The Dangling Conversation

Andrea pursed her lips thoughtfully. She couldn’t say what she wanted without sparking an uncomfortable conversation, so she opted for a halfway step.

“So…George seems like a unique individual.”

Elizabeth glanced up from her flower arranging, and then back down, distracted by the carefully neutral tone. Should she object to the absence of hostility or just take it as a sign? Maybe a tentative olive branch. She took one carnation out of the arrangement, and then put it back into the vase. Such an ugly flower, but so cheap. No wonder restaurants used them so often.

“Most people think that George does leave an impression.” Elizabeth smiled internally - most people tried to ignore George or avoid him.

There were no other patrons within sight at the restaurant, so Elizabeth’s nervous tic with flower arranging went unnoticed. It was odd that every time they made plans to meet up, one or both of them cancelled at least four times before the meeting, and people drifted away from their presence at every restaurant they chose – a habit of eerie disappearance.

Even their waiter seemed reluctant to serve them. This particular member of waitstaff had acted like he couldn’t bear to hand them menus or fill their water glasses. Possibly his name was George as well. Maybe he was insulted at the hinted aspersions cast on his person. Maybe he just had better things to do than wait on two ladies uncomfortable in open spaces.

Andrea leaned forward, and then back. Forward, then back. Not with any particular speed, just with focused intent, staring at the wall. Elizabeth didn’t notice, because she was busy with the half-melted candle, swirling it on the tip of her knife until a large glob formed. She touched the water glasses with the glob, and then jabbed it back into the bottom of the candle well.

The waiter, hovering just out of view, bravely slid forward and placed a new water glass on a corner of the table. He left the used glass where it was, sticky with bits of wax residue.Amused, Elizabeth thought that he ought to have a puff of dust following him, since he looked like the roadrunner escaping the coyote.

“Does anyone get to see George during the day?” Andrea’s tone was again carefully neutral tone, but this effort seemed more forced.

Elizabeth looked up from the slightly wilted flower and the gouged candle, and widened her lips while flattening them. It looked like a smile, but the eyes remained at the same level of piercing glacial blue.

Andrea hurried to fill the conversational gap, but Elizabeth tried not to notice that she was picking up speed in leaning forward and back. She ducked her head, murmuring, “I just wondered if maybe George needs groceries, or anything.”

“That’s kind of you to offer.” Elizabeth offered this in a monotone, flat affect. She stared ahead. The food lay untouched on the plates before them, congealing in pools of butter. The restaurant was known for its French cuisine; the chef believed in the old methods of preparation, free of caloric guilt.

The candles flickered. A minute passed. Andrea kept rocking back and forth, with no sound issuing other than the persistent squeak of her chair that kept time with the persistent squeak ofthe slowly revolving fans overhead. Elizabeth felt that she could hear dust motes moving underneath. She held her breath and let it out slowly, just like the therapist had taught her years ago.

“How did we get here?” Squeak, squeak.

Elizabeth let out another repressed breath, slowly. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Do we see each other during the day?” Andrea was apparently in a questioning mood.

This time, Elizabeth’s blue eyes smiled along with her lips. “Yes, of course. We used to work together. No one else really understood our jokes, so we had to stop meeting for lunch because it made them all uncomfortable.”

Andrea looked down at her feet, and rearranged their positions. “Kind of like George. He makes people uncomfortable, doesn’t he?”

Elizabeth stared. Andrea wasn’t usually this direct. A very shy and retiring brunette, she preferred to dance around topics and stick to what was safe. This was a completely different direction, and not wholly welcome.

Their friendship had bloomed out of common experience and shared disgust at office politics. Elizabeth had often wondered why her officemates had continually acted as though Andrea didn’t belong in her cubicle, and Andrea had a habit of disappearing when she sensed a looming conflict.

There had been a few uncomfortable conversations with the HR Director prodding Elizabeth about taking her medication and scheduling appointments with her psychiatrist. Elizabeth preferred to call her a ‘therapist’ because everyone acted like just seeing a psychiatrist meant you had some severe imbalance. Andrea hadn’t appeared until after the dust had cleared, and she’d good-naturedly allowed Elizabeth to chaff her gently about taking the heat all on her own without support.

“Andrea, are you trying to tell me something about George? That’s he’s a she, or he started life as a vampire?” Elizabeth kept her tone light, but she felt her body tense under the red checkered table and her foot kept knocking into the wooden stretcher. Such an odd name for a bit of support that kept the table from falling over.

Andrea stopped rocking. “No, he’s not a vampire.” She stared ahead. “But there is something wrong with him.”

Elizabeth snorted. Dust motes scuttled off into the distance. “I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with you.” She smiled to take the sting out of the statement, and tried to feel something more positive than annoyance. What a way to celebrate their ten-year anniversary of meeting at the cubicle farm that had taken their youth and turned it into life experience.

Andrea sighed. “Maybe everything is wrong with me. You ever feel that way? You always seem so confident, like you have all the answers. But look around. There’s no one here. Don’t you see a pattern here?”

Elizabeth frowned. Her psychiatrist had used that phrase last week. It seemed eerily familiar. And it’s true, she had gotten used to sitting in restaurants alone. Andrea and George were her only real friends, and Andrea had gotten weirdness vibes from a chance encounter with George. Really, she’d reported seeing him sitting sideways at a semi-abandoned café, an owl watching him from a pine tree hanging drunkenly over the end table, and concluded that he was … well, what was he?

George was certainly an odd duck. His clothing was eccentric and erratic, so it wasn’t surprising when he complained about people assuming he was homeless. His hygiene left a lot to be desired, so Elizabeth had never seen anyone voluntarily approaching him. They generally ignored him out of existence, which was a little frustrating. But she couldn’t agree with Andrea’s assessment, either the vampire vibes or the owl as harbinger of doom. It was the night of a full moon, and weird things always happened on full moon nights.

Suddenly, Elizabeth made a decision. “Listen, I’m glad we finally got together. But it’s time I went home. Cat needs fed, fish need flakes, garden won’t tend itself. You know.”

Andrea sighed. “Yes, I know.” Her tone held resignation. They weren’t going to lay all their cards on the table. What was unsaid would remain unsaid.

The waiter approached, muttering something about a styrofoam container for leftovers, but Elizabeth just indicated a desire for the bill. She paid it painstakingly in small bills, even leaving a tip, though she privately thought that he’d earned nothing for hovering and disappearing. The leftovers weren’t appetizing enough to bring home.

The waiter watched her solitary figure in the large antique bar mirror, moving slowly. The customer had paid, which did her credit. But the whole time he’d watched her playing with the flower and then with the wax candle, she’d offered gestures and facial expressions to the chair across from her, like she was acting out a one-man play.

But where was her audience?

He sighed and went back to clearing tables. One more mystery left unsolved in the big city.