Not Even Close
Brian McVety
I knew I should have given myself more time, should have just mobile ordered from Starbucks and added a damn cake pop. But I wanted to surprise her, the way that surprises used to be fun.
Instead, the old woman in front of me counted out the pennies, her wrinkled fingers making a small stack next to the four bills and the two coffees.
“There. Four nineteen. Exactly,” the old woman said, proud of herself.
The girl behind the counter didn’t respond at first. She had slicked-back bangs that clung to her head and couldn’t have been more than seventeen. She probably should have been in school. Her name tag said Luz.
“Anything else?”
“Actually, let me have the bear claw as well. Sorry.”
I’m sorry too, Luz.
Luz didn’t move. She looked at me like I should do something about this, before grabbing the wax paper and reaching into the case. With orange fingernails that extended well beyond her fingers, she grabbed the last one.
What the fuck.
“My grandson Michael’s favorite,” the old woman said as she reached back into her pocketbook for more change.
Michael’s probably a dick.
Luz looked at me, as if I had spoken aloud.
I smirked.
You think so, too, Luz. Don’t you.
“He’s coming over this afternoon. My once a week with him. I always like to have something sweet for him.”
She pulled out a few nickels. Then dimes.
“Something sweet for a sweet kid.”
Don’t you have any quarters?
A crumpled dollar bill came next.
Thank God.
Luz held the bear claw in the wax paper, not yet putting it in the bag.
I looked at the clock on the wall.
What a mistake.
“They get big so fast, you know. Everyone said that to me when my Pearl was young, that it goes by in an instant,” the old woman said.
This instant will never go by.
I realized I was clenching my fists. I tried to relax.
“But it does. You can’t know it until it happens to you.”
Luz finally put the bear claw in the bag. She slowly punched a few buttons on the register, punctuated by the click and clack of her fingernails.
The green lights of the register showed $6.57. The old woman’s mouth moved without speaking.
“How much is there?”
Luz looked at the pile.
Not enough.
The old woman’s hand started to shake as she clutched the quarter. She held it as if not wanting to let go.
"Maybe just the coffees,” the old woman said.
I know I should. I know.
I waited.
Luz didn’t say anything but reached into the tip jar, pulled out the dollar and added it to the pile. The old woman smiled.
“Bless you, dear.”
She grabbed the two coffees and the bear claw, wrinkles transformed to paper-thin skin stretched over bones. The old woman turned and looked for the first time.
“Never believe what they say about kids these days.”
Depends on the kid.
I nodded, and the old woman shuffled by and went out the door.
“May I help you?” Luz asked.
“I’ll just go with a dark roast. And a cruller.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip, taking out a twenty.
Luz didn’t speak but quickly punched the buttons this time, the clacks all connected.
The register showed $3.34
“You still have time to go back to school. It’s not too late.”
She looked at me confused.
I handed her the bill and walked out the door.
The clock on the dashboard showed 8:27.
Gonna be close.
I had a 9:15, a proposal meeting, about what to do with the abandoned old mansion in town, the place where we used to picnic sometimes when I could get away from the office, where we used to pretend that a bear lived in the mansion, where we would picture it coming out dressed in a robe, looking to snatch back its claw, the one we would be eating. My firm wanted to raze the mansion and develop condos.
I pulled out and headed down the street. The old woman was shuffling by. A construction crew was working up ahead, a man jackhammering the sidewalk to rubble. The old woman would have to cross the road, go around the block the long way since there was no sidewalk on the other side.
I watched her as I waited at the light. She stopped and stared at the sidewalk-closed sign. She had the coffees in her hands, which were shaking, struggling to hold both bag and coffees.
The light turned green. I didn’t move but watched as the bag fell from her hands.
You don’t have time to stop.
Nobody from the construction crew even seemed to see her.
I opened the door, leaving the car running, ignoring the beeps. I picked up the bag and grabbed the coffees from her.
“Where you heading?”
The old woman didn’t seem to recognize me, her eyes blank, until she realized what seemed to be happening. I didn’t think she would be capable of screaming so loud.
“Give me back my coffee!”
Jesus.
The construction crew heard her this time. The foreman started to walk over just as the woman snatched back the bag with bear claw.
Christ.
“There a problem here?” he shouted, taking off his gloves.
