1955- November

The trickling cold splashed Garrett's nose, waking him.

From the ceiling above, water droplets formed and fell. Another busted pipe from upstairs. He made a mental note to inform the landlady, not that she would do much.

Garrett wiped the dingy water from his face and rose from the bed. Coils squealed in protest. His feet swiped at the floor, searching for his slippers. His big toe bumped the terry cloth shoes, and he slipped them on.

Before anything else, he raised his hands above his head. Reach for the stars.

Then, he stood and touched his toes.

Raise the bar.

Mama had sayings to start the day.

At the stove, he placed the pan of water over tentative flames. On the small square window overlooking the sink, he admired Rose. She was a hearty plant, his oldest. Her waxy emerald leaves greeted him each morning. Garrett dipped an index finger into the dirt. Dry. He poured water into the dirt bed, lovingly patting the blue clay pot.

The water bubbled, and he knew he had two minutes. He hopped into the coveralls and laced up his boots. By now, the water positively boiled.

Smiling, he bounced to the cabinets, taking out the instant coffee mix. One day, he promised himself, I'll be able to afford real coffee beans and a press.

In the interim, he contented himself with instant. Hell, it was cheap, and it was coffee. As soon as the mix hit the hot water, the aroma filled the small apartment. He sipped the morning juice (mama's name for coffee), remembering to grab a bowl to place on the bed. It wouldn't do to come home to a damp bed.

Garrett drank his coffee. As he finished up, he watched the errant water collect on the ceiling, weigh down, and fall into the bowl. The sound it made was almost pleasant.

On the walk to the bus stop, he bought today's paper from the street vendor. Mama taught him to keep up with the news.

Right at 7:36, brakes squeaked. The bus doors hissed as they opened, and Garrett chose a seat in the middle. The middle was the best, because he didn't have to walk too far, but he also didn't want to get stuck at the front. The front was for newbies who didn't know where they're going. Garrett knew.

During the twenty-minute ride, he skims the paper for stories he'll end up reading to Carmen later. He never tells her, but the stories he pretends to find are ones he's already read, twice over. Sharing them with her changed the stories. It was the expressions she made, the way her nose crinkled and her eyes squinted a bit when she was figuring things out.

Garrett took a particular interest in a story about Southern bussing and "whites only sections." The headline pulled a chuckle out of him. In particular, the words rang egregious as he peeked at the white man sitting in the aisle across from him. While reading the story, Garrett counted himself lucky to be a New Yorker. Then he remembered his neighborhood had a "whites only" building, but there wasn't a sign on the door. It was a condition everyone knew about, but failed to mention.

~*~

When Garret got to work, he scouted the floor for Carmen. She was never too hard to find because she stood out from everyone else. He spotted her amid the sea of coveralls and deafening machines. She was shorter than most, a soft light surrounding her slight frame. He positioned himself next to her on the line, nudging playfully. When she turned toward him, her smile always filled him up like nothing ever had before.

They chatted about Camila's new school, and the latest episode of The 64,000 Question.

"Why not a million dollars?" Garrett wondered.

Carmen laughed. "No game show would offer a winner one million dollars."

As things wound down on the line, he invited her out for a beer. She wouldn't look at him. A hand flew to her temple, massaging the side of her head.

"I'm not feeling well."

"Eh, what's new?" He was half-joking, but immediately realized how callous he sounded.

"Nah, I can't."

Garrett thought she might be lying to spare his feelings. So, he walked to the bar by himself. The dim atmosphere swirled with smoke, quiet chatter, and candlelight. He missed Carmen. He wanted to sit at the stool, her beside him, sipping beers and talking like they always did. After he finished the day's paper, Garrett went home.

~*~

Cold hit Garrett in the face, and he awoke.

"Damn pipe," he murmured, rubbing the water from his cheek.

At least this morning he was prepared. The bowl waited on the floor, and he grabbed it, placing it on the pillow where he'd slept.

Clink, clink.

The landlady hadn't responded to his note, but he carefully penned another while the water warmed on the stove. Rose, perky as ever, bid him good morning, and he tipped an imaginary hat her way.

Garrett finished his coffee while listening to the clink of the water hitting the bowl. Boots laced and coveralls on, he ambled to the bus-stop. He purchased the morning paper.

In his familiar middle-row seat, he opened the paper, searching for interesting headlines. Seeing nothing, he flipped to the Entertainment section.

Guys and Dolls, a new film. Rave reviews. It had been a few months since Garrett had seen a film.

At work, finding Camila was easy. The glow about her drew him closer, and she had chosen a spot away from everyone else. It's like she was waiting for him.

They settled into their rhythm, laughing and talking.

During lunch, Garrett asked if she wanted to see Guys and Dolls after their shift ended.

"I'm..."

"...Not feeling well?"

His tone was teasing, but he decided she did look peaked, though her light shined brightly as ever.

"Would it change your mind if I buy your ticket?"

Re-reading the reviews, Camila responded, "Seems like a movie for white people."

Garrett thought about it. "You're not wrong," he said, chewing his sandwich slowly. "But plenty of good things are for white people, but that doesn't stop me from seeking them out and trying them for myself."

Alarms buzzed. The grind of the line shutting down filled the air. Though they had ten more minutes for lunch, Garrett and Carmen hurried to the floor.

A group of shift leaders and co-workers huddled around someone. Cries echoed off the cavernous ceiling. Carmen asked Huey what had happened.

"It's Kevin. Lost a hand, that's what I heard."

Shaking her head, Carmen clasped her hands together as though imagining the horrors of losing one. Carefully, Garrett patted her on the back, and she let him.