A MAN WHO HAD TAKEN A LIFE

On Wednesday, Amanda walked into a bakery down the street from her house, in a corner spot on the north side of the block that had contained, over the years, in order, a diner, a burger joint, a record shop, a women’s clothing store, an upscale grocery, a chocolatier, and a brief popup that sold healing crystals and painted boomerangs. None of that mattered now. What mattered was not what had been, but what was. As she went into the bakery a bell sounded, a digital version of the type that would have once announced a new customer, and the man behind the counter turned and smiled at her. He was the friend of a friend, friend of a boyfriend, actually, though even that was not quite true anymore. Bradley had already announced that he was moving to Boston, and his invitation to Amanda to accompany him was somewhere between perfunctory and pathetic. Amanda waved at the baker, Dean.  The first time she had met him, in this same place, following the same digital bell-tone and the exchange of pleasantries between him and Bradley—oh my gosh what are you doing back in town I haven’t seen you since college, said one, and the other said nearly the same—she had made a joke about a dean named Baker, and rather than condescending to her and laughing, as many men had done before, Dean had gripped her hand, looked her in the eye, and said “That idiotic pun, if in fact it is a pun, is not worthy of you.” His face wore the look of a man who had taken a life. He had then recommended a small cream-filled pastry that had utterly delighted both her and Bradley to the point of sex. Today she was coming in to tell Dean that Bradley was moving to Boston, after which she planned to cry her eyes out, and then, with only a little luck, to set Dean on a course of falling in love with her more than Bradley ever had. She would mourn Bradley but only for a minute. What mattered was not what had been, but what was. 

©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas