Calling

Ronny calls me when I'm at work. His message: "Curt, it's Ronny. I know it's a bit early, but ham salad sandwiches and chess?" He says his phone number, slowly, a pause between each digit. I try to come up with an excuse while washing dishes.

Sorry Ronny, I can't meet today because I'm not feeling well.
Sorry Ronny, I can't play chess because I can't find my chessboard and I only like playing chess on my chessboard.
Sorry Ronny, one of my dogs is really sick and I need to get him to the vet.
Sorry Ronny.
Sorry Ronny.
Sorry Ronny.

The truth is, I'm scared. I'm not good with friends. Even people I've considered to be my friends made me nervous. What are friends supposed to talk about when they get together? How can they keep on talking and talking and laughing and talking some more?

My short shift is over. I am walking home. I am opening my apartment door. I am feeding the dogs. The dogs don't ask me how my day went, but I am telling them,"Work is work. Belle Star was in a good mood. Oh, and Ronny called. You know, the man we met in the cemetery yesterday. Ronny."

Ronny is calling and I am answering the phone. I am saying, "Hello." I am saying, "Sure." I am saying, "What time?" I am saying, "See ya later." I am hanging up the phone. I am standing over the kitchen sink. I am dizzy. I am thinking, Chess tonight, at the coffee shop down the street. I am digging through my boxes. I am pulling out my chessboard. I am finding all the pieces. I am looking for the rook. I am looking for the rook.

Ham Salad Sandwiches

I got up early this morning. I guess I fell asleep early last night. Even at 6:30 am, you could already tell it was going to be a beautiful day, so instead of just taking the dogs back inside after we took care of "business", we just kept on trucking to the cemetery. I figured I'd let the dogs work off some energy before the workers started tending to the grounds and giving me dirty looks.

I had Regrette on her leash, but Warden was off smelling things and claiming tombstones as his own when I lost sight of him. It was then that we had a strange encounter.

There was a man, with a picnic spread. Again, this was pretty early, a strange time for a picnic if you ask me. The man was old, but his features looked well preserved. He was asking Warden why he ate his wife's sandwich when I caught up to them. I leashed Warden and gave him a scolding.

"So sorry!" I said. "What kind of sandwich was it?? Where is your wife?" I was out of breath, and out of sorts, and after I asked about his wife, I realized what he was doing, and where his wife was.

"Ham salad," he said cheerfully. He wasn't mad. He seemed amused more than anything.

"Early for a picnic, eh?"

"It'll be too hot later, by God. And breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

"I don't know if I believe that."

The dogs were surprisingly, and thankfully calm. The man offered me a sandwich and asked me if I'd like to sit down. I accepted, and got the dogs to sit, too. They were already hot, and panting.

"Your wife is buried here?" I asked. I took a bite from the sandwich, which was tasteless, but I enjoyed the texture of the Ham Salad interacting with the crispness of the lettuce.
"No" he said.
I asked him where his wife was. He said she was working. I'm not sure why he had a sandwich for her, but hey. I apologized for thinking she was dead. It was awkward.
"No she's fine."

We had been talking for five or ten minutes, about the weather and such things, when a mower started in the distance. I explained that I needed to get the dogs out of there before we got kicked out. I asked the man if he played chess. He said that he hadn't in a long time, but that he'd like to. He introduced himself as Ronny McDonough. I felt like I had heard that name, but I'm not sure where. He packed his basket up and followed the dogs and I out of the cemetery.

I realized when we were almost to my apartment that it was no place to invite someone to. It wasn't just in bad shape now--I was still living out of boxes.

"Ronny," I said.
"Curt?"
"I can't play chess today."
"Tomorrow?"
"Maybe." I gave him my phone number.
"Curt," he said.
"Ronny?"
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay."

I shook his hand, and went inside.