Tiramisu

“Hey all, sorry I’m late. Tony had a ton of landscaping work lined up for us today. We did it as fast as we could,” I say, almost all true. There was some time at the end of the day where I just parked my truck on a quiet dead-end street a few blocks from the house and meditated. Today of all days I need to keep my thoughts centered, today I need nothing to remind me of my past, there are too many memories for days like this. “And, I had to stop and shower afterwards. You wouldn’t want me inside otherwise.”

“Agreed,” Angela starts, “I have no doubt you needed a shower.”

Immediately I walk to her mom and dad to greet them both. We live only a few miles from each other but I see them much less than her. I’m not actually sure they like me that much, especially her dad, after all I’m almost closer to his age than Angela’s.

“It’s good to see you Jay,” her mom says when she stands up from her chair to hug me.

“You as well Jennifer.” Then I walk to her father, he barely looks away from the news when he offers his hand. “Good to see you too sir.”

Looking up at me immediately, he says, “Jay, I’ve told you that you can call me Jack.”

I will when I think you actually like me, “Yes, of course.” It’s hard to be around them, they aren’t reminders of my other lives before Angela or anything. They’re just hard people for me to engage with.

“Hope you don’t mind, Dad asked to have Lasagna for dinner, it’s his favorite meal,” Angela informs me.

“Mind? Why would you mind?” Jack quickly asks me.

“Jay isn’t crazy about Italian food,” his daughter answers for me.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal, it’s not like I can’t eat it. Pasta, meat and cheese, what’s not to like,” I add. The true reason is far deeper, goes back to keeping my mind on the here and now.

“Oh me, where’s my manners. Jay, can I get you some wine?” Jennifer asks.

“Is it ok if I have a beer for now?”

“Sweety, you can have whatever you want,” Jennifer says.

“Beer now, wine with dinner,” I joke, and almost before I finish Angela already hands me a bottle of Miller. Not my normal beer, but I know it’s what her father drinks. Guess I should have gone with the wine.

“You better hurry and drink up, dinners ready in 10 minutes,” Angela tells me.

For the next ten minutes I engage in light conversation, discussing the news with Jack, and talking about tree pruning with Jennifer. She often asks me the same questions about her plants. I’ve offered to help her, but she always declines.

“Ok, dinners ready. Everyone grab a seat. Jay, sweety, can you pour everyone some wine?” Angela asks.

While I pour the wine, Jennifer tells Jack, “I picked out this wine just for you dear, it’s not too heavy and should pair well with the lasagna.”

Filling the four glasses emptied the already partially drained bottle. Picking up my stemless glass I place it to my lips for a first taste. Moments after it rolls across my tongue Angela asks, “What do you think of the wine?” The far too familiar question resonates in the back of my mind.

“It’s interesting, not sure how to describe it,” I say after swallowing. My words, the familiar phrase, echoing between my ears.

“It’s a pinot noir, it was described as having some oakiness,” Jennifer says… “and Jack doesn’t like the heavier reds.”

Soon a plate of lasagna and some Caesar salad are tossed in front of me. For the next twenty minutes I carefully poke at the food, eating it, trying not to enjoy it. Maybe the glass of wine was too much, I should have stayed with the beer. I’m finding it hard to stay in the present with each sip, with each bite. The dinner conversation slips away from me, mostly I’m focused on that dead end street from earlier, staring into a wooded area, the rocks, the grass.

“Ok. It’s time for dessert,” Jennifer's voice cuts through my thoughts. “And in honor of the Italian themed birthday I ordered something special. I had to decide between tiramisu or cannoli. So, I asked the pastry chef at the market which he would choose. He quickly said, ‘the tiramisu is my favorite’, so here it is. Does anyone need any coffee with it? Decaf perhaps?”

Immediately everything overwhelms me, a perfect storm created with tastes, comments, smells, and the all too painful fact that today… it’s my birthday too and no one knows, why would they, none of them know who I am.

I can feel it happening, a glimmer at the back of my mind, a faint whisper I’m rarely able to stop. This was a bad idea. Reaching down I pretend to look at my watch, and, with two clicks of its buttons, I start the timer. Two minutes, that’s what I have.

“Shit,” I say jumping up from the table. “I just remembered something I have to take care of.” I haven’t had to excuse myself this abruptly with Angela in probably four months. “I need to get to Tony’s before it’s too late.” As I talk, I’m already heading to the door, keys already dangling in me hand.

“Jay, what? Where are you going?” Angela cries out, “You’ll miss the dessert.”

“Sorry, bring me some, I’ll explain later,” my final words probably lost as the door shuts loudly behind me.

Quickly I get into my truck and drive, looking at my watch I still have a minute and thirty seconds. That was a fast exit and I’ll have a lot of explaining to do. There will be a lot more explaining if I can’t get somewhere and park fast. Turning the vehicle down a side street where I know there’s a parking lot nearby. No time to waste. I pull in and put the truck in park with only seconds to spare.

