Fluke by David Elliott, Bart Hopkins Page B

Yvonne and the rest of the staff, as well as the two other customers inside the restaurant.
    “What did you do?” he whispered back.   He seemed nearly as desperate as I did.
    “Actually,” I started, thinking about how ridiculous it was going to sound, “I made breakfast.”
    Puzzled, he said, “What?”
    “I just went about my business, you know, whipping up some grub at her place, and she snapped out of it after a little while.   She actually did speak to me once while she was like this.   She told me ‘don’t go’.”
    I held back the comment she had made about me looking “so much like him,” though.   I didn’t want to open that can of worms with Sean, not with my already doubtful thoughts on that subject.   The last thing I wanted to hear was Sean sounding rational with his theories about the comment.
    I suggested to Sean that we just relax, and when she was back with us, we’d leave. The jukebox was quietly playing “Caught Up In You” by .38 Special.   I lit a cigarette and we sat quietly.   Yvonne, by the register, called to us, “ Ya’ll need anything now?”
    I started to shake my head no, when Sara called to her, “Can we get our check?” I felt her body moving under my hand; she was back.
    Sean and I both shot our eyes to her, and she said, “I’m tired.   What do you guys say we get out of here? Adam?”
    “Sounds good, Sara,” I replied.   Sean agreed, staring at me, confused.
    So, we got our check, and Sean offered me a ride home as we stood in the parking lot.
    “Sorry, Sean, he’s mine for the night,” Sara giggled, wrapping her arms around my waist, pulling me towards the Volkswagen.
    Sara, back to normal.   Distant Sara had made her appearance, enough to amplify my confusion and initiate Sean’s.
    “Nice to meet you, Sara.   You kids have fun,” Sean said, waving.   A stern glance my way from him was his way of saying, “Are you gonna be okay?” I answered him with a nod.
    “Let’s go get pantsless ,” Sara laughed.
    And the night ended with Sara and me pantsless , shirtless, underclothes less.   We made love and fell asleep, and another night was over.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    8.
     
    The “magic” that came from Sara began to leak into other parts of my life.   I started writing again while she was at work.   I wrote until my fingers began to hurt, and then I typed, after that.   Magic? Is it magic or that I’m in love?   I wrote in one of my many notepads, Maybe “love magic,” a subtle, albeit a bit cheesy-sounding, combination of the two.
    Whatever it was, it was all around me.   In just under three weeks, we were Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in my mind, and everything was singing and dancing in my life now.   But, Fred’s dancing shoes were wearing thin, and he no longer had the means to go pick up some more.   I thought about the conversation we had that morning while we were both waking, for some strange reason, before the sun had time to send its rays to penetrate the window.  
    “I need to find a J-O-B.   Argh,” I bemoaned, the words moving down and around her beautiful head while it rested on my chest.   I tried to make the daunting task sound dreadful.   I enjoyed exaggeration and milked it for comic value as often as possible.   “I wonder if the city is hiring any garbage men.   Then you could meet me at the curb each morning, give me a peck on the cheek, and hand over your Hefty bag full of trash for me to throw in the truck and squash with that big squasher thing.”
    “I hear they make pretty good money.   And, a medical and dental plan, 401K, the whole bit,” she replied.   “Seriously, though, maybe you could work with me?” she had said.   We were both quiet for a bit while I mulled over this.   I just didn’t know if I could handle a hand-me-down job from my perfect girlfriend.   Something in my mind whispered that accepting a job that Sara got me would decrease me in her eyes, reflect poorly on my