Noticing that
she did not want to open up about her problems, Renardo continued his apology
(which he had practiced at home, to some degree): “You know, what made the
entire situation worse the other day was that I left without getting your
name. And I didn’t give you mine.” He extended his arm across the table. “I’m Renardo.”
She took his
hand, and he marveled at the coldness, frailty, and subtle strength that were
transmitted to him in such a simple gesture.
“I’m Corinne. It’s nice to meet
you, Renardo.”
A waiter came to
their table, and they both ordered a French Vanilla coffee. As she ordered hers, Renardo flashed her a
thumbs-up. The waiter took their menus
and walked into the kitchen.
“So, Corinne,
huh?” said Renardo. “That’s a really
nice name. You don’t hear that too
often.”
“Yeah, I
suppose,” she answered, “but I’d have to say that Renardo is probably
rarer. You’re the first I’ve ever met
with that name. Is it Italian?”
“I don’t know if
it’s only Italian, but it is in my
case. I’m half-Italian, and my other
half is like a billion other things.”
“So is your mom,
or your dad Italian?”
He looked toward
the table and shrugged, then mumbled something under his breath. “Um…what about you? I can’t even begin to
guess what you are.”
“As far as I
know, I’m British and Irish. Clearly,
I’m a few generations removed from those countries. I don’t even have a hint of an accent, as you
can see. My grandfather does, and my
parents have a tinge of their respective accents.”
“I see,” Renardo
remarked.
“Yep.” The young
lady began to fiddle with a ring on one of her fingers, and her countenance
grew contemplative. She gazed down at
the table.
“Corinne, you
doing ok?”
Her eyes
returned to him. “Um, yes. Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. I’m normally quite talkative, and I
apologize.” She took a deep breath.
“Hey, do you mind telling me what your connection was to that guy you
call ‘Mustache Man’? If it’s too personal, that’s fine. I’m just curious as to how someone managed to
get you so terrified, you ran out of the shop.”
“I wasn’t terrified,” Renardo retorted, somewhat
offended. “I was anxious.”
“You were
anxious before you jumped up and fled
like the place was on fire,” she pointed out as the waiter returned and set
down their cups of coffee. She grabbed
the cup as if she were about to drink from it, but then she seemed to
reconsider and placed it back on the wooden surface. “I don’t think a little anxiety would cause
such a response.”
“I didn’t flee,” Renardo answered, now
annoyed. “I vacated the premises quickly
because I was anxious.”
“Isn’t that
fleeing?”
“No, fleeing is
vacating an area because you are terrified.”
“But you were terrified.”
“Woman!” Renardo
shouted, officially frustrated and amused.
He seized his cup and slurped down half of the piping hot liquid. “Ok, I was a little scared, I’ll admit. But I wasn’t terrified!”
“Ok, that’s
fair,” said Corinne. “Then let me
rephrase my earlier statement: I’m curious as to how that man managed to scare
you so much, you ran out of the shop.”
“Ugh.” The young
man snarled playfully at her and started tracing circles around the rim of his
cup. “Well, if you must know, I used to
go to school with him. Now this story
goes way back to second grade, so bear with me.
He was a weird kid. He was always
hanging out by himself in second grade, and he had the strangest haircut. It was like a mullet, but the back of the
mullet wasn’t there, and instead there was a long ponytail. But I’ll tell you this much: you did not want to tell the kid that he had a
ponytail. When anyone says ‘ponytail’ in
elementary school, everyone thinks it’s a girly thing. So when I walked up to him with some of my
popular friends one day, and told him sarcastically that he had a nice
ponytail, I knew what I was doing. And
to our pleasure, the kid began to cry, and he ran away from us. I thought that was the end of it, and that he
would just forget, as I’m sure I would.
But it was just the beginning.
“In high school,
I had a system. I would go to my first
and second class of the day, make a trip to the bathroom, go to my next couple
classes, go to lunch, go to my next class, make another trip to the bathroom,
and then go to my final class.
