in a bleak, helpless sky, i saw the sun rise
His white and receding hairline curls away from his sun-reddened forehead as if in fear of coming into contact with the flaming skin. I read the standard red-cursive name label on his blue work shirt: Emmett. I am momentarily afraid: a subconscious reaction to his unsteady grin, his bug-eyes, and his unfortunate lopsided walk."Amy here?" he asks, leaning heavily against the checkout counter. "Nope. Maybe later this afternoon." We speak in sentences that might be short, might be clipped, but for our southern drawls. Mine, incidentally, becomes far more pronounced at work. He-ey, how yoo doin?
His vacantly cheerful expression is unaffected by my reply. "I loaned her a DVD and CD. Thought I might get 'em back." I nod and say "Mmm" to show my understanding of this unfortunate situation. This noise can replace almost any word in almost any conversation and therefore I have long since mastered its swift and smooth production. There are hours and sometimes even days when I will go to great lengths to avoid using actual words, for whatever reason. Usually for no reason.
"Nice store ya'll got here."
"Mmm. Yes. Thanks."
His gaze pans around the store, absorbing the brightly colored books, magnets, rolls of Scotch tape, posters... millions of objects that might be considered practically unrelated outside of the teaching profession.
"I wash windows," he says. "Been washin 'em here for 13 years." His eyes take a glance at mine to judge my reaction.
"Mmm." I attempt to keep my face neutral, because that's about how I feel, but I have no way of knowing if this is accomplished. Am I supposed to show surprise? Dismay? Pity? Jealousy? I do not have a clue what he expects to find in my expression.
We are silent for a moment and I find it even more uncomfortable than the one-sided conversation. I search for words that could potentially add to this dialogue. So, how'd you get into the window washing business? Clean any really dirty windows lately? What kind of cleaner is best on glass? I feel idiotic just thinking these things, and I wisely remain silent, leaving him in the leading role. He picks back up before long.
"Got a sale goin, huh?"
"Yep." I tell him that it doesn't actually start until Monday, and then I detail it for him. This is familiar territory. I tell this to pretty much everyone who comes in the store. The information is prepackaged and ready to be dispensed at this point. But either he isn't listening to what I'm saying or he just doesn't comprehend it.
"So the sale's goin well, huh?"
What do you say? Do you start all over with your explanation, thinking you made the mistake? I don't want to patronize him. I don't want to embarrass myself, either. I just nod and smile and say, "Mmm."
He walks outside and I'm momentarily relieved. It is an awkward conversation, at least for me, and I'm ready to end it. I perch upon the tall gray swivel chair and cross my legs. Through the glass storefront, I can see that he hasn't left at all. Instead, he's browsing the tables labeled "Sidewalk Sale 75% Off" that Marcia, Amy, and I drag outside every morning and back inside every evening. Usually, one or more of the tables collapses mid-carry and I wind up with bruised feet and ankles where they fall on me. My feelings towards the sidewalk sale are somewhat negative, to say the least. But by now I know the contents of the tables fairly intimately, and I'm confident that there is nothing on them that would interest an aging window washer. I expect him to glance at the items disinterestedly before moving on. His glancing, however, appears to contain quite a bit of interest.
Two or three minutes later he's back in the store with a t-shirt in hand. He gives me an almost proud smile as he lays it on the counter. I look down at the shirt. It is decorated with a picture of bunnies on a playground and says something like "Running a daycare is a hare-raising job!" Miraculously, I do not laugh. I say, "What a cute shirt!" with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and I smile with my lips pressed tight to keep the rising giggles from exploding in his face.
He agrees, and his enthusiasm is clearly honest. He talks for at least five minutes about how much he likes the shirt, how he has no affiliation whatsoever with any daycare except he drops his dog off at a doggy daycare, how he buys stuff from Amy's store all the time and keeps it in his office even though he isn't a teacher, etc etc. I make my invaluable noise at appropriate places in the conversation and continue to smile. It is about as friendly as I can manage at 1:45 in the afternoon with no food inside of me, 4 hours of work behind me and 3 more to go, in the face of this bewildering man.
Eventually he allows me to ring up the sale, eventually he stops chatting long enough to pay me (he tells me he doesn't need a receipt; "No way I'll be returnin this shirt!"), and eventually he moves away towards the door. I glance at the clock and judge that my pizza is about 15 minutes from arrival. My stomach makes a noise similar to the sound, "Mmm."
Emmett pauses at the door and leans against the half wall around the window displays. He peers into the display. Don't start talking again, please don't start talking again.
"Would ya look at that poster!" he laughs, and then quotes, "'Being different can be GOOD!'" The poster has pictures of oranges all over it. One of the oranges is "different" from the others. He talks for another several minutes about the poster and the window display in general. No response is even necessary from me at this point.
Finally he puts one hand against the door and with the other fumbles for his sunglasses. As he slides the glasses onto his face and begins to open the door, I call after him, "Have a nice day!"
He turns, looks at me. Gives me a vacant smile.
"Yup, it sure is a hot day! Oooh boy is it hot!" He shakes his head good-naturedly and wanders out into the heat. As I watch his lopsided walk carry him across the parking lot, I wonder if he ever even saw me. I wonder if I entered his consciousness at all.
Moments later, one of the best pizzas I have ever had the pleasure of eating was handed to me across the blue counter.
Goodbye, Emmett.
Hello, Dominoes.
posted by Anonymous @ 4:56 PM
