Fragile

I had more than an hour before my appointment with my dermatologist in Mobile, Alabama. The Atlanta Bread Store is a little across Interstate 65 from Sunrise Dermatology. Though I wasn’t really hungry, I got a sandwich, a cup of black coffee, and settled in.

The Atlanta Bread Store was busy. There were several tables for two, but only a few vacant tables for four. She was so striking that I couldn’t help but take note of the young woman who came a few minutes after me. She chose one of those tables for four. She was in stylish jeans, a pale blue, turtle-neck sweater, and high heeled boots. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight bun. Her makeup looked professional. She knew how to dress.

If she had looked my way, I probably would have smiled. Nodded and smiled. She didn’t. Instead, she seemed a little agitated. Since the Springhill Hospital is across the way, I wondered if her concern was for a family crisis, about a sick spouse. Or worse, about a sick child.

For a moment, she looked around frowning. Then she searched through her purse and pulled out her cell phone. It was then that I noted that she was not wearing a wedding band. I’ve watched young people with cell phones. Their fingers and thumbs move over the surface easily and gracefully. Not this woman. After fumbling a bit, she grimaced, and I was pretty sure she hit the CALL button. She looked up as though to see who was watching while the phone must have been ringing in her ear. I averted my eyes for a bit, then turned back. She was looking out a window toward the parking lot. In a moment, it seemed clear that she had punched the phone off. Almost as though it was the phone’s fault that the connection had failed, she slammed the thing back in her purse and sat back.

Anger. Anger all over her face. If she had looked toward me at that point, I would not have smiled. Rather, I would have pretended I was about to take a sip of coffee.

A waitress brought her lunch. Soup and sandwich. The waitress was polite and asked if more was needed. For that, the waitress barely got a smile. Just as the waitress turned away, the woman’s demeanor changed. She had turned toward the windows facing the parking lot again and now she was frowning.

Only one person was walking toward The Atlanta Bread Store at that time. He must have parked at the far end of the parking lot. The red jacket was the first thing anyone would notice. When he came through the front door, I saw there were reflective stripes down the front and what looked like a NOAA emblem embossed on the right side. Underneath this emblem was scrolled Aurora Australis. While the collar was really a rolled collar, the roll probably containing a hood. Two bars were visible on both sides of the collar. I figured he was a Captain with NOAA. No. A Lieutenant with NOOA. NOAA uses Navy rank names, different from those of the Army or the Air Force. He was senior to any Ensign or Lieutenant JG. No doubt, the captain of the ship would have given him serious responsibilities in which he could prove himself as capable of advancing in grade.

He had ruddy cheeks above what looked like a week-old, black beard. It was growing in like his hair: dark and curly, more than wavy.

“Hello, Janice,” he started.

Janice didn’t return his smile. “Lieutenant Larson.” And she added, “In uniform!”

He looked down at how he was dressed, then held out his arms, palms spread. “A long trip. Melbourne, Los Angles, Denver, Atlanta, Pensacola, and … well, here.”

For a moment, they looked at each other seeming to quietly appraise what they saw. “You are attractive as always,” he started again.

Janice ignored his compliment. I thought it would have provoked a smile, a word of thanks. Instead, she turned and looked back at the line where others were waiting to order.

When she turned back to Lieutenant Larson, silently suggesting he order, he responded that he wouldn’t.

“May I sit down?”

She pressed her lips together. “Why are we meeting here if you’re not eating?”

“May I sit down?”

She looked at the chair across from her and gave a barely perceptible nod. As he sat, she pushed the bowl of soup and sandwich plate away. “Okay. What?”

“You could say welcome back.”

“It’s not my job. I don’t keep up with your comings and goings anymore. Australia this time, wasn’t it?”

“Antarctica.”

“Ah, yes. I remember. You’re measuring shelves.”

“We were. Wasn’t it on Mobile TV? A hurricane-like wind was blowing over Antarctica. A white out. We had gone in port at the Mawson Station to ride out the storm.” He paused. I noticed that his right arm which had been resting on the table now slid toward Janice. “The damn mooring lines broke with all the wind. We were at the mercy of the wind after they broke. The ship ran aground across the bay. I was afraid … we were afraid … there was a danger of the ship tilting onto its side.”

