DYLAN'S SUMMER AFTER HIS COLLEGE JUNIOR YEAR
Chapter 7
by Donny Mumford
While in the shower Wednesday morning I'm thinking about last night's chance meeting with Ray Reeves. It pisses me off that I'm even thinking about him but the coincidence of running into him at the basketball game after previously spending time with Sonny hit me like a double whammy. It sort of transported me back two summers ago. As time passes most of us tend to think back on mostly the good aspects of our long-ago experiences while conveniently pushing the negatives to the back of our minds. That must be what subconsciously happened during my brief encounter with Ray. It messed with my head making me see Ray as a confident, attractive and sexy guy. Actually, he's become all those things on the surface, but it's what's under the surface that gives me pause.
Hell, there have been times during the past five months when, in my weaker moments, I've missed Ryan Wilcox and briefly consider mending fences with him. Of course, Ryan would require me to give in to him totally as if any differences between us were all my fault. It's always been his way or the highway, as that tired expression goes. Both Ryan and Ray were, for varying amounts of time, significantly dominant figures in my life, mostly because of sex. They made me feel very desired while they became ever increasingly dominant until I finally had enough of their bull-shit and said, 'NO!'. After that it all began unravelling in both situations.
Actually, the same thing happened with fat Carl going way back to my junior year of high school. In all three relationships, it eventually got to a point where I wouldn't take the humiliation any longer and I was like, 'Go fuck yourself!' Later I began missing the sense of being desired and dominated and so I second guessed myself into giving it another try. And with all three relationships I hit the final brick wall, so to speak, where I didn't want anything more to do with any of them. It's more complicated than that obviously, but that's the bottom line. I suppose some may think I need to include Willie to the threesome but no; Willie's basically a much nicer person than the other three. Inherently nicer and we have had a few very nice reunions over the years. Fat Carl holds zero influence on me now but there still appears to be a degree of lingering interest for Ray and Ryan. The mind works in weird and mysterious ways.
After thinking all that, I'm not taking Ray up on his invitation to Friday's cookout and I'm not going to try mending fences with Ryan. Those ships have sailed, so screw lingering interest! I learned my lesson too well to think it would work again with them. Sure, I'd like to see the posse boys of old at the cookout but not enough to get mixed-up with Ray again. There's an 'out-of-sight, out-of-mind' component in my feelings for Ray and Ryan that falters when I'm in their presence and they're on their best behavior. As far as sex with Sonny goes, ours has always been a harmless random relationship. While Sonny enjoys, our sex play he's ultimately not fixated on me like the others were. Even with all of Sonny's bluster about how much he likes or loves me, I've never felt any serious desire on his part for me. Like I said, it's just a game with us two.
Anyway, my main focus this summer is going to be on my real boyfriend, Robby, and my messing around with bus-boy doesn't contradict that. Bus-boy is strictly for light entertainment. The chances of that leading anywhere are minuscule to zero. After all, when you get right down to it there's only one chance in ten he's gay and he's already said he's not. But even if he were what are the chances we'd be compatible enough to form a relationship? I'm merely entertaining myself during the bus ride to work.
After a breakfast of OJ, a fried egg sandwich on toast, and coffee I make my lunch and put it in my back pack. Wearing the backpack over one shoulder I light my after-breakfast cigarette while walking to the bus stop. What's the point of me waiting until I get there to smoke it and thereby antagonizing mustache-man? Coming down the steps from my condo I see he's already on the bench reading his newspaper. Because I left the house a few minutes later than usual mustache-man got to the bus stop before me. Fuck groundhog day.
Finishing my cigarette ten feet from the bench, I step on the butt while watching the traffic fly by on Center Street. Feeling a bit conspicuous just standing here, I take my cellphone from my backpack to use as a prop. Glancing up I see fat-ass making her way down the sidewalk from the other direction. Her and mustache-man probably live in the same condo complex I live in. There are other buildings in back of ours and others further around the bend on Center Street.
Fat-ass exchanges trite weather comments with mustache-man and, as I roll my eyes, I realize I've missed the boat on something obvious. I don't need to use my cellphone as a prop. Swinging my backpack around in front of me I start going through it until I find my earphones. Why didn't I think of this before? I'll listen to music off my iPhone. That's the perfect way to appear occupied and thereby discourage any unwanted conversation.
After getting the earphones connected I listen to random music I've downloaded over the years. It's also kind of cool-looking wearing earphones. The bus shows-up on time and I follow fat-ass onto the bus and then drop exact change in the money machine. I brazenly walk down the aisle and sit right next to bus-boy. For a split second, he looks over at me frowning, and then goes back to looking down at his cellphone. Ha, he knows I can see it's not even turned-on so bus-boy makes a rude sound and puts it away and looks out the window. Ha ha, caught ya! Faking that you're doing something with your cellphone is the oldest trick in the book.
Smirking, I look at the back of his head and confirm my assessment from yesterday that he needs to wash his dark-brown hair. Also, in my opinion his hair is too long for the hairstyle we both have. Maybe he isn't aware that cleanliness is next to Godliness, but then what's Godliness mean anyway? Hmmm, I may have misquoted that idiom. I'm listening to an old rock star whose pictures are disturbing so I avoid looking at them whenever one appears in Rolling Stone or People magazine. I like some of his songs though. It's Tom Petty singing, "I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings. Learning to fly is the hardest thing..." Still looking out the window, bus-boy mutters, "I can hear that and I don't care for that song." I take out my left earphone and ask, "Were you talking to me?" He goes, "Why did you sit next to me? I don't like to be bothered." Grinning, I go, "It's no bother." He turns to face me now, and mutters, "You know what I meant."
He has very big dark eyes and a cherub's face. Cute small facial features with perfectly bow-shaped pouty lips and very fine short dark hairs on his upper lip; the very early beginnings of a mustache. HA! He also has two red, sore-looking ache blemishes on the side of his forehead and for all I know there's always a frown on his face. His perfectly shaped eyebrows are furrowed, so I ask, "Why are you frowning?" Looking away again, he mumbles, "Leave me alone, okay?" I turn up the volume of Tom Petty's song and hold the earphone near bus-boy's right ear and in ten seconds he covers his mouth with his hand and barks out a laugh. I'm staring at him while grinning and unconsciously smelling the back of my hand. He pushes the earphone away and asks, "Who are you going to pretend my brother is today?" I chuckle, "Hey, I used that clever ruse because I wanted to meet you. Bus rides are boring so I was entertaining myself." He smirks, "At my expense." Shrugging, I go, "Well yeah, it'd have to be at someone's expense. Why not yours?"
