As Time Goes By
I spent three hours on Saturday night trying on every outfit in Missy’s closet. We were not the same size at all. I was about four inches shorter, evidently all in the legs judging by how every pair of pants dragged on the floor, and I was just shaped completely differently. She was curvier than I was, very feminine in all the right places. My figure was more of what you would describe as boyish. Some of her pants dropped right off my hips. This wasn't easy. I had the kind of body ideally suited for minimum-wage khakis and a polo.
We finally settled on a skirt and a nice sweater, an outfit that looked polished and put-together without looking like I had spent three hours ransacking her closet. Missy taught me a variety of styles for how to do my hair, and I settled on a low ponytail that was simple and sophisticated, and hid the unruly waves that dominated my head.
I was a lost cause at work on Sunday. Missy and I arrived with the now traditional dozen Sunday donuts, a tailored mix of favorites based on scientific donut sampling (the jelly donut was always the last to be eaten; while no one admitted that it was their favorite, the white-iced French crullers always vanished in the first round). I barely even nibbled at mine, an old-fashioned cake donut with white icing and toasted coconut that caught my eye in the shop; I couldn’t stop thinking about my date, and my stomach was tied up in knots.
I remembered being in high school, when I was probably 16 years old, and practically bouncing off the walls because I had been asked to the homecoming dance. From the moment he asked, I had run all around the empty house singing the Banana Boat song, of all things, the first song that popped into my head. Day-O, Da-a-ay-O. I had long ago told myself that dances didn’t matter, which had been absolutely undeniably true until the moment I had a date for one. He was supposed to pick me up at 6:00. I was dressed and ready to go thirty minutes early. 6:00 came and went. 6:30. 7:00. 8:00. I called his house once and left a message on his answering machine. At 9:00, I locked the front door, turned off the porch light and went to bed, staring at my ceiling in silence, unable to sleep, depressed and numb. By Monday I learned that he had gone with someone more popular than me. As the story went, he had forgotten that he had asked me when the opportunity arose to take Jennifer, and he felt really bad about leaving me home alone, waiting. But I didn’t want to be a pathetic vision in everyone’s minds. I pretended not to care, and told people that I had forgotten about him, and had actually gone away for the weekend to visit my sister at college. Anyone who knew me would have known that was a lie. Fortunately for me, no one knew me.
The workday took forever. Christmas was fast approaching, yet it seemed like everyone was at home, waiting for the last minute panic sales to kick in. What they didn’t seem to realize was that bookstores don’t really offer those “50% off everything” sales that you find at department stores and boutiques. Nonetheless, there was little traffic in the store, which meant fewer people to watch, and nearly no one had a question for the bored info desk duo. We sat there all day, impatiently fidgeting, watching the clock.
When 6:00 rolled around, Missy and I clocked out and practically bolted for the door. We made it back to the condo in record time, and she immediately got to work on making me look lovely without looking like I was trying too head to get his attention. At 7:45, I looked at Missy, who was applying eyeliner as I flinched and blinked. She had unbelievable patience and kept going.
“He won’t come,” I said.
“”You are such a dork!” she exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t he come?
I shrugged. In my experience, guys didn’t usually need a reason.
When he hadn’t arrived by 8:15, she started to look nervous. I, on the other hand, felt oddly comforted by the thought of being stood up, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that I was right. We sat in the living room watching television. By 9:00, I had curled up onto the couch in a wrinkled heap, not caring what I looked like. By 9:30, we were sharing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and watching Casablanca on TCM.
“What does she see in him?” I asked, mouth full of ice cream. “Look at him,” I said, waving my spoon at the TV. “Ingrid Bergman is so young, so vibrant – she practically glows when she smiles. Humphrey Bogart is a cynical, withered old man. I just don’t see the attraction.”
Missy tried to protest. “Come on, don’t ruin it for me? Suspend disbelief for a while? It’s a classic love story? You're just supposed to believe?”
“Now if they had Cary Grant playing the part of Rick, now that I could understand….”