“This man’s stealing! Stealing from me!”
I handed back the coffees, her hands shaking even more now.
“Just trying to help,” I said to him, eyeing the demolished sidewalk, as if that said enough.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, looking back at the other workers.
Fuck this.
I turned and headed back to my car and noticed for the first time the traffic cop, looking up from her phone, seeing the commotion.
So much for doing the right thing.
I could see the old woman talking excitedly to the foreman as the traffic cop started walking over, as if she had been waiting for the chance to move all morning.
I sped away, eyeing the cruller next to me.
There was still a chance I could catch her, if the lights cooperated.
I turned down the avenue. All green.
Like a one-man carpool lane.
I pressed on the accelerator harder.
The drop-off car-line was already backed up around the corner, but I cut in front of them, pulling to the opposite side of the road, ignoring the crossing guard’s stop sign.
She was almost to the building, was walking with friends. I beeped twice before opening the door, holding up the cruller.
It’s me.
She smiled, at first, before seeing who it was. Her eyes went wide. She shook her head, turned back to her friends.
They didn’t have bear claws. I tried.
I leaned into the car and beeped again. One of her friends pushed her backpack, the way middle-schoolers do, which turned her around again so I could see her scarlet face.
She mouthed No, Dad and glared, before turning back around again, knocking into her friend’s backpack as payback. The girls all laughed. They stopped when they saw the boys watching. They cast their heads down, before walking by them, right into school.
I just wanted to surprise you, the way that surprises used to be fun.
The crossing guard glared, took a step towards my idling car.
I’m going. I’m going.
I got back in the car and threw the bag down. The cruller and its crumbs spilled onto the passenger’s seat.
I looked at the clock. No chance I’d make the meeting, not that it would have mattered much anyway.
I sighed, picked up the cruller, knowing it’d be another skipped lunch.
I heard the sirens before I saw the lights. I looked in the mirror, hoping they would just drive on by, knowing they wouldn’t. The traffic cop pulled up behind me, blocking the parents who had now gotten out of their cars to see the commotion. The old woman sat in the seat next to her, still clutching the coffees and the bag.
I took a bite.
Not as good as a bear claw.
Not even close.
Brian McVety
I knew I should have given myself more time, should have just mobile ordered from Starbucks and added a damn cake pop. But I wanted to surprise her, the way that surprises used to be fun.
Instead, the old woman in front of me counted out the pennies, her wrinkled fingers making a small stack next to the four bills and the two coffees.
“There. Four nineteen. Exactly,” the old woman said, proud of herself.
The girl behind the counter didn’t respond at first. She had slicked-back bangs that clung to her head and couldn’t have been more than seventeen. She probably should have been in school. Her name tag said Luz.
“Anything else?”
“Actually, let me have the bear claw as well. Sorry.”
I’m sorry too, Luz.
Luz didn’t move. She looked at me like I should do something about this, before grabbing the wax paper and reaching into the case. With orange fingernails that extended well beyond her fingers, she grabbed the last one.
What the fuck.
“My grandson Michael’s favorite,” the old woman said as she reached back into her pocketbook for more change.
Michael’s probably a dick.
Luz looked at me, as if I had spoken aloud.
I smirked.
You think so, too, Luz. Don’t you.
“He’s coming over this afternoon. My once a week with him. I always like to have something sweet for him.”
She pulled out a few nickels. Then dimes.
“Something sweet for a sweet kid.”
Don’t you have any quarters?
A crumpled dollar bill came next.
Thank God.
Luz held the bear claw in the wax paper, not yet putting it in the bag.
I looked at the clock on the wall.
What a mistake.
“They get big so fast, you know. Everyone said that to me when my Pearl was young, that it goes by in an instant,” the old woman said.
This instant will never go by.
I realized I was clenching my fists. I tried to relax.
“But it does. You can’t know it until it happens to you.”
Luz finally put the bear claw in the bag. She slowly punched a few buttons on the register, punctuated by the click and clack of her fingernails.
The green lights of the register showed $6.57. The old woman’s mouth moved without speaking.
“How much is there?”
Luz looked at the pile.
Not enough.
The old woman’s hand started to shake as she clutched the quarter. She held it as if not wanting to let go.
"Maybe just the coffees,” the old woman said.
I know I should. I know.
I waited.