He sort of straightens up in the seat and looks right at me, "Are you that hard-up for friends?" I say, "No, I just need a bus-buddy. I have other friends but no bus-friends and I don't like the people at my bus stop, so..." He shakes his head, muttering, "I like solitude before a day of work." I go, "Oh yeah, whaddaya do for work?" He closes his eyes shaking his head slowly. Omigod his eyelashes are long and curl-up; bus-boy is a pretty boy. A girl wouldn't need artificial eyelashes if she had bus-boy's eyelashes. He has a swarthy completion; almost tan but not really. Smooth skin except for those two pimples or whatever they are. Doing a big noisy exhale, he says, "My last name isn't Ryan, but my first name is... um, so you had me off balance for a fraction of a second yesterday when you asked if I was Buddy Ryan's brother." Nodding my head I smile at him, not even remembering that's the name I used. I still don't say anything though and he does that furrowed eyebrow frown again, asking, "Are you gay or something?" I go, "Yes, I am. How'd you guess?" and he says, "You're probably lying. I don't know whether to believe you or not, but if you really are gay you're barking up the wrong tree with me. You're wasting your fucking time." He has a sincere sounding cute voice.
I don't say anything and after ten-seconds, he says, "I work at Staples. Um, in the print-services department." I nod but still don't say anything and a minute goes by before bus-boy finally mumbles, "Sorry if I hurt your feelings. I'm Ryan Gagnon. If you absolutely insist on it, I suppose I can be your bus-buddy." Well, he's agreed to one-half my ultimate goal... heh heh. No, I'm just kidding. I still don't say anything although I do hold out my fist and after two-seconds he bumps it with his smallish fist. Why does he have to have 'Ryan' as a first name though? Yeah, well I learned something: by not saying anything I've gotten more information from him than anything I could have said.
Trying not to grin, although I'm enjoying myself, I continue saying nothing so Ryan bumps my arm with his elbow, looks at me and asks, "Where do you work, and do you have a name by any chance?" The bus comes to a stop and I realize I've got another boner in my pants. It's caused by the motion of the bus and maybe a little-bit by my new bus-buddy. I tell him my name, and add, "I work for Dickers and Son, Inc. in the Human Resources Department. Just for the summer and then it's back to college." He goes, "Oh, a big-deal business man, huh? You don't look old enough." I ask, "How old do I look?" He shrugs, "You look like you're seventeen or eighteen but since you're a businessman I'll guess you're twenty or twenty-one." I go, "Ouuu, good guess! I'm twenty-one and my birthday's in August. That means, Omigod, I'll be twenty-two before the end of the summer." He asks, "How much do you make?" I go, "How rude of you to ask that question! Five-hundred a week." He mumbles, "I hate you." I go, "Why, how much do you make?" He says, "I've been working for Staples since graduating high school, so that's a little over a year and I haven't gotten a raise yet. I'm a copy and print associate and make $9.36 an hour which is $374.46 per week... before taxes. I take home a little over $300 a week." That's a fairly low wage I guess, but I don't want to diss him, so I say, "That's not bad," and he makes another rude sound, then mutters, "Bullshit it's not..."
Hmmm, he graduated last year so he's at least nineteen. It's kinda funny that once I got him started talking I can't shut him up now. Not that I want him to shut up. I ask, "Do you live at home?" He nods, "Yes, which is why I'm able to save money to eventually get my own place. Meanwhile I insist on paying two hundred dollars a month to the 'rents for room and board." I go, "Jeez, that's nice of you," and he goes, "Dad doesn't think so. He insists I pay four-hundred dollars a month," and he covers his mouth with his hand and laughs again.
Our stop is coming up so I stand, saying, "You're going to be an excellent bus-buddy, Ryan. Um, you wouldn't happen to have a nickname, would you?" He gets up too, mumbling, "No. I don't like nicknames," and then, as the bus stops abruptly, he stumbles into me. I grab his arm to keep him from falling and he mumbles, "Sorry, um, thanks," and I go, "No problem, that's what bus-buddies do. They look out for one another." He mumbles, "Oh, I didn't know that. I'm shy to a retarded degree so you're my first bus-buddy." I go, "I don't think we're supposed to use the word 'retarded' anymore." He goes, "Who says?" and I go, "The political correctness police. You could get dirty looks and maybe even a lecture from some know-it-all person who is probably watching and listening to you right now." He goes, "Oh fuck, I don't want to get you in trouble by associating with the wrong kind of bus-buddy." I go, "Ha, don't worry about it. We're bus-buddies for life now." He mutters, "Oh gawd, I was hoping it was just for the day."
As we follow others getting off at our stop, I mutter, "Yeah, on second thought your political incorrectness could get me in trouble. I should probably re-think this bus-buddy thing." We go down the three steps getting off the bus as Ryan says, "Let me know tomorrow what your decision is. Do we continue being bus-buddies or do you dump me." I chuckle and then say, "You don't seem shy to me." He holds out his small fist, mumbling, "Well I am, see you tomorrow." I tap his fist with mine and he goes, "Hey, do you know if there's an opening at your company for a job that pays like yours?" I shrug, "I don't know, but I'll ask. See you tomorrow."
He goes off to the right and I head straight up the sidewalk at a steady pace, but I'm not jogging. No need for that anymore as I'll be in the office a good fifteen minutes before Carl. My boner recedes as I'm walking away from the bus stop and, dammit, I wish Ryan had a different first name! I need to think of a nickname for him; maybe one derived from his last name. Too bad I can't remember what he said it was. You know, if some kid has a last name like 'Spasollie' ya call him 'Spazz'. Jeez, he is really cute though, and there's also something very sexy about him. I felt like hugging the shit out of him. Just hugging him. I wonder if he's reminding me of someone subconsciously? If so I can't think who it is.
