the diamonds in his ears had been easy accessories to

decide on; they were the only jewelry he owned. After several rewashes he finally

decided on a wavy, messy look for his hair that gave a more relaxed, masculine attitude

to his overall countenance.

Sitting in that coffee shop chair, even after all his emphasis on how he looked,

Greg felt anything but confident and relaxed. He tried to ignore in that cast-iron seat,

mixing liquid courage into his five-dollar burnt coffee bean water, that he was grossly

insecure and feeling incredibly empty. He could remember only too well—indeed, he had
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never forgotten—this elusive woman he hadn’t seen in five years. The last glimpse of her

had been at his old job, a part of his life that had never really left either. He had moved on

from that simple construction labor contract, working under a family friend in the

construction industry, to go to college and learn enough skills to take over the whole

business when the family friend decided to retire. By hiring executive managers, he was

now making a considerable sum while contenting to deal only with the strategic planning.

The heat of the coffee in his hand now was nothing to how he had burned when

hearing her voice on the other end of a phone call the week before. It had been a swift,

sudden blow to his sense of reality and left him wondering if there was ever a chance he

might be able to have her for himself again. He still had a picture of them, together at the

beach, his goofy nineteen-year-old self with a giant grin and she—twenty and in every

way the strong-willed, I-don’t-take-any-shit woman—with her arms wrapped around him

and a kiss on his cheek. She had seemed at the time ages ahead of him in experience and

potential. A freshman in college, intellectually sharp as the razor he had used that

morning, she was easy to love in spite of her own insecurities. He had been jealous of

how well she wore the mask of confidence.

Greg poured a little more vodka into the coffee, careful to check for anyone who

might seem him doing it under the table. The alcohol helped his nerves, but not his self-

confidence. He was distraught in not knowing if she would see him for everything he was

now; he didn’t want another fling. He wanted her for himself, and if he wasn’t careful she

might see his desire for her, think he was needy, and take flight.

Looking down to put the little metal can in his pocket, he didn’t notice the shadow

that had appeared on the table. A simple, small black-leather purse was lightly dropped
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with a plush sound as the words, “Well hello, gorgeous,” in a creamy feminine voice

reached his ears. His head snapped up and immediately he wished it hadn’t because now

the room felt like a hurricane. Even out of focus, her face had a brilliant radiance. The

smile, though, was forced… there was fear and hurt in her eyes, something Greg had not

anticipated. There were rings of sleeplessness under those fearful eyes, a yellowed and

fading bruise on her left cheek that had been expertly covered up with makeup. She was

wearing a conservative cream blouse, a simple jean skirt reaching well below her knees,

tennis shoes that had scuff marks all down the sides in strange zigzags that seemed to

dance lethargically in his current state of minor inebriation.

“Megan! So good to see you again.” He rose out his seat to greet her, got up too

quickly, and banged his knees on the table hard enough to knock over his vodka-laced

coffee—spilling it across the table and dripping it right onto her purse. There was a short

gasp from Megan, who promptly snatched the purse up and hurried inside over to the

serving counter to pull napkins out of the dispenser. Horrified, Greg followed her but was

met with a gruff, “No, no, Greg, take a seat, I have this.” Greg’s mind was furiously

trying to develop some elaborate apology but all he could choke out was, “Oh my God,

I’m so sorry about that Megan…” Despite her command, he had followed her to the

counter. Several conversations at the surrounding tables had stopped and he was trying

not to notice that those who had been speaking were now watching him with amused

interest.

“No, no, it’s fine; it’s a cheap purse, not a big deal… just my luck though. Your

leg ok?” She looked sincerely concerned, so he just nodded. The alcohol had apparently
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dulled whatever lingering pain there might have been because he didn’t feel anything at

all.

“No, Megan, I’m fine. Just embarrassed.”

She laughed, and shook her lovely head with a sigh. “Well it wasn’t the hello I

was expecting, but at least it’s memorable. I think the purse needs to air out a little…”

She turned her head up from her blotting job and looked him sweetly in the eyes. “Let’s

take a walk, hmm?”

He was more than happy to get out of there. He ambled awkwardly over to where

he had been sitting out and wiped up the spill, throwing out the soiled napkins as she

walked outside. “So sorry about that,” he mumbled, “really sorry about your purse…”

“I said its fine, you dork, quit saying sorry.” She giggled, and he was relieved to

see that she was taking the event in strides. “Now let’s walk. The area around here is so

pretty. Don’t you think?” Holding her now-damp purse in one hand, she theatrically drew

her hand in an arc to emphasize the surroundings; and indeed it was. The Starbucks was

located in a newly-developed strip mall, backdropped by forest that had yet to be cleared

for commercial development. In front of the coffee shop was a major throughway which

was expecting heavy traffic in the years to come thanks to a nearby freeway interchange

in the works. It being mid-autumn, all the leaves were in the process of changing colors

and the forest was a spectacular display of brick reds, power-tool yellows, and rust

oranges set behind the contrast of patient earthmovers. As much as Greg appreciated

nature, he also appreciated land development.

