man who values image and refinement above all else . . .
. . . the man who normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a Chipotle.
I study him from my corner as he gets in line. He doesn’t look good. There are dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a day, maybe even two. And he’s wearing jeans, not a suit. Dave lives in suits during the week. It’s barely six o’clock. There’s simply no way he went home and changed just so he could drive back into the city to go to Chipotle.
And yet he’s here.
He shuffles his feet a little as he moves through the line. I wait until it’s his turn to order before I get up, move closer without his noticing as he struggles to explain himself to the eighteen-year-old in the black shirt and white apron.
“I want a wrap . . . or, I guess you call them burritos here? Can I get one with meat that isn’t spicy; are they all spicy?”
“Get the pork.”
He turns, startled by the sound of my voice. His face colors once he registers that yes, I’m really here, seeing him like this.
“The pork isn’t spicy,” I explain. When he doesn’t answer, I look to his server. “He’ll have the carnitas burrito with brown rice and black beans.”
The employee nods and complies. I walk Dave through the Chipotle’s version of a burrito assembly line, instructing them to put in the mild salsa, light on the guacamole, no cheese, no cream. Dave lets me lead him through this foreign ritual without comment, moving like a man who is only partially awake. He doesn’t protest when I pay or lead him back to my table.
We sit across from each other in silence for a full minute.
“You’ve changed,” he finally says.
The observation seems comically ironic. His face seems to have aged ten years in four weeks. I have loved this man and I have hated him but right now the only emotion I can muster is concern . . . and curiosity.
“Did you come here from the office?” I ask. Obviously he didn’t but the question feels like a safe place to start.
He shakes his head, wraps his mouth around the burrito, and chews.
“So you didn’t work today?” I press.
He stares at me, his blue eyes are dulled with exhaustion. “You know the answer to that.”
“How could I possibly—”
“I was fired.”
“Oh Dave, I’m so sor—”
“Spare me! You’re the one who got me fired. You and your new lover.”
The air changes quality; the voices of the patrons around us diminish to an unintelligible hum.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“No one else will hire me. He’s seen to that. I’ve been blackballed.”
“Why are you so sure Robert had anything to do with this?”
His eyes flash with something I’ve seen before.
“You think I got myself fired? You think it’s my fault?”
“Dave—”
Patrons are beginning to look over in our direction. “You think that the moment I lost you I became incompetent?” he shouts. “That I’m unable to live without you even now that I know you’re a whore?”
I sigh audibly, my sympathy sliding to the floor like a forgotten paper napkin. This is the version of Dave I know. This is the man I hated. But I don’t hate him anymore. Now he just bores me.
I stand up, no longer hungry. “Enjoy your dinner,” I say. “Next time your treat.”
He keeps his head bowed; I can’t see his face but I can visualize the scowl. I’ve seen it before, no need to retrace my steps on this muddy road. He mutters something that I think is meant for me but I can’t quite make it out.
“What was that?” I ask impatiently.
He looks up with bloodshot eyes; the scowl I expected isn’t there. What is there is much more disturbing.
“Help me,” he whispers. “Please, Kasie. He’s taken everything.”
I feel a tightening in my chest; slowly I lower myself back to my seat.
“They’re saying I embezzled money. That’s why they made me leave. They accused me of being a thief.”
“You would never—”
“You’re right, I
. . . the man who normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a Chipotle.
I study him from my corner as he gets in line. He doesn’t look good. There are dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a day, maybe even two. And he’s wearing jeans, not a suit. Dave lives in suits during the week. It’s barely six o’clock. There’s simply no way he went home and changed just so he could drive back into the city to go to Chipotle.
And yet he’s here.
He shuffles his feet a little as he moves through the line. I wait until it’s his turn to order before I get up, move closer without his noticing as he struggles to explain himself to the eighteen-year-old in the black shirt and white apron.
“I want a wrap . . . or, I guess you call them burritos here? Can I get one with meat that isn’t spicy; are they all spicy?”
“Get the pork.”
He turns, startled by the sound of my voice. His face colors once he registers that yes, I’m really here, seeing him like this.
“The pork isn’t spicy,” I explain. When he doesn’t answer, I look to his server. “He’ll have the carnitas burrito with brown rice and black beans.”
The employee nods and complies. I walk Dave through the Chipotle’s version of a burrito assembly line, instructing them to put in the mild salsa, light on the guacamole, no cheese, no cream. Dave lets me lead him through this foreign ritual without comment, moving like a man who is only partially awake. He doesn’t protest when I pay or lead him back to my table.
We sit across from each other in silence for a full minute.
“You’ve changed,” he finally says.
The observation seems comically ironic. His face seems to have aged ten years in four weeks. I have loved this man and I have hated him but right now the only emotion I can muster is concern . . . and curiosity.
“Did you come here from the office?” I ask. Obviously he didn’t but the question feels like a safe place to start.
He shakes his head, wraps his mouth around the burrito, and chews.
“So you didn’t work today?” I press.
He stares at me, his blue eyes are dulled with exhaustion. “You know the answer to that.”
“How could I possibly—”
“I was fired.”
“Oh Dave, I’m so sor—”
“Spare me! You’re the one who got me fired. You and your new lover.”
The air changes quality; the voices of the patrons around us diminish to an unintelligible hum.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“No one else will hire me. He’s seen to that. I’ve been blackballed.”
“Why are you so sure Robert had anything to do with this?”
His eyes flash with something I’ve seen before.
“You think I got myself fired? You think it’s my fault?”
“Dave—”
Patrons are beginning to look over in our direction. “You think that the moment I lost you I became incompetent?” he shouts. “That I’m unable to live without you even now that I know you’re a whore?”
I sigh audibly, my sympathy sliding to the floor like a forgotten paper napkin. This is the version of Dave I know. This is the man I hated. But I don’t hate him anymore. Now he just bores me.
I stand up, no longer hungry. “Enjoy your dinner,” I say. “Next time your treat.”
He keeps his head bowed; I can’t see his face but I can visualize the scowl. I’ve seen it before, no need to retrace my steps on this muddy road. He mutters something that I think is meant for me but I can’t quite make it out.
“What was that?” I ask impatiently.
He looks up with bloodshot eyes; the scowl I expected isn’t there. What is there is much more disturbing.
“Help me,” he whispers. “Please, Kasie. He’s taken everything.”
I feel a tightening in my chest; slowly I lower myself back to my seat.
“They’re saying I embezzled money. That’s why they made me leave. They accused me of being a thief.”
“You would never—”
“You’re right, I
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