A moment later I’m plummeting through my creation, my accidental passageway that links me to my other lives, my other worlds. If only we hadn’t had Italian food, the wine, the tiramisu, it was all too much. A moment later I’m standing at the back of Grazie’s restaurant. The place Anna took me on our first date, the place that will have me being a bystander tonight, a voyeur a couple booths away vicariously living this moment again.

As always, I get here before they do and, even though the restaurant is busy, I know the back is still fairly open. The server, Derrick, just came on shift and he handles many of the tables back there. The smell of great Italian food permeates the place. Anna and I came here a couple times, if only I were hungry tonight, the lasagna here is delicious. And the special tonight is chorizo clams, something I fell in love with here. Either way, that’s not the part I’m here to play.

There's one good thing that comes from my “walks” I can think and be whatever I want. If I want to dwell on the past… the music I liked, the books I loved, the people I miss, or any memory from all my history… I can. During these journeys, I play a part, an actor fulfilling a roll, but they are usually me just being nearby, not participating. Tonight, no matter how hungry I might be, I can’t order anything other than the cannoli. That’s what me, or the person that was here, had that first night. Who knows, if I order the tiramisu maybe there won’t be enough left for the “birthday” couple. Though we did come here weeks later for my actual birthday, tonight she just wanted to pretend it was my birthday. When she did, the waiter offered us a dessert and, with his suggestion, we picked the tiramisu. Anna had fun with it, I had never done anything like it before, it was a strange feeling… a good feeling.

Though we were here on my real birthday as well, this is the time that I travel to most often, our first date. It was the day I fell for her, her wit, her charm, her way of being that comfortable sweatshirt or hat you choose over all others time and time again. She was my world, and I lost her, left her actually. Anna, my sweet Anna.

“Can I bring you something to start your evening off, some wine perhaps?” Derrick asks.

“Actually, I would like to start with a cup of Decaf, if that’s all right. And I’ve had dinner already, but I would like to order dessert in a little bit,” I tell him.

Nodding his head he responds, “of course sir, one cup of decaf, do you need any cream or sugar?”

“No thanks, black and bitter like my soul,” I say, it’s a phrase my father used to say, it reminds me of him and us. I’m here, it’s safe for me to think about these things tonight.

Immediately he looks at me, like he has done every time before, with a half-smile and a nod acknowledging he gets it. “Black it is sir, and hopefully some dessert in a bit will sweeten that soul of yours,” he quips back.

We tell the same two jokes every time. Is he also an actor playing a part in a twisted story of time? Or is this new to him each time? Interesting idea, what if I change the joke slightly, tell it a new way, will his response change or will he stick to his lines? The scientific part of my mind never fails to find tests and experiments to perform, but in the end, I know I should stay with the status quo. I’ve been the mad scientist, and the creature, in my own story too often. It’s time to just let everything be.

After a few minutes, the two come walking in, being led by the hostess. He, of course, has on that plaid fedora hat. The hat that found me, the hat I strangely leave for myself in one of my more paradoxical trips into my other life. It’s something I miss, the texture of the material on the brim always entranced me. I still get to wear it occasionally, when I’m “travelling”. Tonight, however, it’s not part of this role I play or this costume I wear.

“Are you ready for that dessert? Sweeten that soul a little?” Derrick asks me as they slide into their seats at their booth nearby.

I find myself staring at them more than usual, distracted by them, by us. It was a perfect start to something that could have been perfect. Though it was only a few months together, I like to think it would have gone well for us.

“Sir, Dessert?” Derrick says again.

“Oh, sorry, yes, the cannoli please.”

For the next forty minutes I watch and absorb the two falling in love. It’s always amazing to see the chemistry, especially from this vantage point. I can hear most of what they say, either way, I remember it from that night so long ago, like it was yesterday. Tonight, I play my part, but my part is simple, sit and sip my decaf coffee and order some cannoli.

My next half hour I was more distracted than usual. Instead of reciting their words in my head and reliving this moment, I have a problem to overcome. I need an excuse; I need to find the lie that will sooth Angela’s correctly placed anger. She will, without a doubt… and justifiably so, be pissed. 

“Sir, can I get you anything else?” Derrick asks.

“Just the bill,” I answer but I already know the total it’s $15.34.

“Certainly, be right back,” he responds.

Looking down at my watch I realize my time is about up, time to go home. Reaching in my pocket I pull out a twenty and leave it on the table. Sadly, I scoot out from my booth and walk to the front door. My sadness comes from my loss of this life, my loss of this relationship, all I can do now is revisit the too few memories I have from time to time.

Heading toward the front door, the exit, I pass a mirror, I’ve looked before, no need to look tonight. My whole life, all of this… is the plot to a movie, or a sci-fi book. It doesn’t make any sense and I don’t need to spend my time pondering it.

Outside, I walk around the corner, steep behind the dumpster, and only a couple seconds later I’m back in my truck.