Clarity

Chicken salad with dill, almonds and cranberries on sliced country white. Red onion and a whole pickle. Jalapeno potato chips. Ginger ale. The cashier bagged it all up, stuffed it with smallish napkins whose size he more than made up for with volume.

Ron thought about the slivered almonds and considered how nuts, fruit and poultry could work together, through mayo, to present a balanced summer meal - perfect for the office. There was a good chance that it was all a mistake with a story. A chef in some hotel dropped his dried fruit and nut mix into a bowl of leftover chicken scraps. Too tired from a full day in the kitchen to pick through it, he decided instead to bring it together and make something of it. Mayo.

Chicken salad wouldn't stink up the cubes beside him like tuna could. It wasn't ethnic - not like the halal lamb or chinese tofu - which he might've got had he turned left when stepping out for lunch, instead of right. The sandwich was thick with contents, teaming within its wax paper wrapping. Some of it might fall to the side, off the bread's bounds. With onions in the picture, it was best not to use his fingers to pick it up. Not when eating at his desk. He wouldn't touch his keyboard while eating with his hands. He decided these among other things. Anything, really, to keep his mind off home.

Walk Don't Ride

The clear, plastic garment bag from the dry cleaner's made complete sense. The laptop went in the briefcase along with the files, work blackberry and sales collateral so that wouldn't work. It would crush them, anyway. A Safeway bag for the Ferragamos wouldn't be right. And all that shoe polish just to scrape against the rough-nap of the cheap canvas company tote? No. The clear plastic garment bag knew how to sit against precious materials. Shoes would be a bigger assignment, but in its range so clearly, the garment bag made sense.

The Wolf

Ralph tried to just sit and listen to Seth, but knowing the truth made that impossible. In their weekly meetings, Ralph made a point of taking the more comfortable of the two chairs facing Seth's desk because he knew fidgeting and any unnecessary movement wasn't taken well in corporate settings.

He would clear his head of distracting thoughts five minutes before their scheduled meeting time as if to make mental space for whatever kernel of wisdom might emerge from their talk. He reminded himself that these meetings were no less of an interview than the ones he endured when applying for the position months ago.

He always had food in his stomach so to avoid any audible belly grumblings and he always checked his teeth and hair before stepping into Seth's office. He had his polite laugh calibrated to a plausible degree. He would cross his legs only after Seth did.

But driving home late last night and witnessing Seth leave a gay bar with a low slung baseball cap left Ralph in a persistent state of shock that today's meeting worsened. Seth's words did not register as any logical stream in Ralph's mind. He just fixed his eyes on the picture of Seth's wife and children hoping that Seth wouldn't catch on.

"Ralph, is everything ok?"

Hard Fall

He lumbered down the aisle, loosely grasping the handrails. He barely had a free hand between his cane and his shopping bag, making any effort at balancing himself a tortured exchange. As the bus kicked up and lurched uphill, he was thrown back, launching him into the direction he was going except he was facing the other way.

He fell hard on his back, his head smacking the bus's hard, black rubber floor. His grubby Vietnam Veteran cap landed on an old white woman with a tidy look. Everyone knew he would fall.

HE lay there for a second, prostrate but lucid. He didn't reach out first.

Fat Happy

It was always the second bite for Roger. The second bite was his sweet reminder that there is more to the meal and that there will be more just like that. Roger never ate anything that ended after two bites. So he took the second chomp out of his fourth pork Bahn Mi with his eyes on the third bite.

He considered seeing a doctor about his weight but thought the better of it after giving himself an honest assessment between bites. The doctor would just tell him that he needed to lose weight immediately. That he was morbidly obese or just near it. He would put Roger on an exercise regiment, recommend he see a nutritionist and maybe prescribe an appetite suppressor. Roger could do all this himself and save the co-pay.

But Roger knew that the difference between himself and other fat guys was that he didn't want to lose weight. He didn't want to stop eating his favorites to get healthy all so he can buy a whole new wardrobe and open himself to a new league of women. Roger preferred to stay fat, fuck ugly women and die sooner. An honest, satisfying, shorter - but not short - life. Roger was 55, after all. Anything beyond this was bonus.