Apparently, the kid who became Mustache Man knew my system as well as I
did. One day in my freshman year, after
my second class of the day, he and a couple friends followed me into the bathroom,
and his two friends held me against the wall in one of the stalls. And you know what the kid did then? He takes
out this electric shaver, orders his friends to hold my head over the toilet,
and shaves all of my hair off. Now you
know how it is in high school. Most
people try as hard as they can to look attractive, and there is always a
hairstyle deemed more attractive than others.
Well, baldness just so happened to be one of the least favored looks at
my school. And that kid, he knew
it. So he shaves off all my hair, yells,
“Nice hair, baldy!” and runs out of the bathroom with his friends. Too embarrassed to go to the rest of my
classes, I stayed in the bathroom all day, and didn’t leave until thirty minutes
after school ended.
“He left me alone
after that day. I suppose he decided
that he had finally gotten vengeance for me and my friends being mean to him in
second grade. But what he did
traumatized me. After high school ended,
I started forgetting about the whole situation.
Then I saw the guy in this very diner the other day, and all my fears
came back. Until that day, he was just a
memory, and all the fears I used to associate with him had gone away. But they returned to me when I saw him
sitting there smugly, with a full mustache stretching above his lips. I thought he might look over at me and start
teasing me, or worse.”
“Wow, what a
story,” Corinne said, laughing. “So guys
really do bully each other like that? I just thought those kinds of stories
were exaggerations!”
“Oh no, things
like that definitely happen,” Renardo chuckled.
“My friend, Nate, and I retell the story nearly every time we hang out
and reminisce about the ‘good old days.’ Nate was actually one of the friends
who were with me when we made fun of that kid back in second grade. You should meet him; he’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, that
would be fun,” Corinne replied, still laughing.
“I’m so glad I’m not drinking this coffee right now, because it would be
coming out of my nose. I just keep
picturing these burly guys pushing your head toward a toilet and shaving off
your hair. Oh, that’s too funny!”
“Whatever you
say, you bully,” Renardo joined in.
“Oh wow, that’s
great.” Corinne shook her head, and Renardo grinned when he noticed that her
face was nearly as red as her hair. “You
must have seriously loved your hair to still have such deep fears associated
with that guy.”
“I did love my
hair, and I still do.” He brushed the fine, golden strands of his hair to the
left.
“Yes, Renardo,
it’s very nice.” Corinne looked at her full cup of coffee, and then at the
window behind her new friend. “Oh, well,
as warm and comfy as it is in here, I’d really like to get some fresh air. Would you like to walk with me for a little
while?”
“It would be an
honor, milady,” Renardo replied with a polite bow of his head. He chugged the remainder of his coffee and
patted his pockets for his wallet. “Just
allow me to pay for us, and we can be on our way.”
“No, no,”
Corinne objected. “You paid for us the
other day, so I should do it this time.”
“Well, I want to
be a gentleman, if that’s alright.”
“And I want to
be a gentlewoman. Why does that sound so weird?”
“Because no one
says it, just like no one ever says ‘by gum’ except me. See, we have a lot in common.”
Corinne’s eyes
met with his, and she smirked. Then she
fished out a wallet from her purse and pulled out a few bills. Soon they received their check and, after she
had paid and acquired a paper coffee cup in which she poured the contents of
her porcelain cup, they left the diner together and walked south. They
went this way for a few minutes, commenting on some of the overpriced items
displayed in windows of the scattered shops, and rubbing their arms whenever
they remembered the biting cold. Then
they made west, though perhaps they did not know it as they discussed
everything from the weather, to movies, to philosophical ideas and age-old
debates. The traffic had lessened
slightly since Renardo had walked through downtown Sacramento earlier; now the
streets were littered with drivers who drove around blocks repeatedly in an
attempt to find a parking spot. Visitors
walked along the sidewalks, looking here and there with wide eyes, as if they
had entered the largest city on earth.
Every half mile or so there was some kind of construction going on:
workers coned off and repaired roads, added small structures to business
properties, and restored depreciated regions of the city.
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