"Nothing new," I said to her over an innocuous cup of coffee.
"What about your job?" she says, stirring the brown liquid with her straw.
I pour a little more into my mug.
The sounds of passing cars pick up as the light changes at a nearby intersection. A couple enjoying the afternoon on a tandem bike passes by our table.
"I guess I did receive a promotion."
She looks at me curiously.
"Well, that's something, isn't it?"
I shrug.
The traffic stops as the light flips to red again and the café patio turns into the starting blocks at the Indy 500 again.
"I suppose."
"Are you dating anyone?" Her smile is contagious, like that of SARS.
"Nope," I say smugly, "I haven't found the right woman just yet," and then add, "Or guy, for that matter."
She appears to enjoy my response until my mention of a potential male mate. She grows quiet, smile fades, complexion flustered and concerned. She changes the subject.
"And what about your running? Have you run any races?"
"Yeah," I say shortly, and take a sip from my mug. "I ran Boston this year."
"You ran the Boston Marathon! Are you kidding? That's something! I can't believe you weren't going to say anything about it."
Her drink is suspended in midflight, jaw locked in a bent smile of disbelief.
She bites her lip.
I scratch my head and search the surface of the table for the right reaction.
The couple on the tandem bicycle has returned, only now they're arguing about which direction to go.
"Sorry, I guess. It was pretty cool, ran a good time, spent time with the family." I take another sip and return to my silence with a smile on my face.
She sits there in numbness, eyes actively searching for something. It isn't obvious if she's found it or not by the time I finish my drink. I stand to leave.
"Well, I've got to go. I've got a long day of writing and running ahead of me, and one of my writers sent me an article to publish, so I've got to post that this afternoon."
"You're still working with the magazine, I take it?"
"Yup," I say as I gather my belongings, "I'm managing editor now."
She nods, but with a sort of odd confusion about her, and then stops me before I walk away.
"Before you leave," she calls out, "I want to know why you told me nothing was new when I asked."
I turn and smirk and feel the sun on my skin. It's warm, though the air is cool and breezy.
I tell her I'm the same person, no matter what titles or possessions I gain, and, feeling satisfied, walk down the sidewalk against the traffic and wave to the gay couple on the tandem bike as they pass to my left.
"What about your job?" she says, stirring the brown liquid with her straw.
I pour a little more into my mug.
The sounds of passing cars pick up as the light changes at a nearby intersection. A couple enjoying the afternoon on a tandem bike passes by our table.
"I guess I did receive a promotion."
She looks at me curiously.
"Well, that's something, isn't it?"
I shrug.
The traffic stops as the light flips to red again and the café patio turns into the starting blocks at the Indy 500 again.
"I suppose."
"Are you dating anyone?" Her smile is contagious, like that of SARS.
"Nope," I say smugly, "I haven't found the right woman just yet," and then add, "Or guy, for that matter."
She appears to enjoy my response until my mention of a potential male mate. She grows quiet, smile fades, complexion flustered and concerned. She changes the subject.
"And what about your running? Have you run any races?"
"Yeah," I say shortly, and take a sip from my mug. "I ran Boston this year."
"You ran the Boston Marathon! Are you kidding? That's something! I can't believe you weren't going to say anything about it."
Her drink is suspended in midflight, jaw locked in a bent smile of disbelief.
She bites her lip.
I scratch my head and search the surface of the table for the right reaction.
The couple on the tandem bicycle has returned, only now they're arguing about which direction to go.
"Sorry, I guess. It was pretty cool, ran a good time, spent time with the family." I take another sip and return to my silence with a smile on my face.
She sits there in numbness, eyes actively searching for something. It isn't obvious if she's found it or not by the time I finish my drink. I stand to leave.
"Well, I've got to go. I've got a long day of writing and running ahead of me, and one of my writers sent me an article to publish, so I've got to post that this afternoon."
"You're still working with the magazine, I take it?"
"Yup," I say as I gather my belongings, "I'm managing editor now."
She nods, but with a sort of odd confusion about her, and then stops me before I walk away.
"Before you leave," she calls out, "I want to know why you told me nothing was new when I asked."
I turn and smirk and feel the sun on my skin. It's warm, though the air is cool and breezy.
I tell her I'm the same person, no matter what titles or possessions I gain, and, feeling satisfied, walk down the sidewalk against the traffic and wave to the gay couple on the tandem bike as they pass to my left.