Walking up the front walk to the office I'm thinking thank God for bus-boy because in the last two days I haven't seen another guy worth glancing at, never mind fantasizing about all day. If I don't see Rob at work I go a whole day from the time I get up, go to the bus stop, watch fifty people get on and off the bus, check out everyone I see in my quarter-mile walk to work, and then spend all day seeing lots of people at work without seeing another age-appropriate guy who interest me. Obviously, I mean another cute or sexy guy. Just bus-boy, which is why seeing Robby occasionally at work is such a treat. Cute sexy guys in my age-range are very rare. They were much more prevalent when I was in my teens googling other teens.
In the office I go to Carl's room, or should I call it his office? I don't know what to call it. It's where he says my, um, work station is. Dropping my backpack on my work station, which is basically space on a long table. My 'space' is about six feet down and on the other side of Carl's work station. I go next door to the Human Resources room for complimentary coffee and a donut. As soon as I walk through the door the youngish-looking blond-headed girl jumps up and comes over to stand too close to me again. She's the one who embarrassed me by saying I needed to chip-in for the donuts yesterday when that was all total bull-shit. She says, "Hi Dylan. What kind of K-cup do you want this morning? Hot chocolate, tea, or coffee?" I do my automatic smile as I subtle move a step away from her, muttering, "That's okay, um, thanks but I'll get it myself," and she stands between me and the Keurig machine, "You remember my name, don't you?" I'm getting pissed, "No I don't! I'm not good with names and I've watched sixteen hours of tutorial videos the last two days, so I'm trying to remember all that." One of the older women says, "Leave Dylan alone, Eileen."
Eileen looks at the lady and says, "I'm helping him," and then to me, as she wraps her arm around mine, "Aren't I helping you, Dylan?" Without waiting for a reply from me she puts a Styrofoam cup on the ledge of the Keurig machine, sticks-in a K-cup and presses a button, saying, "I chose Morning Breakfast Brew for you this morning, Dylan. Let's look at the donuts now." She lets go of my arm and as I'm rolling my eyes she picks-up a vanilla frosted donut and put it on a napkin. She has extremely long fingernails. Holding out the napkin and donut, she says, "I had a vanilla frosted this morning so I know you'll like it. It's very sweet and just right for you." I mimic bus-boy's furrowed eyebrows frown while taking the napkin and donut. Eileen's at the coffee-maker again, asking, "Cream and sugar?" I'd rather have had the chocolate frosted donut, but I nod to her question about cream and sugar as I take a bite of the donut. After fixing my coffee she hands it to me and I mutter, "Thanks," and walk out blushing to a chorus of giggles from a number of the women. I hear the older, stern woman say, "C'mon ladies! Get back to work," and someone says, "But he's so adorable it's..." and the door closes.
I'm sweating a little after that abuse. Sitting at my, um, table I drink the coffee and eat the overly sweet donut thinking about the new Ryan, the bus-boy Ryan, and why I was a little hot and bothered by him this morning. Strange, especially since he's not gay, and I totally believe he's not. He claims he's awfully shy too; he said he's shy to a retarded degree. Ha ha! Yeah well, he did seem shy at first, but then, BAM! he wouldn't stop talking. Asking me about personal stuff too, like how much do I make? Who asks that?
I'm finished the donut and coffee wishing I could grab a smoke somewhere when Carl comes rushing in red-faced, asking, 'Has anybody been asking for me, Dylan?" I shake my head and he goes, "Good! Oh, and g'morning to you. Have you had coffee yet?" I mumble, "Yeah, I finished, um," and don't say... ten minutes ago. He nods and rustles stuff around on his work station and finally plops a glossy folder in front of me. The title of it reads: 'Your NEW Dickers and Son, Inc. Benefit Package.' As I stare at it Carl adds a stack of printed pages, saying, "Glance through this stuff while I get a coffee." I go, "Yeah, sure," and he hurries off. Jesus, I feel exhausted just watching him. Why the fuck doesn't he leave for work a half hour earlier? It's stressful dealing with his rushing around because he's always late. It's nerve racking.
Carl comes back with a coffee and donut. He's seemingly calmed down a lot as he stands at his desk eating the donut in three bites, his Adams apple bobbing with each swallow. Done the donut he slurps his coffee and pulls his chair down the table until he's across from me. Slurping his coffee again and thereby driving a nail in the back of my neck, he picks-up the glossy folder and says, "These brochures are being mailed-out to every employee later today, along with this letter," and he hands me a letter from the CEO telling everyone there's a new benefit package that will be in-place September 1st. Carl slurps more coffee driving the nail further into the back of my head, saying, "You'll hand one of these to the employees you talk to today and tomorrow. They'll be getting one in the mail too but their mailed copies won't get to them for a couple of days." I nod, "Okay, I understand."
Another long slurp as I suppress the urge to knock his hand and spill his hot coffee all over him and everything else. He goes, "The brochure says that a representative, who's a benefits expert, will personally explain and take you through our new and improved benefits step by step." Looking up I mumble, "Expert?" and he goes, "That's you. You're the expert." I go, "Yeah, well I guess so, I got a 96 on the test." Carl does his laugh, "Heh heh heh", and his coffee breath floats over and almost causes me to hurl. Done laughing, Carl takes another long slurp of coffee and I stand up grabbing the back of my head and massage my neck and gritting my teeth. He looks startled, "What's wrong, Dylan?" I mutter, "Just a cramp. I'm good though, no problem."
Sitting down I hold my breath as he goes, "Oh, by the way, don't mention the test to anyone, okay? That's between you and me. It was for certain regulations you don't need to concern yourself with." I nod and then put the back of my hand against my nose and mumble, "Sure, I understand," although I'm not at all sure that I do. Apparently, Carl's big on taking short-cuts but so what, so am I. He looks at the next piece of paper while taking another long slurp of coffee. I spot a pair of scissors on his work station and picture in my head sticking the point of the scissors down hard on the top of his head. I mean, fuck, the coffee should be cooled off enough to be drinkable by now so why's he still slurping it?