“Just shut up and watch the movie?” she said, laughing. I swiped the pint of ice cream from her hand and dug in. I was fishing for a big chunk of cookie dough when the doorbell rang. I looked at Missy, and she leaped from the couch.
“No, Missy, don’t!” I whispered loudly as she ran for the door. She peered through the peephole and nodded. Before I could protest, she opened the door.
“Hi,” Nick said, sheepishly. “Is Angela home?”
I had slid down onto the couch, hoping to hide myself. Missy wasn’t going to let me get away with that. “Sure, come on in?” She stepped back and allowed him to enter the room. “I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m Missy?” She extended her hand to shake his.
“I’m Nick,” he said. “Nick the Asshole. I want to apologize for showing up so late.”
“Let me get Angela?” Missy said. “Angela?” she called loudly, as though I had managed to escape to another room. “Nick the Asshole is here?”
I had hoped to hide silently on the couch until he went away, but her singsong voice announcing the arrival of "Nick the Asshole" made me laugh, giving away my hiding spot. I was forced to sit up straight and smooth my skirt down, trying to look presentable. I rose from the couch.
“Nick,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “What a pleasant surprise!” The sarcasm dripped from my pores like a cold sweat. He looked increasingly uncomfortable and mortified.
Missy politely excused herself. “”If you don’t mind, I’ll finish watching this in my room? It was nice meeting you, Nick? She gave me a playful punch in the arm. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid?” she said, and scampered off with a giggle. Nick and I stood in awkward silence for a moment before it occurred to me to ask him to come in.
We walked into the living room and sat on the couch in front of the large plasma TV. He looked around, impressed. “Beautiful place you have here,” he said.
“It’s not mine,” I replied. “It’s Missy’s. I rarely come out of my room. But it is lovely, isn’t it?”
Humphrey Bogart was drinking himself into oblivion in the café, while Sam played “As Time Goes By” on the piano. I reached for the remote to shut it off, but Nick stopped me. “No, leave it on. It’s a good movie.” We sat in silence as Ilsa came in and saw how Rick had been so devastated by the loss of her love. Nick turned to me.
“Can I explain?”
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “Can you?”
"I can," he said. “First, let me apologize.” He waited for me to say something, but I was sitting silently, arms crossed.
“I was on my way over here, and I admit that I was running a bit late,” he said. “I was driving down the expressway and a car spun out about a quarter-mile ahead of me, hitting three other cars before slamming into the median. The accident was pretty horrific, and I knew there were injuries. I called 911, but I also got out of the car to help stabilize the victims. I would have called, but I only had your address, not your number. I called information, but your number on record is you old apartment number, which as you know is disconnected. I didn’t know your roommate’s last name to ask for her.”
I felt my attitude softening towards him, but I still said nothing.
“So I managed to stabilize the driver of the main car. He was pretty badly hurt, but I managed to keep him still until the ambulance arrived. One of the other vehicles was a minivan filled with kids coming back from hockey practice. They were going to have to go to the hospital to be checked out anyway, but I helped bandage cuts and bruises for the ride over to Community General. I finished as quickly as I could, and headed over here. I got lost twice along the way, but here I am now. I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all. So why, then, did I feel more of an urge to cry than I had all night? I swallowed hard and fought the tears. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
“For what?” he asked.
“For coming. For not giving up and staying away. For trying to call.”
He smiled. “So, I see that you’ve already been double-dating with Missy, Ben and Jerry. You’re probably not hungry, are you?”
“That depends,” I said. “If you’re offering pizza, I could be ravenous.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said. “I’m starving. Have you ever been to Vinnie’s on Market? I’d argue that they have the best pizza in the city. The place is a dump, but the food is amazing.”
“Sounds perfect for a late meal,” I said, my stomach now rumbling with anticipation. “Let me just stop upstairs and tell Missy that I’m going.”
I ran as quickly as I could up the spiral staircase, and found Missy sitting at her door, peeking out. “Sorry?” she said. “I was listening to the whole thing? I couldn’t help it? I just wanted to make sure you were ok? I wanted to be able to rush to your rescue if you needed me?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”
“Be back by midnight or your carriage will turn into a pumpkin?” she said. I curtsied like a princess and ran back down the staircase.
