Mixing Work and Romance
Every muscle in my body had to be stopped, because no less massive a systemic shutdown seems to rouse Benjamin from his fearsome driving trance. Some people talk about white-knuckled driving, and that description is certainly apt in the case of Benjamin. In addition, he is red-jawed, tense-eyed, flutter-kneed, pale-cheeked and cold-nosed. Like a hyperactive puppy, too long out of the sun and staring at the bone he cannot bare to relinquish.
Also, he is driving.
“What now, Jay?” he addressed me.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Bollocks,” he said, calling me out in British.
“It's nothing.”
“You know the penalty for lying.”
“You know the state of my wallet.”
“I know you're pretty quick in the aisles of a Safeway, too.”
“Benjamin.”
“What'd I do this time?”
“Nothing.”
“You're sure?” He wants to know if I'm sure. “Am I driving too fast?”
“You didn't do anything.”
“Remember the rule about lying, man.”
I remember, and I'm not prepared to accept the consequences. “I'm not lying. It's me.”
“Better.” He's satisfied, but it's fleeting. Benjamin's hard glare loses focus, and he seizes on the next inquiry that slaps his gray-lobed brain. ”What'd you do?”
“I'm dating your coworker.” The confession feels good. Like blowing a brick house down.
“It's just us in here, man.”
“I know, man.”
“Heavy.”
“It's really eating at me, you know?” We both think about it. Hard. “It's harrowing,” I say.
He thinks about what to say, taking his time. Mulling it over. Mixing work and romance is always complicated, and this is no different.
“Are you gonna let yourself down easy?”
“I was hoping to do it with a text message, but I'm just not that kind of guy.”
“No, you're better than that.”
“Completely.” I'm glad he knows that about me.
“Do you need a minute alone?”
“Would you mind? The rest stop up there? They'll have a payphone.”
“I understand, man.” He pulls in, white knuckles going flesh-toned. “I could use some Twix, anyway.”
“Can I have one?”
“Sure.”
“A Twick.”
“A Twick?”
“I'm guessing.”
“Good guess.” The car sings a one note song, upset at my premature seatbelt loosening. “Hey, Jay?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry to hear about Jay, man.”
“Yeah, me too.” I'd probably tear up, but the stimulants dry me out. “But it's easier this way.”
“I hear you.”
Also, he is driving.
“What now, Jay?” he addressed me.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Bollocks,” he said, calling me out in British.
“It's nothing.”
“You know the penalty for lying.”
“You know the state of my wallet.”
“I know you're pretty quick in the aisles of a Safeway, too.”
“Benjamin.”
“What'd I do this time?”
“Nothing.”
“You're sure?” He wants to know if I'm sure. “Am I driving too fast?”
“You didn't do anything.”
“Remember the rule about lying, man.”
I remember, and I'm not prepared to accept the consequences. “I'm not lying. It's me.”
“Better.” He's satisfied, but it's fleeting. Benjamin's hard glare loses focus, and he seizes on the next inquiry that slaps his gray-lobed brain. ”What'd you do?”
“I'm dating your coworker.” The confession feels good. Like blowing a brick house down.
“It's just us in here, man.”
“I know, man.”
“Heavy.”
“It's really eating at me, you know?” We both think about it. Hard. “It's harrowing,” I say.
He thinks about what to say, taking his time. Mulling it over. Mixing work and romance is always complicated, and this is no different.
“Are you gonna let yourself down easy?”
“I was hoping to do it with a text message, but I'm just not that kind of guy.”
“No, you're better than that.”
“Completely.” I'm glad he knows that about me.
“Do you need a minute alone?”
“Would you mind? The rest stop up there? They'll have a payphone.”
“I understand, man.” He pulls in, white knuckles going flesh-toned. “I could use some Twix, anyway.”
“Can I have one?”
“Sure.”
“A Twick.”
“A Twick?”
“I'm guessing.”
“Good guess.” The car sings a one note song, upset at my premature seatbelt loosening. “Hey, Jay?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry to hear about Jay, man.”
“Yeah, me too.” I'd probably tear up, but the stimulants dry me out. “But it's easier this way.”
“I hear you.”
posted by Maximillian @ 11:09 PM
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