So Roger came down hard on the last of his forth Bahn Mi and considered a fifth. He had it in him, but decided against. Instead the view from the window showed a McDonald's promotion; Big Mac. 2 for $4.00. Roger thought about it.

It Takes Two Tries

I didn't really need the volume at eight. It was only me in the room. But the song came on and as I turned the dial I saw a blue flash snap to my left. The light bent across the walls and my eyes fixed on it and I followed it until it disappeared as quickly as it came, on another wall in my room. My hand turned the dial to eight and it was too much at first. I brought it down to seven, then six. I couldn't deny how much worse it got with each decrease.

I raised it to eight and heard hidden voices and thumps coming from the same song. There was more to it at eight and I had no reason to be polite about it.

Soft No

She seemed off, somehow, like she didn't belong. She jabbed at her muffin, fiddling with the larger fruity chunks and crumbs, separating them from the sugar-topped nuggets, which she must've been avoiding for some dietary restriction or saving for later. Ethan gave her credit for choosing cranberry over blueberry. For him, that alone would've been enough. But it didn't hurt that she was the most beautiful girl he ever saw.

Despite her looks, she seemed humble, almost hiding her attributes. By Ethan's count, four men of varied ages stole a look, whether entering or exiting the cafe. She wore dark glasses and her hair covered much of her face, but somehow her posture gave her away. Her neck bent in a way that signaled elegance - an undeniable spectacle in this blunted collection of grungy, caffeinated students.

He had been sitting there for hours with his papers, but since she came in his ass filled with blood as if he was on foot and running. From the moment she entered, he couldn't balance a single equation - a function that came easily. He couldn't look anywhere but somewhere about her. What she wore, her exposed ankle. She was oblivious and yet in complete control of his focus.

Before he could explain, he was up and approaching her. His friends at the lab would never understand and, frankly, he didn't either. Somehow, approaching a woman with them watching demanded a greater courage. But these conditions seemed enough for what he was carrying that day. He never had a girlfriend and never hit on anyone, so he wasn't sure where this was coming from.

"Hi, I'm Ethan," he offered.

She didn't turn around. He considered repeating himself but louder, then she noticed him standing right in front of her, with his slightly hunch back, as if to impart deference. She removed her headphones.

"Hello. Hi," she said, giving a tight wave.

"Sorry, I'm Ethan...I was just wondering...wondering if you went to school here."

"I'm Ruth. I'm in the grad program." She pointed to the business school's main building.

"Oh, cool. Me too. But for a Biochem PhD."

"That's a pretty tough program."

"It can be, but I've been studying this stuff my whole life it seems, so I feel pretty comfortable with it. I guess it's fun for me."

"That's good to hear. There's nothing more depressing than paying thousands a year in a program you hate just to hide out from the real world."

"Yea. I know."

She smiled in agreement, nodding.

"Well, enjoy your muffin. It looks good."

"Thanks. It is, actually. You should get one."

"I think I will." Ethan pointed back to his table and waved bye as he shuffled back.

He logged back into his computer and re-arranged his papers thinking, "Is that what you're doing?" "Is that what you're doing?" He should has responded, "Is that what you're doing?" when she gave that line about hiding out from the real world. That question alone would've led to a life story, another five minutes of learning about Ruth. He could always learn the lesson immediately after his mistake. That trait always helped him as a student. He thought about where they could've gone had he asked the right question. In his world, they were sharing the muffin and trading sips from each other's hot drinks. They each had their headphones, listening to very different music. That night he held her breasts and licked them both, his saliva painting his cheeks. Months later they were on a beach. Alone. He could barely imagine himself intentionally shirtless before someone else, much less doing so to tan.

"Bye."

Ethan looked up to catch a gentle wave meant just for him. She said it softly, but loud enough for him to hear. She slung her bag over her shoulder, holding the coffee cup and she walked out.

"Ruth," he mouthed to himself. Still high from the exchange, his head went hot. She's not a Ruth, Ethan thought. The name was all wrong for him.