We finally settled on a skirt and a nice sweater, an outfit that looked polished and put-together without looking like I had spent three hours ransacking her closet. Missy taught me a variety of styles for how to do my hair, and I settled on a low ponytail that was simple and sophisticated, and hid the unruly waves that dominated my head.
I was a lost cause at work on Sunday. Missy and I arrived with the now traditional dozen Sunday donuts, a tailored mix of favorites based on scientific donut sampling (the jelly donut was always the last to be eaten; while no one admitted that it was their favorite, the white-iced French crullers always vanished in the first round). I barely even nibbled at mine, an old-fashioned cake donut with white icing and toasted coconut that caught my eye in the shop; I couldn’t stop thinking about my date, and my stomach was tied up in knots.
I remembered being in high school, when I was probably 16 years old, and practically bouncing off the walls because I had been asked to the homecoming dance. From the moment he asked, I had run all around the empty house singing the Banana Boat song, of all things, the first song that popped into my head. Day-O, Da-a-ay-O. I had long ago told myself that dances didn’t matter, which had been absolutely undeniably true until the moment I had a date for one. He was supposed to pick me up at 6:00. I was dressed and ready to go thirty minutes early. 6:00 came and went. 6:30. 7:00. 8:00. I called his house once and left a message on his answering machine. At 9:00, I locked the front door, turned off the porch light and went to bed, staring at my ceiling in silence, unable to sleep, depressed and numb. By Monday I learned that he had gone with someone more popular than me. As the story went, he had forgotten that he had asked me when the opportunity arose to take Jennifer, and he felt really bad about leaving me home alone, waiting. But I didn’t want to be a pathetic vision in everyone’s minds. I pretended not to care, and told people that I had forgotten about him, and had actually gone away for the weekend to visit my sister at college. Anyone who knew me would have known that was a lie. Fortunately for me, no one knew me.
The workday took forever. Christmas was fast approaching, yet it seemed like everyone was at home, waiting for the last minute panic sales to kick in. What they didn’t seem to realize was that bookstores don’t really offer those “50% off everything” sales that you find at department stores and boutiques. Nonetheless, there was little traffic in the store, which meant fewer people to watch, and nearly no one had a question for the bored info desk duo. We sat there all day, impatiently fidgeting, watching the clock.
When 6:00 rolled around, Missy and I clocked out and practically bolted for the door. We made it back to the condo in record time, and she immediately got to work on making me look lovely without looking like I was trying too head to get his attention. At 7:45, I looked at Missy, who was applying eyeliner as I flinched and blinked. She had unbelievable patience and kept going.
“He won’t come,” I said.
“”You are such a dork!” she exclaimed. “Why wouldn’t he come?
I shrugged. In my experience, guys didn’t usually need a reason.
When he hadn’t arrived by 8:15, she started to look nervous. I, on the other hand, felt oddly comforted by the thought of being stood up, a twisted satisfaction in the knowledge that I was right. We sat in the living room watching television. By 9:00, I had curled up onto the couch in a wrinkled heap, not caring what I looked like. By 9:30, we were sharing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and watching Casablanca on TCM.
“What does she see in him?” I asked, mouth full of ice cream. “Look at him,” I said, waving my spoon at the TV. “Ingrid Bergman is so young, so vibrant – she practically glows when she smiles. Humphrey Bogart is a cynical, withered old man. I just don’t see the attraction.”
Missy tried to protest. “Come on, don’t ruin it for me? Suspend disbelief for a while? It’s a classic love story? You're just supposed to believe?”
“Now if they had Cary Grant playing the part of Rick, now that I could understand….”
“Just shut up and watch the movie?” she said, laughing. I swiped the pint of ice cream from her hand and dug in. I was fishing for a big chunk of cookie dough when the doorbell rang. I looked at Missy, and she leaped from the couch.
“No, Missy, don’t!” I whispered loudly as she ran for the door. She peered through the peephole and nodded. Before I could protest, she opened the door.
