In 2005 I was 24 years old. I lived at home with my parents and worked two jobs. One as a Nursery School teacher and one making sandwiches at Firehouse Subs. I loved both of my jobs. Because I chased toddlers in the morning I worked the night shift at Firehouse. On this particular day, I was running late. I wasn’t even dressed for work yet. I really should have gone straight in, but I was working the closing shift that night and I really REALLY wanted a smoothie. If I had a smoothie I could put it in the back office and sip on it all night. It was definitely worth being late to get a smoothie, but the question was, “Where can I get a smoothie?”
I ended up at a little hippie coffee shop called The Mojo Café. I had only been there once before, but it was close to Firehouse and I was fairly certain they made smoothies. It was empty when I walked in. I guess almost 4pm is not a popular time to get coffee. The hippie behind the counter took his time coming out to take my order, and I heard the door open and close behind me. I was surprised to see a soldier in uniform line up behind me. There were no bases near to our town, and I hadn’t seen those familiar old BDUs since my dad retired from the Army in 1997. I made sure to smile. We both placed our orders and the hippie disappeared to make the drinks.
I was so eager to speak to him, I had to suppress my grin when he broke the ice. “Do you know what ‘Free Trade’ means?” “Yes I do!” and I explained it to him. “I thought it was something like that.”He smiled. My heart was pounding but I was determined to push my game. “Are you new here?” I asked. He said that he was and I told him he should definitely come to Firehouse Subs, “Best subs in town.” I assured him, “Also, it’s where I work. In fact, I’m late for work.” Maybe I was babbling, but he didn’t seem to mind. We said some other things, but my courage was just about used up so I don’t remember them. I got my drink and said good bye. I remember my hands were shaking so badly I dropped the keys when I tried to unlock my 4Runner. Of course he saw, and gave a little wave as he headed to his own vehicle. I tried very hard not to be embarrassed and drove myself to work. “You’re LATE.” My 19 year old manager accused as I walked in the door. I grinned at him, “I think I picked up an army guy. We’ll see if he shows up.” He was incredulous, “That’s why you’re late?” I put on an offended look, “No. I’m late because I wanted a smoothie.” He didn’t show up that night. Or the next. Or any night. I wasn’t too upset. I had later described him as “not that cute” in my diary.
When Preschool was out for the Summer I was switched to day shift. On my first day, after the big lunch rush was over and most of the morning staff had left, I set about the task of emptying the garbage cans in the dining room. I had pulled and changed out the first, and was just about to bring the second one back out to the front when he showed up. I quickly ducked back behind the swinging door and considered my options. I realized there weren’t any. I took a deep breath and burst through the door, hoisting the garbage can in front of me. “You’re here!” I called joyfully. And then as I got close to him, “I have trash.” “I can see that.” He smirked. “Just let me take care of this and then I’ll get your order.” Quickly I ditched the garbage and washed up. I tapped my number into the register “What can I get for you?” He ordered and I asked, as we always did, for a name to put on his ticket. “It’s Darrin.” “I’m Larissa.” I replied. “I can see that.” He smiled at my nametag. Of course. I tried hard not to blush and in a fury of recovery I brazenly wrote my number on his receipt. “I was going to ask for that.” He said, “But thanks.” I washed up again and made his sandwich. My coworker had made himself scarce. I don’t remember what else was said except “I’ll call you.” And he was gone.
He did call me. Sometime later. Days or weeks. I was at home alone watching Sesame Street. “Oh, do you have kids?” he asked. I laughed, “No I teach preschool.” “Oh, I see.” He told me that he had two kids and how old they were. The hair on my arms stood on end and I very carefully asked, “Are you… married?” “No, I’m divorced.” “Ohh…” The conversation politely continued for a while, but in my mind as clear as reality I saw myself closing the book I was reading called “The Army Guy.” I stood on my tiptoes and slid it onto the highest shelf. Out of reach, out of sight, out of mind. Darrin was shelved, and he could tell I was not interested. That was the end of that.
Or
so I thought.
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