It was one of those afternoons when my upcoming zoom meeting had been cancelled. Sure you know the kind. You’ve been waiting all morning and have most things in place, but then suddenly the thing’s off the schedule you breathe a bit while trying to decide what you’ll do with the unexpected freedom.
That’s when they came in. They sat down next to me in the coffee shop, and that’s when I couldn’t help but begin to overhear their conversation. Two men, office workers of some kind, both dressed in suits. One was thin and reedy with a high-pitched voice. His partner was heavier with a voice to match his girth. Laurel and Hardy you might say.
“Bastard,” Laurel said. “Cheap son of a bitch. Did you hear how he talked to me today?”
His larger partner just nodded.
“Idiot,” Laurel continued. “I must say. I absolutely hate him. Who does Nelson think he is?”
That helped me. I could picture him now, this Nelson. It was clear from that moment that what we had here was two fine men, probably from the municipal government building next door, fresh on a break from some tedious series of meetings, clearly put under the pile by Nelson. And likely, if life tells us the truth, Nelson was at this moment radiating outward the kind of glorious specimen he was to anyone who would listen and carrying on about whatever plans he had for the evening. Tennis or racquetball, I shouldn’t wonder.
I edged my chair a bit nearer to the neighboring table to listen closer.
“He never gives me a scrap of credit for anything I say,” Laurel said. “And the one time when the boss backed me up two weeks ago and Nelson had to admit it, he immediately pounced in two seconds later with…what was it…three more suggestions to ride on mine so that he could still overtake my little moment there.”
Hardy nodded and slowly said. “He’s a wicked man.”
Laurel pointed at his partner in agreement.
They continued on as they drank their cups of coffee. I sipped my own and allowed their words to carry me with them up to their work lives next door and opened the path for me to see their whole existence spread out before me. I knew so much about them now, I suppose. Laurel had a wife probably…maybe even a couple of kids. Hardy was older and was most likely divorced. But he had been married and this gave him a similar outlook on life as his younger comrade. They were both solidly where middle-class America had placed them…advanced far enough up the chain to have a stake and a share in it, but not high enough to be able to coast along. They had to work at it, mind you, and Nelson wasn’t making it any too easy on them.
I sat back in my chair. Then I nodded vigorously. I could help them.
I had time now, didn’t I? And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t take notice and care in the plight of those with whom I shared this town?
That’s what makes half of life’s problems, isn’t it? People not helping each other. And I’m a step or two closer to the problem now that I’ve listened to them unfold the situation as they have. Good God, I’m to half to blame if I don’t step in now.
I’m going to find Nelson. The municipal building is just next door. No difficulty at all for me to walk over. Once I had him in front of me I feel I could make him come round. Nelson is not above reach. None of us are. He may simply never have been told…or shown…how things really are down here below.
I shook my head and brought myself out of my day dream. Laurel had lapsed into a contemplative silence and Hardy had gone to the front, no doubt to order some more coffee or perhaps a snack.
I cautiously looked at Laurel out of the corner of my eye. He had lank hair hanging over his weak brow. His vacant blue eyes suggested dismal defeat. And I believe they were slightly bloodshot which surely meant a pattern of drinking after work. Nelson! He drove Laurel to this or I’m wrong now and twice on Saturdays.
Enough. Time for business. I already know it’s not worth the effort to try to bamboozle Nelson. He’s enough of a smart man to see through that nonsense. No, I’ll have to come clean and tell him exactly who I am and what I’ve witnessed down here.
Mr. Nelson, no need to raise your voice, sir. I can hear you fine but it’s actually time for you to listen a change. I’ve heard your men unfold their hearts to me. They’re good men, you know. Just trying to get by. Time’s hard and if you didn’t waste your life with squash and God-knows-what other mischief you get into at nights you’d see it like I do.
Of course, on second thought, it’s clear this line won’t work on him. He’s a tough man, Nelson is. He’s got a jaunty mustache and he might as well be twirling it. He eats men like Lauren and Hardy and has already done such today. Maybe twice even.
What then? I might threaten him, I suppose. If I kept my hand in my jacket I could come off like one of those crazed animals who break in to offices near closing time and threaten everyone with a shooting. If I did then Nelson would be amiable to talk. He would clasp his hands together and stand up straight and ask me what I needed. That would be the time to tell him what I’ve heard here in the coffee shop. I could unfold the sad plight of these two good men.
Ah, that won’t work either, though. Danger breeds danger and threats only multiply.
Come to think of it, my best course would be to pull my chair over to my neighbors here and tell them what I could do for them.
Gentlemen, I’ve been listening to you for hours now. It’s clear to me what should be done. You need my help. I’m a poet and a writer of some merit. This means I’ve encountered many lives and a good many awful situations. I don’t know Nelson, it’s true, but once I have him before me I know he’ll listen. I’m happy to explain your needs. One thing you should know right off, however, is that Nelson isn’t a bad man. He’s a pilgrim going through life just like you two. In fact, he’s…
Just at that moment Lauren stood up and nudged Hardy who seemed to have fallen asleep. A moment later they had left the coffee shop. I lost my chance on that one.
Probably just as well. Makes me sheepish to think I had it all sorted out in my mind to clear things up for them. I would probably have made things worse. In fact, it might not be a bad idea for me to follow them next door. That way I could find Nelson and apologize to him for the thoughts I had about him and the plan to threaten him.
Yes, that’s a good thought. A fine plan.
Zary Fekete grew up in Hungary. He has a debut novella (Words on the Page) out with DarkWinter Lit Press and a short story collection (To Accept the Things I Cannot Change: Writing My Way Out of Addition) out with Creative Texts. He enjoys books, podcasts, and many many many films. Twitter and Instagram: @ZaryFekete
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