Sunday

The Ears Have It (7/12/08 Saturday)^

Ah! Let me just get that out of the way.

I'm finding myself more comfortable with Julie every day, and I think she feels the same with me. Nearly every time she hoves into speaking range I find something to say to her, about the littlest things--the pick list, this book or that patron--and no longer in such a premeditated, rehearsed way, but in a more natural, spontaneous way than I do with most anyone else.

Today's mission started as the search for her earlobes: I couldn't recall if I'd ever seen earrings on her and was determined to notice today. Julie adorns herself sparely--a silver ring she doesn't always wear--and her makeup seems to consist only of black pencil around the eye and mascara. Her ears, it turned out (or at least the one I saw) were accoutred accordingly with the thinnest and smallest of metal hoops--whether gold or silver I couldn't determine in the shadow her hair.

That mission accomplished, the importance of the day turned to simply making the most of the time I'd get with Julie. That started off strangely enough with the first thing she said to me: "So, Dion, I hear you liked to read magazines in ninth-grade English class." My brain instantaneously transformed into a knot. A cupped hand to my temple, massaging, I sputtered, "Wha-huh-what?" until my lips froze puckered, about to say "What?" again but feeling desperately close to stroking out from the incomputable input. "Where is that coming from?" finally issued intelligibly from my lips. Julie said, "Joe Kauffmann told me you used to read magazines in English class in the ninth grade." I'd recommended Joe to her to fix her bike. On the way into work I'd seen the bike rack on the back of the car. Everything fit together now--my brain no longer hurt--but that was a cruel thing to do to a guy first thing in the morning. Also not the most flattering memory he could have recounted to the woman I'm so desperate to impress.

But it sparked two more conversations, if they could be called that, brief as they were. When Julie returned from lunch I said, "Julie, I have to know: Is that the best thing Joe could say of me?" "Well, he just said you two go back a long way." "But that. ... I don't remember that myself." "Maybe you need to talk to him." "I do."

At the end of the day, as we filed out the back door, I asked her if Joe had given her an idea when her bike would be ready. She said he told her he was a little backed up, but she wasn't concerned, as she couldn't get it before Thursday, anyway. "I've gotta talk to him," I said as I fumbled for my sunglasses. "He's really done my legacy a disservice." She seemed quite amused by that, or at least by the cumulative harping on the subject.

"Hey, Dion! Over here." Maddux, with whom I'd ridden in. I'd strolled past the car with Julie toward her car. I hastily said goodbye to Julie and immediately began to wonder if I was getting obvious. Somebody's bound to be able to tell by now. Not Tammy; she didn't schedule me and Julie anywhere near each other all day. But I did manage to eat all my lunch.

^Who the hell wrote this?--"more comfortable with Julie every day"? What went wrong? Really--I don't remember. I'm afraid to read the next post. The last time I saw him, Joe promised he'd have something more flattering to say to her the next time she was in. I won't tell him the jig is up, but Julie won't be in to his shop for a long while yet; she's hardly an everyday cyclist.

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