the
yacht club and onto 66 th street. She wasn’t sure if she were
supposed to head back home, say goodbye, or follow.
“You’re an interesting
woman, Tess,” Neal said.
The alleys of Ohio walk
were filled with old oak and faint yellow leaves. She followed in silence,
everything inside of her easing; he could be playful. She liked that. Her
shoulders, which she hadn’t known had inched up to her neck in attack mode,
loosened. Up close, she could see that stubble was growing in on his head; it
reminded her of a Chia pet. She wondered if perhaps he had been in the hospital,
undergoing surgery—that would explain his leave of absence, why his head was
shaved and now growing in. Only he looked too healthy to be recovering, unless
months had passed.
The church bells rang in
the distance.
“In Buddhism, the sound
of the bell is a reminder to come back to your heart. My son, Prakash, loved
that concept growing up. He rang the little bell my mother gave him all the
time. I’d hear him ringing it up in his room. It used to make me feel sad.”
“Why?” Neal said.
Tess shrugged.
“Maybe it made me wonder
why I didn’t fancy Buddhism the way he did. I don’t know.”
“What do you know, Tess?”
“I know that I’m walking
right now while I should probably be at my office.”
“Forgive me if this puts
me in the philosopher realm, but I’d say you’re exactly where you need to be by
essence of the fact that you’re here,” Neal said. “There are no coincidences in
life.”
“Well then that’s
something we agree on: I don’t believe in coincidences either,” Tess said.
“What do you believe in?”
Neal said.
“Action, doing, putting
your money where your mouth is,” Tess said.
Neal cradled the v of his
chin in the web of his thumb and pointer finger, moving his fingers back and
forth as if he were checking if he needed a shave. They were by the Key Food
down at the Avenue U intersection where traffic turned into Mill Basin. Tess
always felt ungrounded at this corner—cars turning, cars speeding past, the
B100 bus stop with her face plastered on the bus stop shelter, people boarding
the bus, people getting off, the bank there on the corner, the supermarket.
Everything at once.
“Does your son live
locally?” Neal asked.
“No. He went to college
on the west coast and made that his home. He’s out in San Francisco. An
architect.”
“Do you miss him?” Neal
said.
He certainly asked a lot
of questions, but Tess didn’t feel as if he was intruding on her life. For all
she knew, he was going to add in information on her and her Buddhist upbringing
to his book.
“I feel closer to him
while he’s away,” she said. “If that makes any sense. He’s off doing his thing
and I’m here doing my thing and I know that whenever I want I can pick up the
phone and call him,” she said.
They crossed the avenue U
intersection and kept walking down 66th street, towards Avenue T. The houses
were smaller here, closer together. It was considered Old Mill Basin. The row
of trees that lined the block right before the curb somehow made the houses
seem protected from the street. Tess had sold two houses on this block in the
past year. Not much money to be made, but they were seamless transactions—the
banks never hesitated to give loans to young families. Children were waiting on
the corner with parents for the school bus. Tess had never been one of those
parents that saw Prakash off to school. The school bus picked him up right on
the corner of her block. She couldn't remember now if Prakash had told her that
he could go alone, or if she told him it was fine for him to walk and wait
alone.
The light turned green at
the corner of Avenue T and they crossed the street.
“Do you have any
children?” Tess said.
“No,” Neal said.
“Why not?” she said, so
that Neal took her in with that expression of his that she was growing familiar
with. It seemed to say, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you
yacht club and onto 66 th street. She wasn’t sure if she were
supposed to head back home, say goodbye, or follow.
“You’re an interesting
woman, Tess,” Neal said.
The alleys of Ohio walk
were filled with old oak and faint yellow leaves. She followed in silence,
everything inside of her easing; he could be playful. She liked that. Her
shoulders, which she hadn’t known had inched up to her neck in attack mode,
loosened. Up close, she could see that stubble was growing in on his head; it
reminded her of a Chia pet. She wondered if perhaps he had been in the hospital,
undergoing surgery—that would explain his leave of absence, why his head was
shaved and now growing in. Only he looked too healthy to be recovering, unless
months had passed.
The church bells rang in
the distance.
“In Buddhism, the sound
of the bell is a reminder to come back to your heart. My son, Prakash, loved
that concept growing up. He rang the little bell my mother gave him all the
time. I’d hear him ringing it up in his room. It used to make me feel sad.”
“Why?” Neal said.
Tess shrugged.
“Maybe it made me wonder
why I didn’t fancy Buddhism the way he did. I don’t know.”
“What do you know, Tess?”
“I know that I’m walking
right now while I should probably be at my office.”
“Forgive me if this puts
me in the philosopher realm, but I’d say you’re exactly where you need to be by
essence of the fact that you’re here,” Neal said. “There are no coincidences in
life.”
“Well then that’s
something we agree on: I don’t believe in coincidences either,” Tess said.
“What do you believe in?”
Neal said.
“Action, doing, putting
your money where your mouth is,” Tess said.
Neal cradled the v of his
chin in the web of his thumb and pointer finger, moving his fingers back and
forth as if he were checking if he needed a shave. They were by the Key Food
down at the Avenue U intersection where traffic turned into Mill Basin. Tess
always felt ungrounded at this corner—cars turning, cars speeding past, the
B100 bus stop with her face plastered on the bus stop shelter, people boarding
the bus, people getting off, the bank there on the corner, the supermarket.
Everything at once.
“Does your son live
locally?” Neal asked.
“No. He went to college
on the west coast and made that his home. He’s out in San Francisco. An
architect.”
“Do you miss him?” Neal
said.
He certainly asked a lot
of questions, but Tess didn’t feel as if he was intruding on her life. For all
she knew, he was going to add in information on her and her Buddhist upbringing
to his book.
“I feel closer to him
while he’s away,” she said. “If that makes any sense. He’s off doing his thing
and I’m here doing my thing and I know that whenever I want I can pick up the
phone and call him,” she said.
They crossed the avenue U
intersection and kept walking down 66th street, towards Avenue T. The houses
were smaller here, closer together. It was considered Old Mill Basin. The row
of trees that lined the block right before the curb somehow made the houses
seem protected from the street. Tess had sold two houses on this block in the
past year. Not much money to be made, but they were seamless transactions—the
banks never hesitated to give loans to young families. Children were waiting on
the corner with parents for the school bus. Tess had never been one of those
parents that saw Prakash off to school. The school bus picked him up right on
the corner of her block. She couldn't remember now if Prakash had told her that
he could go alone, or if she told him it was fine for him to walk and wait
alone.
The light turned green at
the corner of Avenue T and they crossed the street.
“Do you have any
children?” Tess said.
“No,” Neal said.
“Why not?” she said, so
that Neal took her in with that expression of his that she was growing familiar
with. It seemed to say, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you
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