As they started their walk they made small talk. She asked him how he was

faring, and he tried to be modest about his successes. She was stunned when she learned
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about his taking over the construction company. He was still a little intoxicated, and

began to elaborate on his feelings in the hopes that she might open up as well. He told her

how he didn’t care about the money he was making, or the fact that he was probably

going to be able to ride off that income the rest of his life. In what he thought was a

subtle way, he began to describe how he was in every sense of the word lonely; how it

gnawed at his insides and it took a great deal of self-reflection to remind him he was

worth pursuit.

During his short uninhibited speech he couldn’t help but think back to when he

had met her, and how his loneliness had stayed with him ever since. Other women had

come and gone through those years, but she had always stood there in the back of his

mind—an invisible specter that he imagined to sleep soundlessly next to him on the

nights he had spent alone. It bothered him that she had seen it as a short-lived tryst, a

fling, an unimportant escapade… because regardless of her intentions she had in the end

consumed his interest entirely. And walking with her then on the sidewalk, surrounded on

his left by expanding human progress and on the right by the starkly contrasting expanse

of the untouched natural elements of forest, he felt within himself a stark division of

interest as well.

Megan, listening intently the whole time, had been steadily growing somber as he

spoke; she was now picking at her nails, a look of deep thought and concentration on her

pretty, yet bruised face. Greg couldn’t help but feel concern about how the mark had

gotten there, and in his alcohol-induced impulsiveness heard himself question it aloud.

Immediately he wished he hadn’t; Megan snapped out of her concentration and

her complexion reddened furiously, her foot pawing the ground, her right hand going up
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to play with her hair. Greg moved to apologize for his intrusiveness, his confidence in the

situation plummeting. Her left hand flew up and waved away the attempt, eyes averted,

her other hand subconsciously moving to cover the evidence on her cheek.

“Greg, you aren’t the only one who gets insecure and lonely, you know. The past

five years for you have been outrageously successful but you don’t sound like you

appreciate it.” She turned away from him, eyes seeming to search for anything and yet

finding nothing to rest on in the deep expanse of colored woodland. “I mean, look at you.

You have everything to show for yourself. It’s not necessarily so easy for the rest of us.”

Greg shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, incapable of finding any acceptable

response. He was trying desperately to contain a single thought in his mind: Shut. Up.

Greg. He realized that he had gone from talking about himself to simply whining, and she

looked like she was moments from walking right out of his life again; exactly what he

had been trying so hard to avoid.

She stayed quiet for half a minute, an excruciatingly uncomfortable silence for

Greg. As cars passed by them he realized that they had made it to the main entrance of

the park. He saw the admittance gazebo housing a single elderly guard and a cash register

for parking fees. The paint was fading in some places and peeling in many others, spots

of wood near the bottom of the structure looking as though they were ready to fall apart

and cause the whole thing to crumble. The elderly guard inside had put down whatever it

was had been reading to watch Greg and Megan, and Greg was guessing that thanks to

not keeping his mouth shut, they were never going to pass through that gate together. To

his surprise, Megan suddenly turned to him and asked, “Do you have any idea what I’ve
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been through since we last hung out?” Greg certainly would not have called it hanging

out, but he nodded anyway to satisfy her willingness to tell more.

“When you left for a different college I was still struggling to cope with school

here. Family life was crap. Personal life was worse. You left and I had no one. Starting

going to parties, meeting guys, and to be honest none of them were as nice as you but

they also weren’t as needy.”

Greg felt the cold sting of hurt cause his face to flush in embarrassment and he

looked away.

“Yeah, Greg. You know just as well as I do that you were needy as hell. You

wouldn’t let me breathe. So I walked. But I didn’t stop walking. This guy, Dylan, was at

one of the parties that a friend of mine invited me to. Started dating. We fought all the

time, kept breaking up and getting back together because then I started being needy, too.

School sucked and I needed an escape because I ended up dropping out. Didn’t plan on

falling for him, but I did. And now… well now I’ve completely fucked things up.” There

was a pause of silence, and then,”Hey, are we talking or not Greg? I’m not gonna spill

my guts to you if you aren’t gonna pay attention.”