“Hi,” Nick said, sheepishly. “Is Angela home?”
I had slid down onto the couch, hoping to hide myself. Missy wasn’t going to let me get away with that. “Sure, come on in?” She stepped back and allowed him to enter the room. “I don’t believe we’ve met? I’m Missy?” She extended her hand to shake his.
“I’m Nick,” he said. “Nick the Asshole. I want to apologize for showing up so late.”
“Let me get Angela?” Missy said. “Angela?” she called loudly, as though I had managed to escape to another room. “Nick the Asshole is here?”
I had hoped to hide silently on the couch until he went away, but her singsong voice announcing the arrival of "Nick the Asshole" made me laugh, giving away my hiding spot. I was forced to sit up straight and smooth my skirt down, trying to look presentable. I rose from the couch.
“Nick,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “What a pleasant surprise!” The sarcasm dripped from my pores like a cold sweat. He looked increasingly uncomfortable and mortified.
Missy politely excused herself. “”If you don’t mind, I’ll finish watching this in my room? It was nice meeting you, Nick? She gave me a playful punch in the arm. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid?” she said, and scampered off with a giggle. Nick and I stood in awkward silence for a moment before it occurred to me to ask him to come in.
We walked into the living room and sat on the couch in front of the large plasma TV. He looked around, impressed. “Beautiful place you have here,” he said.
“It’s not mine,” I replied. “It’s Missy’s. I rarely come out of my room. But it is lovely, isn’t it?”
Humphrey Bogart was drinking himself into oblivion in the café, while Sam played “As Time Goes By” on the piano. I reached for the remote to shut it off, but Nick stopped me. “No, leave it on. It’s a good movie.” We sat in silence as Ilsa came in and saw how Rick had been so devastated by the loss of her love. Nick turned to me.
“Can I explain?”
“I don’t know,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “Can you?”
"I can," he said. “First, let me apologize.” He waited for me to say something, but I was sitting silently, arms crossed.
“I was on my way over here, and I admit that I was running a bit late,” he said. “I was driving down the expressway and a car spun out about a quarter-mile ahead of me, hitting three other cars before slamming into the median. The accident was pretty horrific, and I knew there were injuries. I called 911, but I also got out of the car to help stabilize the victims. I would have called, but I only had your address, not your number. I called information, but your number on record is you old apartment number, which as you know is disconnected. I didn’t know your roommate’s last name to ask for her.”
I felt my attitude softening towards him, but I still said nothing.
“So I managed to stabilize the driver of the main car. He was pretty badly hurt, but I managed to keep him still until the ambulance arrived. One of the other vehicles was a minivan filled with kids coming back from hockey practice. They were going to have to go to the hospital to be checked out anyway, but I helped bandage cuts and bruises for the ride over to Community General. I finished as quickly as I could, and headed over here. I got lost twice along the way, but here I am now. I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, unable to speak. Maybe he wasn’t such an asshole after all. So why, then, did I feel more of an urge to cry than I had all night? I swallowed hard and fought the tears. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
“For what?” he asked.
“For coming. For not giving up and staying away. For trying to call.”
He smiled. “So, I see that you’ve already been double-dating with Missy, Ben and Jerry. You’re probably not hungry, are you?”
“That depends,” I said. “If you’re offering pizza, I could be ravenous.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said. “I’m starving. Have you ever been to Vinnie’s on Market? I’d argue that they have the best pizza in the city. The place is a dump, but the food is amazing.”
“Sounds perfect for a late meal,” I said, my stomach now rumbling with anticipation. “Let me just stop upstairs and tell Missy that I’m going.”
I ran as quickly as I could up the spiral staircase, and found Missy sitting at her door, peeking out. “Sorry?” she said. “I was listening to the whole thing? I couldn’t help it? I just wanted to make sure you were ok? I wanted to be able to rush to your rescue if you needed me?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on me.”
“Be back by midnight or your carriage will turn into a pumpkin?” she said. I curtsied like a princess and ran back down the staircase.
posted by Ali at 4:01 PM
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