staring.
“Why do you always go off in thought randomly?” Was he talking to me? Yes, he was.
I met his eyes, and said sheepishly, “I don’t know. I can’t help it. I just do.”
Grant nodded. “She does. It’s weird. She’s either daydreaming or running off when she’s uncomfortable. That’s Shay.”
Thad nodded his head once as if taking it all in. I thought I heard him mutter something under his breath. What was that all about? Then, I remembered what I’d been daydreaming about when he asked. Did he realize that?
On a drunken roll, Melissa started asking others about their own bad relationships. When it was Thad’s turn, “uncomfortable” didn’t seem to adequately describe how he looked. He was as uncomfortable as a whore in church on Easter. Finally, he choked out, “I was engaged once. It was a bad idea. It ended badly.”
No one spoke because it was quite obvious that he didn’t want to elaborate. I nodded as if I understood completely, though I didn’t understand it at all. Did he break it off? Did she? If she did, did he still care? If he did it, why?
The conversation carried on. Thad was an only child, too. He never knew his dad, who left his mom when he found out she was pregnant with Thad. I could tell that made him uncomfortable, too. He didn’t like to talk about certain things. He did say that he’d been raised by his mom, who was some sort of “community activist”, while his biggest influence was his grandfather, a carpenter.
The subject turned to hobbies and, after everyone else contributed, Thad began telling us all about some wood-working projects he was working on. He was more comfortable with this subject.
I couldn’t stop myself again. “That explains the hands.”
Everyone turned toward me and I realized I’d said that out loud. I stammered, “I mean, when I shook your hand once, it felt rough, so I knew you did some sort of manual labor. That’s why I thought you were doing manual labor for Dean Sullivan that day.”
As my words dawned on him, he grinned broadly. “I remember. So you thought I was the Dean’s landscaper or something?” He chuckled.
Everyone was now staring between us and I realized that this private conversation had gone very public. I should explain.
“I met Thad at Keno’s on the day of his interview with the Dean. She told me she was interviewing him for a ‘job’, and when I shook his hand, I just assumed he was some sort of laborer. I totally stereotyped him as a blue collar guy. Not my best moment.”
With that explanation of how we had “met”, everyone seemed appeased. I didn’t add that I’d first stereotyped him at the gas station where we really met, of course.
Thad sat down his beer. He turned toward the group, smiling. “The waitress had spilled beer down Shay’s shirt. Shay was so uncomfortable. The whole moment was ridiculous…..but memorable.” His eyes met mine again and something passed between us. I looked away quickly.
Everyone laughed at the story. Paul’s beers had obviously kicked in. “Man, I’d love to have seen the wet t-shirt, though.”
The table went silent. Thad, who was sitting across from Paul, gave him a glare. “Not appropriate, man.”
Paul mumbled an apology. I brushed it all off as no big deal. You gotta pick your battles. Girls deal with that type of stuff all the time. Over the years, you try to recognize which types of comments are benign and which ones are red flags indicating danger. Paul was a drunken fool, but I found him harmless.
Grant directed the conversation back to Thad’s carpentry.
“Well, I told you how my mom’s dad was a carpenter. He taught me everything I know about the trade when I was young. From the time I was sixteen, I’ve spent my summers and a lot of my weekends building something. It makes me feel useful.” He
“Why do you always go off in thought randomly?” Was he talking to me? Yes, he was.
I met his eyes, and said sheepishly, “I don’t know. I can’t help it. I just do.”
Grant nodded. “She does. It’s weird. She’s either daydreaming or running off when she’s uncomfortable. That’s Shay.”
Thad nodded his head once as if taking it all in. I thought I heard him mutter something under his breath. What was that all about? Then, I remembered what I’d been daydreaming about when he asked. Did he realize that?
On a drunken roll, Melissa started asking others about their own bad relationships. When it was Thad’s turn, “uncomfortable” didn’t seem to adequately describe how he looked. He was as uncomfortable as a whore in church on Easter. Finally, he choked out, “I was engaged once. It was a bad idea. It ended badly.”
No one spoke because it was quite obvious that he didn’t want to elaborate. I nodded as if I understood completely, though I didn’t understand it at all. Did he break it off? Did she? If she did, did he still care? If he did it, why?
The conversation carried on. Thad was an only child, too. He never knew his dad, who left his mom when he found out she was pregnant with Thad. I could tell that made him uncomfortable, too. He didn’t like to talk about certain things. He did say that he’d been raised by his mom, who was some sort of “community activist”, while his biggest influence was his grandfather, a carpenter.
The subject turned to hobbies and, after everyone else contributed, Thad began telling us all about some wood-working projects he was working on. He was more comfortable with this subject.
I couldn’t stop myself again. “That explains the hands.”
Everyone turned toward me and I realized I’d said that out loud. I stammered, “I mean, when I shook your hand once, it felt rough, so I knew you did some sort of manual labor. That’s why I thought you were doing manual labor for Dean Sullivan that day.”
As my words dawned on him, he grinned broadly. “I remember. So you thought I was the Dean’s landscaper or something?” He chuckled.
Everyone was now staring between us and I realized that this private conversation had gone very public. I should explain.
“I met Thad at Keno’s on the day of his interview with the Dean. She told me she was interviewing him for a ‘job’, and when I shook his hand, I just assumed he was some sort of laborer. I totally stereotyped him as a blue collar guy. Not my best moment.”
With that explanation of how we had “met”, everyone seemed appeased. I didn’t add that I’d first stereotyped him at the gas station where we really met, of course.
Thad sat down his beer. He turned toward the group, smiling. “The waitress had spilled beer down Shay’s shirt. Shay was so uncomfortable. The whole moment was ridiculous…..but memorable.” His eyes met mine again and something passed between us. I looked away quickly.
Everyone laughed at the story. Paul’s beers had obviously kicked in. “Man, I’d love to have seen the wet t-shirt, though.”
The table went silent. Thad, who was sitting across from Paul, gave him a glare. “Not appropriate, man.”
Paul mumbled an apology. I brushed it all off as no big deal. You gotta pick your battles. Girls deal with that type of stuff all the time. Over the years, you try to recognize which types of comments are benign and which ones are red flags indicating danger. Paul was a drunken fool, but I found him harmless.
Grant directed the conversation back to Thad’s carpentry.
“Well, I told you how my mom’s dad was a carpenter. He taught me everything I know about the trade when I was young. From the time I was sixteen, I’ve spent my summers and a lot of my weekends building something. It makes me feel useful.” He
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