Carl sucks on his teeth and then uses a finger to dislodge a piece of donut that was between his gum and his cheek. It's on the end of his finger as he examines it; icing I think. He slurps it off his finger and holds up a paper with columns of numbers, explaining, "You'll go over these two pages of changes. Everything is written in plain language so that we can all understand what the changes mean in laymen's terms. Everything you explain to the employees from these two common-sense pages," and he holds both of them up, "Is backed-up in the brochure by incomprehensible legalese talk that satisfies regulation requirements." Smelling the back of my hand I nod and he goes on, "You should take about thirty-minutes per employee making sure each one understand this dumbed-down version. It's all they'll care about. Also, in the brochure it explains how the company is spending an extra twelve-million dollars per year upgrading the benefits. Twelve-million over the millions the old benefits already cost the company." Now I can't stop watching Carl's Adams apple bob up and down with his every word. It almost defies the law of gravity. And when I force my eyes to look away from that I stare at his strange hairdo with the transplanted hairs that form a sparse widow's peak. The sparse hairs from the transplanted widow's peak then stretch over his bald head to join the horseshoe of thick hair around the sides and back of his head to form a stubby ponytail. And Carl's only in his late twenties. What a shame!
Mercifully finished his coffee, Carl goes over everything on the simplified two-page summary sheets and then, as practice, he's want to be the first person I give the presentation to. I start and he goes, "No, Dylan. Don't start right in. Smile real friendly like and introduce yourself as a specialist hired by the company for the summer to install this new benefit package. Be super friendly and ask how they're doing. Chat 'em up a little like you're on their side." I go, "Sure, but they'll know I'm not a specialist or expert. Everyone in the next room knows my total experience is watching tutorial videos for two days. That doesn't make me an expert and I'll feel like a fool saying I am one." He says, "Yeah, yeah, I know, but that's just nine people in the Human Resources Department. No one else in the company knows. Well, the managers know, but..." I'm shocked, "I need to give this thirty-minute presentation to each manager? How many are there?" He goes, "Only twelve on the second floor. They're vice presidents actually and they all have one or two managers under them. Don't let titles bother you though. It's the same presentation for everyone, starting with the owner/CEO down to the mailroom boys." Mailroom boys? I'm like, "Oh, how many mailroom boys are there? Just curious." He goes, "Two full time and one part-time, but they're not really boys. They're all older than you. Um, how old are you anyway?" I tell him and he goes, "Really?" like I'd lie about it. Ignoring that I'm like, "Oh, speaking of the mailroom, do you know if there are any entry level openings at the moment? There's this guy I know who's looking for a job." He shrugs, "I don't know about any openings, Dylan, but ask next door." Oh yeah, human resources... dummy!
I need to give Carl the presentation three times before he's satisfied and he tells me that this afternoon I'll begin by giving the presentation to each employee in Human Resources before beginning with the general population, as he put it. I don't think he totally trusts me yet. It's lunch time when we're done. A goofy-looking guy taps on the door jam and Carl looks up, mumbling, "Hey, George, wassup?" George, in an annoyingly nasally-high-pitched voice, asks, "Ready for lunch, Carl?" Carl nods and then bites his bottom lip looking at me, and then asks, "Ah, did you bring your lunch, Dylan?" I nod, "Yes, I'll just eat it here if it's okay with you." He looks relieved that I won't be joining them. Well screw him, I don't want to spend forty-five minutes with those two anyhow. Carl gets up, saying, "Sure that's okay, I'll meet you back here at one o'clock," and he goes off with George.
I wasn't about to mention me eating lunch with the boss's son, but oh man do I ever need some relaxation time with Robby! I need some pumping-up too; some morale boosting. Robby doesn't respond to my text though, so I end-up eating at my work station. Oh well, peace and quiet is the next best thing to eating lunch with Robby. I'm almost finished my bag lunch when Rob calls to tell me he needs to have lunch during a meeting. No problem. Not having the balls to go outside for a smoke, I kill time going over the presentation again. I'm still feeling nervous about actually doing the interviews for-real starting this afternoon.
Wait a second: before doing anything, else I need to take a piss and wash my face and hands. I go into a stall in the men's room and immediately hear the lavatory door open and recognize Carl's voice as he comes in. Good thing I'm in this stall. He's saying, "Yeah, he seems smart enough, but he's so fucking young-looking. And now Baxter just told me I'm to send him to Dottie when I'd done training him." George goes, "So what's your problem? You've done your part." Carl whines, "What's the boss-man gonna think when he sees this kid is the one introducing the twelve-million-dollar improvement to our benefits package? What if he thinks I hired him?" George's high-pitched voice says, "Yeah, from the quick look I had of him he does look like a baby but have you ever seen a more handsome kid?" They're both at the urinals as Carl raises his voice, "I don't give a shit how good-looking he is, I'm afraid he won't be taken seriously... and he's representing me!"
Oh man, what a prick he turned out to be! I thought he was a good guy. Weird looking, sure, but I thought he was on my side. George says, "Yeah well, look at it this way... you didn't hire him so how can they blame you?" Carl whines, "Nobody seems to know who the fuck hired him so, by association with me, old man Dickers will think it was me." George chuckles, "The shit you get yourself into." Carl mumbles, "And, dammit, I do feel kinda bad for the kid, but he looks like a fucking high school student and..." George interrupts, "Jesus, Carl, tell him to wear a suit and tie. That'll help overcome his baby face, and anyway since when did you start worrying about anything but your own ass?" Carl says, "That's what I'm worried about! What the fuck do ya think I'm talking about? This new benefit package crap is one more shitty job they figure... oh, give it to that asshole Carl."
At the sink washing their hands, apparently off the subject of me, Carl goes, "And goddammit, if that prick Baxter catches me coming in late again and gives me any shit at all I'm quitting. I wanted that Westborough office job from the start." The other guy says, "I'm trying to get you transferred! Jesus, do you gotta bitch about everything? It'll take a while." As they leave Carl's saying, "Thanks, George, but can't ya get it pushed through sooner, like the same time you're transferring there. Jesus, I live two miles from the Westborough office and so.." and the door swings closed. I wasn't taking a shit in here by the way. I just prefer pissing behind closed doors in public bathrooms when by myself. When I heard the lavatory door open and those two losers came in I merely sat on the toilet seat to wait it out.