Greg had been looking away, watching the cars pass, too embarrassed to look her

in the face. Now he turned to look right into her eyes, his mental image of her which had

been in his mind for so long was starting to dwindle and fade, replaced by this unknown

person who looked like her but he felt he didn’t know at all. “What do you mean you’ve

‘fucked things up’? Are you still with this guy?”

“Well it’s hard to leave when you have his kid.”

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Greg felt his blood instantly freeze up. His legs went numb, shaky, his foot that

had been erratically tapping the hard sidewalk halted. The only sound for a few moments

was the rustling of leaves in the nearby park trees, and Greg realized he really didn’t

know who this person was at all anymore. “Wait, what? Did you… you had a kid? When

did this happen?” Greg’s tone was demanding, almost scolding, but he was furious. The

woman he had imagined and fantasized about for the past five years was gone. He

supposed that he should have seen it coming; that was a long time and anything could

have happened, but to him it was an inexcusable offense to the memory he had kept of

her.

“Yeah, Greg, I had a kid. Seven months ago with Dylan, who turned out to be just

another asshole. And what do you care? It’s been five years.” She was advancing toward

him now, leaning into her words, all of them seething raw anger and pain. “You weren’t

even nearby! You went off and got a university degree while I was stuck in a community

college! You think you are all hot shit because you had some company thrown at you? If

I had that kind of money I’d get the hell out this situation!” Tears were streaming down

her face, and Greg could see the guard staring at the evolving scene. She turned around

and started walking back the way they had come, hands thrown up in the air in a display

of disbelief. “What the hell do you know anyway? If you knew what kind of shit I’ve

had to deal with, you’d appreciate your life a hell of a lot more.”

He didn’t follow her. Instead, he stood his ground and asked with what he hoped

would sound like sincere interest, “What is that supposed to mean, Megan? Yeah, so you

had a kid out of wedlock, it happens. It’s—”

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“It’s what, Greg? The kid what? It’s not about the kid, I love my daughter more

than anything, and I still want to make it work with the father because it’s in her best

interests. But they aren’t my problem. It’s nothing like that at all.” Greg was completely

lost, and Megan could see it on his face. “It’s his bastard brother.”

Greg stood still, waiting for her to elaborate, but instead she turned to face the

street, covering her face, and it took a second before she started shaking and he realized

she was openly sobbing. He went over to her, putting his arms around her and letting her

get it out. They stood there together until she managed to compose herself. Numerous

cars blew by, Greg watching the passengers take a mild interest in the unfolding scene as

their faces sped past. The trees around him were starting to let loose their leaves, falling

silently to the grass below—it was just then that he felt that it could have been a beautiful

moment. A moment later she decided to draw away from him, tears fresh on her chin and

cheeks, eyes red and misty.

She explained how it had been on and off fighting with her daughter’s father,

Dylan, for months. How she wanted so badly for it not to be awkward or uncomfortable

between them when he would show up to take care of the daughter. They hadn’t had a

legitimate date in months, and every time they’d try to set one up one person would find

out something the other one was doing that the first didn’t like. For a while it just wasn’t

working and her daughter Rachel didn’t have her dad there for her. Megan motioned with

her head, a solemn sideways nod that indicated to Greg that she wanted to walk back

toward the coffee shop and their cars, and then started to amble in that direction.

Greg followed, staying on her left and listening intently, as he knew from the way

she rubbed her forearms and her flickering eye movements that this was a difficult but
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important issue she was having. “So what happened that left you all distraught, Megan? I

don’t understand; that stuff with your ex is kinda typical for the situation.”

Megan barked out a laugh. She shook her head furiously, looking him straight in

the eye as she walked a little more quickly. “There is nothing about this shit that is

typical. Dylan’s brother Mike harassed me even when Dylan and I were together—would

make a big deal about how much “better” he was. I ignored him most of the time; he was

three years younger than Dylan and pretty obnoxious anyway so I never considered it an

issue. Then a few days ago Dylan and I finally had a real date set up, but his dumb ass

brings along the creepy brother.”

Greg realized he had stopped paying attention to where they were, and saw they

had almost returned to the coffee shop. He sat at one of the outside tables, grateful that no

one else was around as it was getting late, and encouraged her to continue. She was

becoming more and more agitated, and he wasn’t sure if she’d even be able to finish her

story. Tears kept welling up in her eyes and she was nervously toying with her hair so

much that it looked as though she had just gone through a carwash with the hood down.

After a little quiet, she slowly began speaking again, articulating carefully as if the words

themselves were part of the experience which had bothered her.