“I’ve never heard of you being afraid before.”

If she had said that one way, it would have been a compliment to his bravery or something. But, it wasn’t. It seemed more like a sneer, almost as though she had disdain for his daring-do. I must not have been mistaken in my appraisal for he withdrew his arm and sat back in his chair. My guess was that this had been a sore point with them at some earlier time.

“I should have said that we were concerned … concerned that the ship would tilt onto its side.”

“So, you survived. Survived again. No surprise. Right? You relish putting yourself in danger all over the world. That has always been what you love more than anything else. Isn’t it? Well, I couldn’t stand it … what … ten years ago. And, I don’t like it now.” They sat silently again. “So, is this adventure over?”

His entire body moved in a way that I interpreted to mean yes and no. “There will be some repairs needed. To the ship, I mean. We … the guys I work with … we have been keeping up with the movement of a rather large ice shelf. Its movement is accelerating. We need to follow what’s happening. That whole damn continent is changing.”

He paused. Maybe he was waiting for her response. She said nothing. “But, of course, that has nothing to do with why I’m here.”

For a moment or two, they sat silently again. Then Larson started barely moving his head. A nod of assent, agreeing to some unspoken understanding.

“Yeah,” she said. “And you pop up again. What? Was it three years ago last time? And, you wanted us to meet.” She tapped the table with a finger. “You didn’t even have the decency to be here first. You have me sitting alone at this damn table.”

“Sorry. There was a mess on I-10 between here and Pensacola. There was a detour. Sorry. Since you changed your cell phone number, I couldn’t call.”

“There always is something. That’s the way it always is with you.”

This time, it was he who looked around the room. He scratched his nose with a knuckle on his right hand and leaned forward, barely speaking. “I keep track. You cash my checks. Every month. Now, it’s my turn. I want something.”

I don’t know about her, but I was holding my breath.

“I want to see my son.”

She laughed. It was not a joyful laugh. Her laugh was filled with anger, even with hurt. I turned away. I didn’t want them to catch me eavesdropping. She was gathering her purse, pushing her plate toward him. At that moment, I knew she intended to hurt him. I could sense it coming.

“Look, Bob Larson.” She was loud. “You’re supposed to be this analytic person who examines all the possibilities and makes plans. Haven’t you ever wondered?”

Bob Larson frowned. “What?”

She sneered again as she pushed her chair back. I was not the only one who heard her. The two women on the other side heard her, too. “What makes you think he’s yours?”

It went through my head to wonder if she was wearing steel heeled shoes. Or maybe the room just accidentally got quiet at that moment. Anyway, we all heard her walk out.

Ah! Too bad. The waitress walked up, picked up my empty plate, and wiped my table. “Will there be anything else, sir?

I peeked around the waitress. Lieutenant Bob Larson was not moving. He seemed to be staring at a spot on the table. I saw him reach across the table and wad her napkin. He didn’t say it aloud, but I’ve gotten pretty good at reading lips with my loss of hearing.

“Bitch!” That’s what he mouthed. “Bitch!”

Oh, well. I did have an appointment with my skin man and the computer generated call two days ago said to get there early to update my insurance information. I’m old enough to totter a little as I get up. So, I did it. Looking as natural as I could muster, I bumped his table, paused, and waited.

He looked up.

“Sorry.” I touched my forehead as though recovering from a bit of dizziness. Our eyes met. “It’s okay. This happens with age. You know? But everything works out with time. Really.”

He turned his head a bit as though about to ask.

But I nodded. “Sometimes,” I said, “Sometimes when things get rough, I resolved to go on.” And then, I took a chance. I stood as straight as I could, looked him square in the eye. “You and I … we’re strong. We take what comes and endure.”

His face grew stern. He stood up. “What do you know, Old Man?”

I didn’t say anything for a bit, and then I said with as firm a voice as I could. “I know that when I have felt most invulnerable, sometimes events conspire to show me that I am fragile. Okay? But I go on. Yes, sir. That’s what we do.”

I nodded to him. “Good day, Lieutenant Larson.”

Author’s Note: I know what it is for the Army to have you away during the time when a son is born. I know what it is for NOAA to send a son exploring and away from family. I know what it is when the family prays as the Army sends a grandson in Korea from February until December. Those you leave behind cannot be fragile.