After my piss I'm washing my hands thinking, 'So Carl's worried I look too young for the job, huh? He's probably right too, but tough shit! I've got the job and I'm not giving it up for something like my bus-buddy's $9.36 an hour job.' Carl's at our work station when I get there. He smiles, saying, "Shall we try it one last time, Dylan?" I give him the full presentation one last time and he says, "Okay, that's good. Um, I know you're not going to like this, kiddo, and I'm really sorry about it, but to help the 'expert' image a little bit I'm going to need to insist you wear a suit and tie while doing these interviews, or at least a sports coat and tie.
I hate when someone calls me 'kiddo', and no one here wears a tie except for the second-floor VP's." I go, "Aah, jeez, Carl! Really? That blows, dude." He says, "Yeah I think it does too, but I got the word from management." Liar! He continues, "Remember we're the transition team for these new benefits, you and me are the entire team, kiddo." His Adam's apple bobs like a cork in the ocean. Running his hand over his bald head, he goes, "So, ya know, whatever you do reflects on me." He's actually whining saying, "You're representing me." I shrug like, it is what it is, and he goes, "Okay, good, you'll wear a suit. That's settled."
He stands, saying, "Another change of plans. Do you know Dottie Scouser?" I go, "Mr. Dickers' administrative assistant?" He nods, "Yes, you're to report to her now and she'll give you the first month's schedule of interviews and, um, I guess she'll explain where the interviews will take place. I had you going from employee to employee, but Dottie is sort of a, well never mind what she is. She'll probably change the plans I've spent a lot of time setting up. I was just told you're to see her so, ya know. Oh, um, be sure to emphasize I insist on a professional suit and tie for you during the interviews. Okay?" I mutter, "Sure, and should I go there now?" He seems happy to be getting rid of me as he enthusiastically goes, "Yep, and good luck. Off you go. Check in with me each morning and we'll have a short meeting reviewing how your interviews went the previous day in case somebody asks me how's it's going."
I stand now too, feeling nervous. Carl hands me some review sheets and a handful of brochures, saying, "I don't want you carry these things around in a backpack though, that's not professional, heh heh heh. This is business, not high school or, um, I know you're in college. I meant college." I shrug, "Well what do you want me to carry this, ah, stuff in?" He looks around and then picks-up a fake-leather flat satchel with a zipper, saying, "You can use this," and he takes papers out of it, adding, "It's what I carry paperwork home in. They have me overworked as it is so I need to do some work at home, not that it's appreciated." What a complainer! As well as a liar! I stuff everything inside the, um, whatever this thing is called. It doesn't have handles so I guess I'll carry it under my arm like a dork. It figures this thing would be Carl's.
"Good luck, Dylan, you'll do fine. Check with me before leaving for the night. A text or whatever's convenient will do, just in case someone asks me..." I nod, "Sure thing, Carl," protect your ass, that's obviously your number one concern. No, I don't say that/I mumble, "Um, thanks for your help and all." He says, "You're welcome... off you go now." Jesus, he can't wait for me to leave. Oh well, let me see if I can find my way to Dottie's desk. At least they have desks on the second floor; maybe I'll get an office there. After wondering around a couple of corridors I see a staircase to the second floor. Up I go and come out right next to Robby's office. Oh good!
Sticking my head in I see Rob's not here but the big-voiced Max Renoldie is sitting at a desk where Robby's desk used to be. He loudly says, "Hey, it's Dylan, right? Rob's friend." I go, "Oh yeah, hi Mr. Renoldie." He goes, "It's Max! Mr. Renoldie's my father." Oh, no one's ever used that clever line before. He says, "Rob's in a meeting," and his phone rings. He picks it up giving me a wave. I go down the corridor hearing his loud voice, "Thanks for getting back to me, Art..."
I know where I am now and keep walking to the end of the corridors where I see Dottie at her desk. As far as I can see Mr. Dickers isn't in his office, so that's good! With a big smile on my face I'm like, "Hi, Dottie, remember me?" She looks up, "Oh no, not you again. Dylan, right? Dylan Newman." I go, "Guilty as charged," wondering how she remembered both my first and last name. She says, "I've been expecting you," oh, so that's how she remembered. She comes around her desk motioning for me to sit in one of the club chairs situated around a coffee table. She sits in the chair next to me showing me a computer list, saying, "I've revised Carl's ridiculous plans for how the interviews will go. Instead of you going to each employee, they'll come to you on a schedule that each team leader will coordinate. You'll have a small meeting room for the presentations. Um, you're done watching all the tutorials by now, right?" I go, "Yes, I watched all the training videos two or three times." She smiles, "I'll bet that was a fun two days," and I mumble, "Tons of fun." She goes, "Well the meeting room you watched the tutorials in is now your office for most of the summer. That's where you'll explain the improved changes in our benefit package." Sweet, my own office!
Pointing at the computer sheet, she says, "Hopefully you can keep on this schedule but who knows how many questions they'll bombard you with. If you run over twenty-minutes per employee don't worry about it." Huh, Carl said thirty minutes. Dottie says, "It's Robert's sincere wish that everyone understands the upgrades." I'm assuming she means Mr. Dickers and not Robby... heh heh. She says, "Okay' Dylan, as I'm sure you realize this is intended to be a morale booster for the employees. There's always some however who will take it as a negative because they won't like change... any change, even for the better. In your opinion if you feel someone continues taking these changes as a negative keep a list of those people for me. I'll take care of it from there." I nod, "Okay," and she says, "Let me see what Carl came up with for a review sheet."
Going into the flat satchel I take out the two pages stapled together and hand then to Dottie. She reads it quickly, mumbling, "It'll have to do I suppose," as she crosses-out a half-dozen things, saying, "I'll get you revised sheets eliminating a few incorrect statements of Carl's." She chuckles, mumbling, "Why Carl thought these were a good idea I can't imagine." She calls out, "Peg," and a woman comes in from a pod of desks outside Dottie's area. She says, "Access this computer program and eliminate the ones I've crossed out and then print three revised copies." To me she says, "That'll take five minutes tops." Holding up the three-by-five cards that were paper-clipped to the computer printout, Dottie says, "These cards, one for each employee, are essential. There's one with employee information for every employee that's on the printout. Have the employees sign this card verifying they know and understand the new benefits."