“Dylan loves to drink, so he had brought over a couple fifths and we watched

T.V. and did sitcom shots and just bullshitted around… but we did it for too long. We all

had drunk too much, but Dylan passed out cold on the chair he was in and the next thing I

know Mike is all over me.” She put her face in her hands again, elbows on the painted-

black wrought-iron table, shaking her head as if she didn’t even believe herself the words

coming from her mouth. “I tried to stop him, push him off, but I was so far gone that I
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was just too weak. It was so late by then, I was so drunk, and all I can remember is telling

him to stop and then waking up with a hangover and being naked next to him. For

Christ’s sake, we never even made it out of the same room that we had been drinking

in… I don’t even want to think of what Dylan would have done if he had woken.” Megan

turned to Greg, withdrawing her hands to show hot tears streaming down her face; all she

saw was that Greg was simply staring at her in horror. She started bawling.

“I… I don’t even know what to say to that.” Greg’s head was a maelstrom of

contorted thoughts, images, and ideas about this woman sitting next to him. He had

absolutely no idea how to handle this new information, but now recognized she had very

deep troubles and obviously needed to tell someone who would listen. He was glad she

trusted him, but he also knew that he had no constructive advice because of their history

together.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Greg sat there, letting what had just

transpired soak in, before Megan let out a barely audible whisper, “I tried to wake up

Dylan to tell him. Before I could get close Mike saw and hit me so hard in the cheek that

I fell over the coffee table and broke it. I don’t think I could ever repeat to the threats he

made to me, but I am terrified of what’s going to happen now. I had to tell Dylan I was

drunk and that I broke the table by falling on my own.” Greg only nodded, his eyes

roaming her face, then the busy street, then the sky. The air was growing more chilly, a

northern wind coming in off the nearby lake causing him to shiver. His eyes still drawn

away from her, she asked him, “What am I supposed to do, Greg?”

Greg looked at her, saw the yellowing bruise on her cheek, and yet couldn’t help

but see the woman he had known five years earlier. He looked down at the curb their
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chairs were resting on and spoke so softly that Megan had to lean forward to hear him.

“What am I supposed to say, Megan? I can’t tell you anything; this is way over my head.

All I can comment on is I’m sorry this Mike guy did that. It’s horrible, and you are in a

seriously strange predicament because Dylan is already looking for things to be upset

with you about. He might not even believe you, it sounds like.”

“He won’t,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes. “He trusts his brother more than

anything. A huge mistake, but he does it anyway. And he doesn’t trust me at all… at all.”

The pain shown in her face was too much for Greg; even though he wanted to help her,

he felt extremely uncomfortable. He wanted to leave, to just get up and walk away, to get

out of this situation that he hadn’t asked for nor expected. He didn’t know what he had

expected, but it wasn’t hearing tales of violence on this level. His stomach was a shaken

wasp’s nest of movement and his skin felt as though those wasps had taken to crawling

underneath.

He told her that he was not the right guy to be telling all of this to. That even

though he still cared about her—perhaps selfishly and a little too much—this was way

beyond anything he could give productive advice about. He suggested the police, priests,

her own parents, anyone who might know how to handle it, but each time she only shook

her head in a pained dismissal. He added, “They would probably all say the same thing:

go file a police report.”

The day’s light was waning, the autumn air more chilly with each passing

moment. Greg got out of his chair, the scraping noise of the iron against the cement a

welcome change from her silence. He strode over to Megan, wrapping his arms around

her and hoping she felt his genuine support. “I can’t stay any longer Megan, but keep me
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informed, okay?” He could see the hurt in his leaving her but he felt if he stayed he might

say or do something to make the situation worse. Turning to go, he felt her hand brush his

arm.

“Greg, are you busy later tonight? I could use some company. Just hanging out.”

Hanging out. Those two words were now to him like someone taking a cheese grater to

his fingertips. Greg turned to look at her, and saw the hopefulness in her eyes and in her

attempted smile. This was the Megan he remembered. The worst things could have

happened, and yet to her the best way to feel better from them was the “company” of a

man. He had to wonder what had been going on when it was he, five years previously,

who had been the accompaniment. Five years… all that time spent wishing, waiting, and

wanting.

“Not this time, Megan. Not this time. Try to talk to the cops or something, okay?

This needs to get resolved for you.” He didn’t saw any more, but simply walked to his car

and got inside. He didn’t look at her again until he had pulled up to the street, and could

see her in his rearview mirror. She hadn’t moved—she was still sitting there in the chair

with a look of stunned surprise on her face, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was

going to regret leaving her so vulnerable. The odds, from his own knowledge of her, were

she would go to someone else who would want to “offer comfort.” Would she be better

off with him?

Forcing his eyes away from the mirror, he pulled out into the street, taking one

last look as he sped away. He felt like just another car for her eyes on that busy road—

and she, still sitting.