Wong’s Chinese Restaurant was only a few steps away from the bus stop that brought so many New Jerseyans home from their jobs in New York City. It was next to a liquor store and represented one of three destinations for commuters getting off the bus (the third was home). It was a quiet place (which is why they chose it), didn’t play any music, where you could really hear the person sitting across from you. Nancy and Frank spoke in whispers, so as not to ruin the silence for anyone else.
“He’s been on three different drugs in the last six months”, she said “Same thing every time: Homework starts improving, does good on a few test, teachers say he’s finally as good as my first two were when they went there. Then, a few weeks pass and it stops. They say he’s ‘spacing again’.
“Your first children did well?” he asked, taking a sip of the restaurant’s cheap house-wine.
“Very. Honor Roll, etc.”, here her voice got even softer, “funny thing though, they were always so damn….mean.” But the other day the school calls me and says Danny got into a fight with a big kid who was picking on a smaller kid. So, of course, they think it’s time to change drugs again. But, what I mean is, I think I might finally have raised someone who’s a really good person. I actually may have done something right.”
He smiled at her and then put his hand over her’s.
“His father, of course, doesn’t want to pay for anymore meds. Thinks he’s already giving enough in child support.”
Frank had been in one fight back in middle school and had gotten his ass beat, but these—now nearly—weekly dates made him want to hurt, terribly, Nancy’s ex-husband.
“Fucking Asshole,” he said, adding “Sorry”. She smiled.
His own ex-wife and children may have said the same thing about him, but Nancy would’ve never believed it. He still wore his beige trench coat, which was covered with the stale aromas of rain and New York City. After a day of working, he was far too tired to take it off. She was tired too, but not too tired to be bothered by the waiter that was hovering over them.
“This is ridiculous”, She said, still speaking softly, “there are other tables”.
“He’s probably
from
China. Just
doing the best
he can.”
Frank assured his
newest (and perhaps only) friend.“He’s probably from China. Just doing the best he can.” Frank assured his newest (and perhaps only) friend.
“Wish he would do the best he can at another table,” she said and then they both laughed a little. “So, how was work?”, she asked.
“Oh…work is work, you know. Every few years or so, since college, I decided I’m doing the wrong thing. But, at-least for the last twenty, I haven’t been able to do anything about it. You ever feel that way? Like you’ve done the wrong thing?”
She stared at him deeply.
“Right,” he said, almost apologetically. “I wish you knew how beautiful you are.”
They were both silent. She didn’t respond, but, truth is, she wanted to dance with him. Though there was no music in this quiet place. Though he was too big and awkward to ever have the grace she had once dreamed of. Now with all his awkwardness he lifted out his hand to the hovering waiter to motion for the check. It was late and they both had to be getting back to whatever was left of their actual lives. But they would be back, the next time he got off a little early and she had none of the emergencies and tragedies of suburban life. It might not be next week, or the week after, but it would happen. They did the best they could.
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