What can I do except nod my head like a bobble-head doll and say, "Okay," to each instruction. She finishes by asking, "Any questions?" I go, "No, but I'm supposed to tell you that I'll be wearing a suit and tie starting tomorrow." Her eyebrows go up, "A suit, huh? Is that Carl's idea?" I shrug, and avoid the question by saying, "He's the one who told me." Dottie says, "Well he's suppose to be running the show for this program so what's the harm, assuming you don't mind. Wear a suit or sports jacket if you want but take it off during the day. We want a friendly casual introduction of these new benefits. One big happy equal family. Right, Dylan? I do a nervous chuckle, mumbling, "Right, Dottie." The fucking suit was actually George's idea, whoever he is. He could be one of the older mailroom 'boys' for all I know. Nah, he must be someone above Carl since he's trying to get Carl transferred,
Peg comes back with the revised summary sheets and Dottie stands up taking the sheets, saying, "Thanks, Peg." Putting the summary sheet in front of me, Dottie walks around the table to sit across from me, saying, "I'm sure you gave the presentation to Carl, but I'll be your first real interview. Convince me the company is looking out for my best interest." Oh fuck! Just like that, huh? Getting out a fresh brochure, I slide it across the table smiling, and saying, "Hi, I'm Dylan Newman. How are you doing today..." and I go through the whole presentation. Dottie breaks my balls with obscure questions of course because she's quite the kidder, but at the end she says, "Wonderful, Dylan! That was perfect. Everyone will love you." Well fuck you, Carl! Dottie thinks I'm perfect.
She says, "Don't forget though, you need to have me sign that three-by-five card." She signs it and I paperclip it to Carl's signed card and stick it in the thing I'm carrying the papers in. Dottie says, "Now I'll walk you down to that meeting room and get Kay started on sending the Human Resources people to you." I ask, "Kay?" and Dottie says, "She's the Human Resources Department supervisor, Kay Bloomsberg. The manager is Bill Baxter whom I'm sure you know from interviewing with him for the job. And of course, you met with him your first day." Yeah, for three minutes as he tried to figure out who the hell hired me, but why tell Dottie that? She says, "You keep this copy of the computer print-out so you'll know who's coming next for an interview." She points at the print-out saying, "Here's the name, their employee number, date of hire and so forth. Well you can read the headings for yourself. The project leader for each department will have a duplicate printout."
She takes me on a much more direct route to the small meeting room where I spent my first two days and after she checks it out, she mumbles, "This will do although I tried to get you a space with a window. No luck yet on that but I'll keep trying." She pats my shoulder, "You'll do great, Dylan," and off she goes to talk with the Kay-person, I assume. I guess I just wait until, and I check the print-out to see who's first, until Mary Dulse shows up. Well, here I go....
Yeah, except Mary doesn't show up for almost an hour and I'm wondering what the fuck is going on. Then I hear a tap on the door. Oh fuck, I'll leave the door open next time. I go, "Come in please," and in comes the middle age woman I remember seeing my first day. Big smile from me as I say, "Hi, as you already know I'm Dylan Newman. Oh, please have a seat," and off I go.
Without interruptions, my first presentation took about twelve-minutes. Mary didn't interrupt with questions so when I finish, I ask, "Is this all making sense, Mary?" He goes, "Yes, Dylan, and may I say you have a very nice speaking voice." Well I didn't expect that so I go, "Oh, um, that's kind of you to say. So you understand the changes so far, huh?" She shakes her head, "Not really, but I just assume the changes are better, like you said." Jesus! I go back to the first change, saying, "Well, you understand that your life insurance is now six times your annual earnings, right? It was five times before." She goes, "Oh, sure I understood that one. Very nice of the company although I have no intentions of dying at the moment." You dumb cunt, that's not the point! I think that but don't say it out loud. Instead I go to point two and she understands that too. Same for all the points I covered the first time. She goes, "My goodness, I guess I did understand what you said the first time." I go, 'Well I'm not all that surprised because a nine-year-old could understand this simple shit.' No, I don't say that either. Instead I say, "Good," and take the card out for Mary to sign. Mary, by the way, is wearing a cheap smelling perfume that's suffocating me.
I ask her to sign the three-by-five card, and she goes, "Let me take all this information home to have my husband review it before I sign-off on it. Okay, Dylan?" I do two fake coughs thinking that no one mentioned what to do in a situation like this moron presented me for my very first presentation. I asked, "Oh, is your husband in the financial and insurance business?" She makes a face, "No, he's a mail carrier." I tell her, 'Well he wouldn't know shit about any of this stuff then. You and I are staying in this room until you sign the fucking card. If you don't sigh it, I'll get Carl in here with a cup of hot coffee and we'll see how long you can hold out with him slurping the whole fucking cup.' I don't actually say that. Instead I patiently say, "Mary, it's my job to help you understand the changes so you can explain them to your husband. They're spelled out in the brochure too. You did understand the changes, right?" She says, "Oh yes. You did a wonderful job of explaining everything." I shrug, smiling at her, and nodding my head at the three-by-five card.
She picks up the card and reads it saying, "Oh, after my husband reviews everything I'll bring the signed card in with me in the morning. Would that be okay?" I go, "Oh jeez, I'll tell you what. First off I can't let these cards leave the building because there's personal information on each one, but I promise to keep your SIGNED card without turning it in," emphasizing the word 'signed', "until you give me the okay." She looks suspicious but nods her dumb head and signs the card. I put it in with the first two cards, saying, "Don't forget to tell me it's okay tomorrow morning." She says, "Or tell you it's not, depending on what my husband says." Oh man! I stand offering my hand. She takes it and shakes limply. I go, "Would you please ask Kay to send in," and I look at the computer sheet and see who's next, "Florence Rainy." Mary says, "Sure and thank you, Dylan. You did a wonderful job explaining everything."
Mary leaves me covered in flop sweat. Holy shit! Is everyone going to be that dense? What an idiot! In comes Florence and I start with a big smile, asking, "How are you, Florence?" According to the printout sheet she's thirty-one years old but she looks older. As I do the presentation Florence is the complete opposite of Mary and asks many questions and consequently the presentation takes over a half-hour although when done she signs the card, gushing, "What wonderful increases in our benefits. Be sure to tell Mr. D. that I appreciate them." I promise I'll tell him and the next lady comes in. I get through five of the nine Human Resources employees finishing up at twenty-minutes-after-four. Not enough time to start another one, thank God! No one gave me any trouble about signing the card after Mary. I'm exhausted though. Who knew saying the same thing over and over would be so hard? Just talking for over three-hours straight is really tiring. I need a raise.