Luz didn’t say anything but reached into the tip jar, pulled out the dollar and added it to the pile. The old woman smiled.
“Bless you, dear.”
She grabbed the two coffees and the bear claw, wrinkles transformed to paper-thin skin stretched over bones. The old woman turned and looked for the first time.
“Never believe what they say about kids these days.”
Depends on the kid.
I nodded, and the old woman shuffled by and went out the door.
“May I help you?” Luz asked.
“I’ll just go with a dark roast. And a cruller.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my money clip, taking out a twenty.
Luz didn’t speak but quickly punched the buttons this time, the clacks all connected.
The register showed $3.34
“You still have time to go back to school. It’s not too late.”
She looked at me confused.
I handed her the bill and walked out the door.
The clock on the dashboard showed 8:27.
Gonna be close.
I had a 9:15, a proposal meeting, about what to do with the abandoned old mansion in town, the place where we used to picnic sometimes when I could get away from the office, where we used to pretend that a bear lived in the mansion, where we would picture it coming out dressed in a robe, looking to snatch back its claw, the one we would be eating. My firm wanted to raze the mansion and develop condos.
I pulled out and headed down the street. The old woman was shuffling by. A construction crew was working up ahead, a man jackhammering the sidewalk to rubble. The old woman would have to cross the road, go around the block the long way since there was no sidewalk on the other side.
I watched her as I waited at the light. She stopped and stared at the sidewalk-closed sign. She had the coffees in her hands, which were shaking, struggling to hold both bag and coffees.
The light turned green. I didn’t move but watched as the bag fell from her hands.
You don’t have time to stop.
Nobody from the construction crew even seemed to see her.
I opened the door, leaving the car running, ignoring the beeps. I picked up the bag and grabbed the coffees from her.
“Where you heading?”
The old woman didn’t seem to recognize me, her eyes blank, until she realized what seemed to be happening. I didn’t think she would be capable of screaming so loud.
“Give me back my coffee!”
Jesus.
The construction crew heard her this time. The foreman started to walk over just as the woman snatched back the bag with bear claw.
Christ.
“There a problem here?” he shouted, taking off his gloves.
“This man’s stealing! Stealing from me!”
I handed back the coffees, her hands shaking even more now.
“Just trying to help,” I said to him, eyeing the demolished sidewalk, as if that said enough.
“That so?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, looking back at the other workers.
Fuck this.
I turned and headed back to my car and noticed for the first time the traffic cop, looking up from her phone, seeing the commotion.
So much for doing the right thing.
I could see the old woman talking excitedly to the foreman as the traffic cop started walking over, as if she had been waiting for the chance to move all morning.
I sped away, eyeing the cruller next to me.
There was still a chance I could catch her, if the lights cooperated.
I turned down the avenue. All green.
Like a one-man carpool lane.
I pressed on the accelerator harder.
The drop-off car-line was already backed up around the corner, but I cut in front of them, pulling to the opposite side of the road, ignoring the crossing guard’s stop sign.
She was almost to the building, was walking with friends. I beeped twice before opening the door, holding up the cruller.
It’s me.
She smiled, at first, before seeing who it was. Her eyes went wide. She shook her head, turned back to her friends.
They didn’t have bear claws. I tried.
I leaned into the car and beeped again. One of her friends pushed her backpack, the way middle-schoolers do, which turned her around again so I could see her scarlet face.
She mouthed No, Dad and glared, before turning back around again, knocking into her friend’s backpack as payback. The girls all laughed. They stopped when they saw the boys watching. They cast their heads down, before walking by them, right into school.
I just wanted to surprise you, the way that surprises used to be fun.
The crossing guard glared, took a step towards my idling car.
I’m going. I’m going.
I got back in the car and threw the bag down. The cruller and its crumbs spilled onto the passenger’s seat.
I looked at the clock. No chance I’d make the meeting, not that it would have mattered much anyway.
I sighed, picked up the cruller, knowing it’d be another skipped lunch.
I heard the sirens before I saw the lights. I looked in the mirror, hoping they would just drive on by, knowing they wouldn’t. The traffic cop pulled up behind me, blocking the parents who had now gotten out of their cars to see the commotion. The old woman sat in the seat next to her, still clutching the coffees and the bag.
I took a bite.
Not as good as a bear claw.
Not even close.