Page 26 of Lovebug
“Gotcha! So. How are you? Your name is ‘The Wall’? I mean, theycallyou ‘The Wall’? What is that short for? Walter? Walton? Wallmeranian?” I rattle off some suggestions.
“Wallace,” he huffs.
“Gotcha. Big fan of Wallace and Grommit?” I ask.
“No.”
“Gotcha. Can I call you Wally?”
“No.”
“Gotcha. Hey, do you think I say gotcha too much?”
“Yes,” he says definitively.
“Gotcha. Thanks for the feedback. I’ll work on that. Hey, wanna hear something silly?”
“No.”
“Cool, here I go. My kids… not my biological kids—though I do hope to have some of those one day, how about you? Sorry, don’t answer that. That’s an invasive question. See those teenagers over there who are completely unrelated to me?” I point in April and Dante’s direction where they are decidedlynotfocused on their kids and are instead “hiding” behind a pavilion post watching my flailing interaction. I wave to them. “Hey, guys!” They ignore me and look off in random directions as if they’re suddenly fascinated by all the glorious nature around them. “I’m training them as CITs this summer. That’s right, I’m chief of staff this year! I mean head counselor. And well, the thing is, they’re… well… they’re afraid of you.”
Silence.
He goes back to working on the fountain as if he’s giving up on his conversation with me.
“Isn’t that ridiculous?” I start giggling uncontrollably.
“Fine by me,” he says.
“What’s fine by you?”
“That they’re afraid of me.”
“Oh.” I feel my head jerk back. “Really? But if they’re afraid of you, they’ll keep avoiding you and making up stories about you instead of taking the time to really get to know you.”
“Perfect. Love that plan,” he says and swipes some sweat off his brow.
“Oh.”
I’m not sure how to respond to this man.
“Besides,” he continues, “you’re afraid of me too.”
I scoff. “What? No! Why, uh, why, uh, why would you say that?”
“Weren’t you the one I caught spying on me down by the water yesterday, who then hauled ass up the hill the second I looked at you?”
“Nope. Not me. You must be mistaken.”
Suddenly I’m a liar? Geez, maybe Calliope is right. Maybe I do need an intervention.
“Will that be all?” he asks on an exhale.
“Huh?”
“Are. We. Done. Here? Because…” He gestures to the fountain. “I’m finished with this and have work to do elsewhere.”
He closes his toolbox and rises to stand at his full height.