Texting Carl that I'm done for the day, I see a text from Robby that he sent an hour ago, saying he left work early feeling ill. What? I text him asking, 'Sorry you're not feeling well, Rob. Do you have a cold? Love you, Dylan'No response so maybe he's sleeping. Damn, that's a strange one. I'll trying calling him when I get home. I pack up and, without any other option, I put everything in Carl's flat satchel thingie and then put the satchel in my backpack. There's a table and six arm chairs in this room but no desk or file cabinet for me to store the brochures and information sheets in so I take everything with me and walk outside lighting a cigarette to smoke on my way to the bus stop.
Rob's sick, huh? Jesus, it's strange the way our bodies can come down with any one of a million illnesses we're not even thinking about or even know exists. That's some scary shit right there. I'm hoping it's just a simple cold or an upset stomach; something he'll quickly recover from. There wasn't a thing wrong with him yesterday. Waiting at the bus stop for almost a half-hour is an infuriating waste of time. I've got my earphones in listening to a song by 'The Plain White T's. Actually by the band's lead singer, Tom Higgenson, singing 'Hey There Delilah' which was a number one hit when I was Twelve or thirteen. I loved that song!
What infuriates me is I just missed a bus I could have caught if I left work five minutes earlier. I'd have been home before five. As it is I get home at five-thirty checking my cellphone every five minutes for word from Rob, but nothing. In between checking my cellphone I'm thinking I'll ask bus-boy-Ryan tomorrow what bus he takes home. Oh, I just remembered: next week I'll have the Jeep. Good deal!
I'm in the bathroom taking a piss when Chubby calls saying he's on his way home and asks what we have on hand for dinner tonight. I tell him, "Let's get some kind of take-out for dinner, but later," and I tell him about Robby going home sick and how he hasn't responded to my texts. Chub says, "The Dickers probably still have a land line telephone number. Mom used it a year or so ago when the Dickers had us all over for a Fourth of July cookout. Call their house and ask Rob's mom what's up with Rob being sick." I go, "Great idea," and Chub says he'll stop in here before getting something for our dinner.
I must have the telephone number for the Dickers' phone somewhere, so I first check my cellphone without finding the number. Next, I'm going through my desk until I stop and ask myself, 'What are you doing? Call information!' After talking with a computer, I get the Dickers' phone number and call with some trepidation. Mrs. Dickers answers, saying, "Hello, Dylan." Freakin' caller ID! I go, "Hi, Mrs. Dickers, I'm calling about Rob. He went home sick and I was wondering, um... could I talk to him?" Dummy, she knows he went home sick! She says, "His Dad brought him home quite a while ago but then took Rob to the hospital's emergency room when he continued having severe stomach pains and he was throwing-up." Oh fuck!
Well that doesn't sound good. His Mom is sort of shouting now, "I've called Robert two times and he says they're still doing tests on Rob but apparently, the doctors aren't communicating with Mr. Dickers so I'm just about to go over and join them. They'll communicate with me or I'll know the Goddamn reason... oh, I'm sorry, Dylan, I mean to yell at you." I go, "Omigod, do you have any idea what's wrong with Rob?" She says, "He began noticing a dull ache near his belly button and later it became a sharp pain and he bent over screaming. They were in a meeting together I think he said." I go, "Oh fuc..., um, oh man! Which hospital?" She tells me Framingham General and I tell her I'll see her there.
Looking out the window I see Chub just parking at the curb so I go out the front door to meet him. As he jogs up the steps, I go, "Robby's in the hospital with bad stomach pains and he was throwing up." Chub says, "Well, let's go over there and see what's up, bro. It sounds like maybe appendicitis although nobody else I know ever had it." I go, "Yeah, but what if it's not appendicitis, but something worse?" Chub is up the steps now and we hug quickly as he mumbles, "I'm sure it's nothing worse, Dylan. Let me have a couple of minutes in my place and we'll take a ride over to the hospital. Is it Framingham General?" I nod asking, 'What do you need to do first? I wanna get going." He pats my shoulder, "I gotta take a shit if you must know. I'll only be a couple of minutes." He starts up the steps to his place as I call after him, "Don't forget to wash your hands afterwards." He chuckles, and calls back, "Wash with disinfectant soap and then I'll use half a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer." I yell, "Perfect!"
Going inside I'm not sure if I should hope it's appendicitis or not. I mean I assume that's a fairly simple operation nowadays although it'd be even better if Rob had indigestion or constipation; anything that doesn't require surgery. I had a wicked case of constipation once and what a pain in the ass that was, no pun intended. Whatever ails Robby it sure came on him fast." Chubby's comes in holding his hands out for inspection. I go, "Good, I can smell the Purell. Let's go." He chuckles, and as we go down the steps he says, "Think positively, Dylan!" I go, "I'll try, you drive."
Traffic sucks going through Framingham center and it takes almost half an hour to get there. Hospital parking lots never seem to have enough parking spaces for visitors. Maybe that's to discourage visitors. Fortunately, Chubby's driving so we don't need to worry about the visitor's parking lot. There are always spots available in the DOCTORS ONLY parking area. Chub parks at a spot that's close to the front door. As we go inside I tell Chub we probably should have gone to the emergency entrance." The woman at the 'Information Desk' is very little help. The words she speaks, the ones we can understand through her almost incomprehensible accent of undetermined origin, seem to infer we should do what I suggested to Chubby; try the emergency room.
Hospitals are a warren of corridors connecting different buildings intended to test one's ability to get where you want to go. Asking people results in mostly frowning faces and conflicting directions, but we eventually find the emergency room. It's noisy and crowded but I immediately spot Mr. and Mrs. Dickers talking with, if I can believe my eyes, Danny Monday. We're walking in between the milling people who all seem to be asking various people question with very few getting answers. I see a doctor come up to Mr. Dickers, who then calls Mrs. Dicker over. I assumed it's a doctor because he's wearing a white coat. Mrs. Dickers gives Danny and quick hug and then walks over joining Mr. Dickers and the doctor. All three of them walk through swinging doors. Yeah, well just what the fuck is Danny doing here anyway? It's like he's a friend of the family or something. And how'd he even know Rob was sick?
