Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

This afternoon—

Yes, what this afternoon? What?

Just a second. This afternoon I, uh — let me see; it started like this.

Like what?

Let me think. That’s right. I was out walking and—

So what happened when you were out walking?

Give me a chance. I’m telling it. You keep butting in.

Butting in how?

Like that? Like saying “Butting in how?” Like saying “Like what?” Like saying “Yes, uh, what this afternoon? Um, well, tell me, come on, what happened, don’t hold it in, what, what, what?”

I don’t remember saying the last of those things. The “Like what?” and maybe some of what went before it, I admit to saying, but not that “Um, uh, well, what, what” stuff.

I was exaggerating. For effect. To show how much you butt in. But you don’t expect me to remember everything you said all those times you butted in.

No, I don’t. That’s true. But go on. Where were you? Something about the other day—

This afternoon.

Right. Doing your three-mile daily run.

Walking. I said I was out walking. And I don’t run that far anymore. Six miles a week total. Mile a day. Sunday I take off.

How come? You used to do three to six miles a day without taking a single day off.

I’m getting up there in years, man, what do you think?

That shouldn’t stop you. Look at those guys who are fifty-five, sixty-five, even seventy-five. The women too. Let’s not forget the ladies. One’s around eighty. I see her lots of times when I’m in the park. Running. Well: walking-running. Maybe not even that. Maybe only walking fast, if that. But going. Arms pumping. And not walking a little faster than normal just to look at the birdies and trees. She’s out there for good healthy exercise, and has the exercise suit to go with it: light blue with a white stripe down the jacket arms and trouser legs, and a sweatband around her forehead. Eighty, if a day.

You want me to go on or not?

About what you were saying before? Sure, why not?

Because suddenly you’re telling a story about a running-walking woman in a blue and white exercise suit. Really, who cares?

And who cares about your story, if you want to know?

You did, it seemed. I came home, you said “What’d you do today?” and I started to tell you, and probably would have been finished by now if I didn’t have this slight speech problem which—

And what’s that, by the way?

My speech problem which enables you to butt in.

I meant, what exactly is this speech problem you say you have?

You’re saying you don’t know by now?

Would I have asked if I did?

Yes, you would have. To distract me. To butt in again. Because you know what speech problem I have. My problem with speech. I go “Uh, um, what, oh, this afternoon I was, well, uh, walking”—like that.

You’re not doing it now. I mean, you were in imitation of yourself, and before that in your exaggeration of me. But just now you spoke clearly, precisely, uninterrupted — by me or yourself — and articulately. Definitely articulately. For example, the way you said “Yes, you would. To distract me. To butt in again. You know what speech problem I have. My problem with speech.” I think those were your words, minus or plus one or two. And amazing how I remembered them, no?

They sound like the words I used. And you’re right: I did speak clearly then. But that’s my point. Which is—

What?

Will you let me finish without any more “Whats”?

Okay, what? I’m sorry — I mean, what? Damn, I can’t help myself. I’ll be quiet. I will. So, speak. Go on. Oh, God. I’m really impossible.

You’re intentional, not impossible. You were having fun on me, intentionally, or making a joke of me. But something. What were you doing, and why? Don’t answer that. Two questions? I’ll be here all night. Let me just finish my story. Then, if you wish, we can talk about other things.

Is that what you really want?

Yes.

Then go ahead. Your story. I’ll just listen. But let me find a good place to sit first. I don’t think I can stand another second. I know I can’t. It’s been, well — if I say it’s been some day, and emphasize the some, you’ll know what I mean. That’s the kind of day it’s been.

I see.

An incredible day. Unbelievable. First I get lip from the chief exec; then, from the one right under him. Then another exec comes in, not as big as the first two, and gives me lip, and all for different things. Three lips in a row and the day isn’t even an hour old. That’s a record for me. For all I know, maybe a record for all working mankind for the first hour of a working day. Then I get a phone call. Who do you think?

Let me guess.

Ross. Ross wants this, Ross wants that. Ross says I didn’t do it right yesterday and to do it right today. Ross lets me have it. Ross, if you want my opinion, is a louse.

If you say so.

I’m definitely saying so and have said it, and not just today have I said it, because not just today has he been a louse. He’s almost always a louse. Or close to being almost always a louse as any person could be. Ross, in other words, is an A-1 louse. Then I get another call.

Don’t tell me who from.

You’re right the first time. Benjamin. Benjamin also with the barbs and complaints. Not as much of a louse as Ross, but he’s closing in. In a year or so he’ll be solid competition against Ross for louse-of-the-year award. In ten years, the way he’s going, and the way I know Ross will stay or even get worse, they’ll be the sole competitors for louse-of-the-century award, or at least the decade. Yes, the decade. Louse of the decade. So far, Ross had that prize wrapped up, but Benjamin could give him a run for it. An A-2 louse, Benjamin is, know what I mean?

One and two. Ross is one, Benjamin is two.

Right. A-2 louse. He said to me “Remember last week?” I said “Last week?” He said “Yeah, you know, don’t kid me: last week. I wish I could forget last week also,” he said, “forever, because you really cost us, kid, you really did. Don’t do it again, damnit — don’t,” and he hung up. I’m in big trouble with the company; big, big trouble.

Sounds like it.

Three of the top hotshots and two of their underlings, all down my bed? But that’s not even half of it. Or it is half, but there’s plenty more. I go out for lunch today and who do you think I see?

Um—

You got it. The one and only. And oh, still so goddamn beautiful. I died when I saw her — a hundred times. She walked right past me. Didn’t say hi — not a peep. Didn’t say zero or even look at me — nothing.

She must have it in for you.

She hates my guts. It’s been how long now? — and it’s interesting when you think how different our feelings are for each other. Love and hate. Love and hate. If a cup of hot coffee had been near her, she would have dumped it on me and then hit me over the head with the cup. A mug? Even better, because it would have been heavier. Good thing I was standing by the entrance when she passed, away from any food. Know why she feels this way about me?

No, why?

Because — Haven’t I told you before?

Come to think of it—

Because of everything, that’s why. Everything I did and she didn’t and the other way around. Everything I said and she didn’t and the other way around. That last week we had. That last month and maybe that entire last year too. I thought she’d get over it. Well, it’s obvious she didn’t. What could be more obvious, am I right?

From everything you’ve said—

So that’s lunch. But it’s not over. I haven’t even sat down yet. We’re still waiting for a table, Hesh and I. Then it’s our turn, the woman who seats the customers says. Maitre d’? Nah, place isn’t fancy enough for that. Hostess or host. She points to our table. We start for it when a waiter comes tearing down the aisle shouting “Hot soup, hot soup.” I don’t know about you, but to me that had always meant “I got food of any sort on my tray or in my hands and I’m in a rush because I’ve too many tables to serve or this one customer’s been kvetching like mad that my service is too slow, so let me by fast,” or something like that. Not necessarily hot soup, is what I mean, right? A warning for people to get out of the way. A blinking red light for them to stand back if they’re going to cross his path. A verbal word to the wise to “Watch out, I’m barreling through and nothing’s going to stop me, so if you get hit it’s your own damn fault.” So we step aside. The expression’s always meant the same to you, hasn’t it?