There Have Been

Bad Moments

Booth Island
I've got my blue skin; I eat my dinner in sin...
7-4

Patterns emerge from the ether and begin to fan out in symmetrical lines, like some computerized screen saver or multi-edged coral growing in warm waters. Patterns develop a sense of difference between who you are and who the other guy is. Somewhere in your own order and direction for attaching the keys to the ring, signing your name, or choosing which stripes go with which socks, you make your own image for the others to see.
 
Neil Parsman waited patiently in line at the fast food restaurant. He checked his watch, although there certainly was no need to rush. He'd been coming to this burger joint for almost five months since he'd discovered it within walking distance of the office building that he worked at.
 
After a few weeks, it just seemed natural for Neil to pattern his day around the trip, and somehow in the repetition, his instincts had become finely tuned to just how long a lunch hour actually lasted.
 
It was turning out to be another uneventful year in Indianapolis. The 500 had come and gone, taking the tourists and the traffic with it -- and all that was left for entertainment was to hope that the Colts might actually get it together this year, which invariably they didn't.
 
A little girl had fallen from her second-story bedroom window yesterday afternoon. Her older brother was playing videogames in his room didn't notice she was missing, didn't hear her crying for help for almost an hour. The paper said that the little girl was recovering in the hospital, while the little boy and the videogame industry were demonized around every water cooler and talk radio station in town.
 
The parents were considering a lawsuit against the videogame's maker.
 
Several other people died in the city that day; but none of them were as cute, or as presentable as the little girl was. As a result, the complaints and crossfire arguments over the affect of videogames on the attention spans of the young drowned out the cries of the other families…
 
The line inched ahead a bit, and Neil moved with it. The manager behind the counter met eyes with him, offered a smile, and asked out loud if he wanted "the usual" again. Neil nodded, and the Manager took out a tray. On it he would place a Bacon Cheeseburger with a fresh tomato slice on it, an order of onion rings, and a medium Sprite.
 
The line inched forward again.
 
Once Neil stepped forward to the cashier, he broke a little smile in the corner of his lip. The cashier's eyes lit up a bit with recognition.
 
"Hey there, back again?"
"You know me." Neil answered.
"You getting the usual?" She smiled as she hovered her finger over the button with a picture of a cheeseburger on it.
"Yep," he answered, "Mike's already working on it."
 
She keyed in the appropriate combination of pictures, and smiled as she took the five-dollar bill from him and changed it. Mike stepped up a second later with the food.
 
"Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to get you some fresh rings. Those others had been sitting around a while"
Neil smiled. "Thanks, buddy. You didn't have to do that for me."
"Hey" Mike answered, "You're a regular. We'd go under if it weren't for you."
Neil looked over his shoulder a bit at the line behind him "Sure, whatever you say..."
 
Picking up his tray, Neil wheeled around to the dining area, stopping for a moment to pick up two napkins and a straw. He scanned the dining area. Tuesdays were usually busy here, but today seemed especially so. Lot of suits, he noticed to himself. Must be some sort of conference going on over at the convention center that stood a few blocks away from the restaurant. Lots of talking, lots of fries dipped in ketchup.
 
Lucky for Neil, no on ever seemed to take his seat, even on busy days like these. Trying to find a table had been a problem at first, but then he had noticed that no one ever seemed to want to sit in the large circular booths located at the center of the dining room if they could possibly avoid it. Something about the shape seemed to push most people away.
 
The round booths were arranged back-to-back, forming a large island in the middle of the blue and white dining room. Even if one circle booth was taken, there was always another empty.
 
If it was open, Neil preferred the booth that faced away from the counter; the one that was shaded a bit by the plant that rose up from the center of the island. This seat was always the best place to be on days like these when the place as full. From here, Neil could sit behind the plant and eat his bacon cheeseburger and listen in on the conversations going on around him without being noticed.
 
He didn't consider himself a particularly nosy person, but the sounds of all the lunch conversations seemed to always filter over to the booth where he sat. He tried to be polite and not pay attention, but after a while it became irresistible.
 
Because his routine was so set, Neil usually finished his food early, and would find himself with lots of time to rest before walking back to the office. He always read the paper in the morning, and checked CNN.com after lunch, so there wasn't much else to do while he finished drinking his Sprite but listen to the other people in the place.
 
One particular Tuesday two policemen had taken seats at an adjacent booth, a veteran and a rookie. It was, Neil supposed, some sort of training thing. They traded stories back and forth while shoveling food in their mouths. Domestic Disturbance calls, prostitution busts, traffic accident horror stories -- all recounted between swallows of soda and bites on a burger. The veteran liked to talk about the streets. The rookie was a Colts fan. For a number of weeks they came in and sat in the same place.
 
Sometimes at his desk after lunch Neil would wonder if the two policemen got along well. One night he even had a dream about them.
 
The next day the cops didn't come to lunch.
 
He found himself absently worrying about the two of them all through his meal. Wondering if his silly dream had some dark meaning, like those premonitions that people had in the movies. He checked the door when people came in to the place to see if they were simply late for lunch. It was a big city -- anything was possible.
 
Back at the office that afternoon, Neil checked local websites for any news of the two officers. It occurred to him that he didn't even really know their names. Surely they had spoken their names to each other at least once while eating their French fries, but somehow Neil couldn't remember if they had or not. There was no news about a dark alley, or some accident involving a rookie cop and a veteran. There was nothing on the radio news or the television that night either.
 
The next day Neil went to lunch early, and stayed just a little bit later than normal. It threw his whole day off, but he had become silently worried about the missing policemen.
 
Alone in his apartment that night it seemed especially dark. Neil could barely remember another time when he ever felt so small and unsafe living in the city…
 
"Hey buddy, you having the usual again today?"
 
The words cut through the fog, and Neil suddenly realized that he had slipped into some sort of daydream while waiting in line. He felt a little dizzy. He put a hand to his forehead, finding it a little damp.
 
"Are you alright?"
 
Neil turned back to the cashier. She was looking at him in concern. He wasn't sure why. He hated when that happened.
 
She seemed to loosen up a bit as he ordered the Bacon Cheeseburger with the tomato slice, onion rings and a medium sprite.
 
He took the tray when it arrived, and headed for his table after picking up three napkins and a straw...