I'm standing here baffled about the Danny situation and when I look around for Chubby I see him grinning and talking with a cute teenage candy-striper who's smiling and moving her body somehow while standing still. I go, "Chub!" and he pats her shoulder and comes right over, saying, "She didn't know anything about Rob." I give him a 'look' and he goes, "What? I was just..." and I point toward Danny, saying, "Let's see what he knows." Chub goes, "Oh, that's Danny Monday from Merrimack." I mutter, "Yeah, he lives around here, remember?" Chub nods, "Yeah, I know. He was in my tenth-grade homeroom."
Danny sees us walking towards him and he meets us halfway. Him and I do a quick hug and then he bumps fist with Chubby, saying, "The doctors are really busy tonight. Another accident on 495 and Mrs. Dickers said a man just came in on a stretcher with a gunshot wound." I go, "What'd Mrs. Dickers have to say about Rob?" Danny shrugs, "Oh, they're doing blood and urine testing and other tests I guess. They're thinking it's appendicitis." I ask, "Like what other tests?" Danny says, "I don't know. Maybe the dreaded rectal exam or a CT scan, or I don't know." I'm like, "What the fuck, they can't tell if he has appendicitis or not?" Danny says, "The symptoms are similar to a number of other possibilities. I was just looking it up," and he reads from his cellphone, "It could be an ulcer, or problem with his gall bladder, liver disease which is highly unlikely I guess, or gastro-intestinal problems, diverticulitis or IBS." Chub's like, "What's that?" and Danny shrugs and shows us his cellphone, "I don't know. I just Googled appendicitis and that's what came up."
I'm tapping my foot trying to resist asking why the fuck he's here until finally I can't resist and asks, "How did you happen to be here when they brought Rob in?" He says, "Oh, his Mom told me. I was texting Rob about the try-outs for the baseball summer league teams. Rob's usually good about returning texts but when he hadn't returned one all afternoon Hayden suggested I call his house and I found out Rob was here. I wanted to know what's wrong, so...." I'm like, "You know his Mom?" Danny shrugs, "Only from high school, but yeah I know her from when the Dickers would have the baseball team over for cookouts at their pool a couple of times during freshmen and sophomore years." I go, "Oh."
Danny checks his cellphone for the time and Chubby asks, "Are the baseball try-outs tonight?" Danny goes, "Yeah, they're going on right now so I probably should get going." Yeah, you probably should. I ask, "Is Hayden at the try-outs right now?" He nods, "Uh huh," and I say, "Well go ahead then. I'll text you as soon as we know what the doctors decide." He's like, "Oh, would you? That'd be awesome, Dylan, thanks!" I nod, "No problem," and he hesitates and then says, "I guess I'll go then. I'm not doing any good here," like he's asking permission. I nod and he mumbles, "Okay, text me," and he takes off as Chub and I spot a couple of empty seats along the wall. Danny's actually a good guy.
As we're making our way to the seats two ladies sit in the seats before we get to them so we lean against the wall. Chubby mutters, "You'd think the doctor would know by now if Rob has appendicitis or not." We tend to think doctors should know everything immediately and cure it. I can't help but think back to years ago, when Chubby was knocked unconscious and stayed that way for a frightening amount of time. Then there was Rob's car accident with his father, but other than that we've been lucky about avoiding hospitals. It's a helpless feeling waiting to find out about someone's condition while hoping to God the doctors and nurses know what they're doing.
We lean against the wall silently for fifteen minutes or so before I see Mr. and Mrs. Dickers come back through the swinging doors. Mr. Dickers sees me and gives me half a smile and they both come over. Mrs. Dickers does not give me a hug, not that I want one. She says, "How nice of you boys to be here for Rob," and I ask, "How is he?" Mr. Dickers says, "Dr. Nolden feels it might be necessary to remove Rob's appendix which they're prepping him for right now. Apparently, it's a matter of urgency." I mutter, "An operation?" and he says, "Probably yes, but first they'll do a low risk, minimally invasive diagnostic laparoscopy." I nod as if I know what he's talking about. I must have a confused expression on my face though because he adds, "The surgeon makes very small incisions through the abdominal wall, the abdomen is inflated so it's easier to see what happening, in this case with Robert's appendix. A fiber-optic instrument is inserted for that purpose. If need be they can take the appendix out by slightly enlarging one of the incisions or at least that's what I understood from the surgeon." He looks at his wife and she says, "That's as much as I recall, Robert, except that Rob should be home tomorrow walking around a little bit." Mr. Dickers says, "Dr. Nolden says in some instances the patient goes home after the operation, but he prefers keeping them overnight." I should hope so! Jesus!
We make our way to the surgical waiting room with me thinking Rob's operation certainly doesn't sound too scary; not that I want one myself. Finding seats with others waiting to hear about the operation of their loved ones. It's supposed to be family only because it's another crowded area but Mrs. Dickers gave the nurse a hard look and muttered, "They're his brothers." Way to go Mrs. Dickers! After a few minutes Mrs. Dickers murmurs, "I'm praying there are no complications and that it's not something worse than his appendix when they get in there to see," and Mr. Dickers pats her hand, murmuring, "It'll be fine, Em." I could have handled sitting here a little easier without hearing that drop of negativity from Mrs. D.!
No one says anything for about forty-five minutes and I finally murmur, "Mr. Dickers, how long do you think it'll be before we hear from the doctor?" He says, "The surgical procedure usually takes only a half-hour once the small incisions are made. I don't know how long it takes to prep Rob for the surgery though." I go, "Oh," and check my watch. I check it again an hour-and-a-half later but don't want to mention how long it's been because I don't want to get Rob's parents upset anymore than they already are. A half-hour after that Chub and I exchange frowning 'looks' like... what the fuck? We don't say anything though. We just wait on....
to be continued...
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com
P
======================================================
Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
========================================================
Please consider a tax deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expense of maintaining this ginormous free story site. Thank you very much.
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html