{the man i thought i knew} michael don

{the man i thought i knew}
michael don

The man I knew and his twin had similar names. In middle school, this confused me. On the way to the café, I saw him on the bus. As in high school, he had the trace of a mustache. On an elevator, in an especially modern building, he was there too. He got off on the fourth floor at an attorney’s office. I kept going up. He sat near the window of a café, not the one I go to. He flipped through a stack of papers and sipped slowly out of a tall paper cup. I walked by him three times.

I nearly died. I was running, not from anyone, I had a route planned, my shorts were red, my limbs exposed. My right arm was ripped into, my hand torn off, by a dog who got away from his owner. The bleeding continued well into the night, that’s what the ER nurse said. She added, this is the worst thing to happen all summer.

For a while I didn’t work. I rode the bus. I walked by cafés. I talked to attorneys.

It was a new place for me. I called it a place because some called it a town and to me it was a city.

I got stares from strangers as if they thought they knew me. I looked at them too. I wondered if I knew them. Some of them might have known each other.

Months passed without seeing the man I knew. My arm returned to looking like an arm, and my hand, though not completely absent, was no longer a hand. I was thankful I was raised lefty.

He ordered a black tea at my café. His shoulders and hamstrings reminded me of power. I let him go by looking down, he went upstairs. His mustache was thicker than I remembered.

I went upstairs.

No one else was up there, just the man I knew. I sat far away from him. I remembered in high school he dated someone I dated. He used to wear bright colors. He and his twin shared clothes. I moved a few tables closer and brought with me an empty mug. I was getting better at picking things up with my hand. I dated her first, I thought.

He stared quite a bit. I didn’t blame him. A hometown face felt nice.

I moved to the table next to him. He stopped staring. I noticed a scar below his eye. I remembered his dad as a Little League coach, a big friendly guy and a famous judge all over the local paper. I didn’t stare. I glanced. I peeked.

All in one motion, he stood up and gathered his things.

Under his table, I found a sheet of paper. It was wet in the middle and full of words and phrases that meant little to me. At the bottom it read, “page 6 of 31.” I took it to the bathroom and turned on the hand-dryer. The paper nearly tore apart.

Men and women came from all over for the convention. It was downtown and had to do with business. Sustainability was the theme. I had decided to go back to work, I had no reason to stay away. I took my lunch break at the bus stop and watched familiar gaits and bone-structures pass by. The sidewalks were flooded with visitors.

On the last day, I went into the convention hall. I took my briefcase and wore a nicer shirt than usual. I kept my hand curled inside my sleeve. They thought they knew me, head nods, hellos, good mornings, good afternoons, pats on the shoulder. I sat in back and listened to a lecture titled, “Leveraging Existing Relationships and Networks.” Several times, the man speaking paused and looked me in the eye.

Outside, it was drizzling. I took the sheet of paper to the fourth floor where I once saw the man I knew get off the elevator. I left it in my briefcase and told the receptionist I needed a consultation. I showed her my hand and she said, you poor thing. She then said she was very sorry but our firm doesn’t deal with this type of case. We work with foreclosures, she said. I asked if I could hang out in the waiting room until the rain stopped.

I didn’t even pretend to flip through magazines. I gazed into the back of the office. I didn’t let myself blink. The men and women that came in and out of view carried folders and hefty stacks of paper. They reminded me of those at the convention. Not one was powerful enough to be the man I knew.

Would you like water? Tea? the receptionist asked. I said no thank you without looking at her. I think the rain stopped, she said. I told her I would just wait a little longer, to make sure it didn’t start up again. I showed her my hand.

I waited there until sundown. By then the rain had started up again, much more forceful than before. It was pouring.

I returned to the place where I nearly lost my life. I didn’t go to the same exact spot but got close enough to see it. There were men and women running, walking, biking, completely unaware that something terrible could happen.

The park was full of trees and benches. I took a seat on the sideline of a small soccer field, was entertained by a few teenage boys in jeans and sweatshirts, kicking around a can, unlit cigarettes in their mouths. They talked about how funny it was that they weren’t at school. I wondered if they found it funny that I wasn’t at work.

I kept my eye on the stretch of asphalt path beyond the soccer field, where it all happened. I would yell and scream and maybe even run over to help if it came to that.

A short boy ran over to me and asked if I used to teach at Walker. I told him I’ve only worked in offices. Then he asked me if I had a light. I dug through my briefcase with both hands; I thought I had something in there, but before I could find it the boy said, actually, I think my friend has one. He had already started to walk away.

Dogs were afraid of me. As a child, I would pet them and they would run off to someone else. The dog that attacked me was dark and medium-sized. Its owner tried to pull him back; she cursed, she yelled his name, Smokey, she yanked his leash, she nearly choked him to death, but the dog was too afraid to let go.

Because of the wind, I was late for work. I had to walk into it. The man I knew had it behind him, he was running, nearly flying. His limbs had become cranks. They were leaner than I remembered. His eyes were set a little farther back than usual.

I had no choice. I had to frighten him, so for just a second, I became a monster. I made an ugly noise, sort of a growl. I stepped in front of him and my briefcase hit the ground. My arms moved spastically above my head and out beyond my ears.

It’s lucky we ran into each other in such a big place, I said. I took out a stack of papers from my briefcase and flipped through them, I stopped at “page 6 of 31.” You haven’t seen my brother yet? he asked. He actually lives here.

I stared at this man in front of me. I remembered him too. There was no scar under his eye. He played the trombone. For a while, he had the thickest mustache. He often accused people and things of being unfair.

Coffee freaked me out and made me freak out. It was my enabler. I gulped down a medium black, knowing I wouldn’t sleep that night. I wouldn’t anyway.

Enough light seemed crucial. I waited for the sunniest part of the day. I covered myself in clothing so that only my mouth, nose, and eyes were exposed. I tied my shoes tighter than usual, wrapping the laces around each other.

I ran slowly so as not to scare anyone. The stares were because of my pace. They’d never seen such long legs move so sluggishly. First, my feet started sweating, then my chest and eventually my neck. I thought about ditching the hat; I was the only one in more than shorts and a T-shirt. As I approached the spot, there was a woman with a small dog. I got closer and the dog got bigger. The woman yanked the leash so that he stopped chewing on a rock.

I realized the risk but was too curious. The caffeine shot through my veins and up to my brain. I took off my gloves and a few strides later threw them to the ground. I pumped my arms and stretched out my legs so that I was going faster than ever. The woman’s back was to me.

I went by too quickly to know if the dog barked more than once and if it successfully tore away from its owner. I imagined it did and hoped there was no victim.

The man I knew was in the phone book. No one answered so I left a message. I told him I ran into his brother a few months ago, which he probably already knew, and said it might be fun to meet up and talk about people and life back home. I forgot to leave my number but told him about the café where I hang out and then said I hope to see you around.