Josh whistled as he ran the yellow chamois cloth across
the green finish and made the Thunderbird sparkle in the late
afternoon sun. He had scrubbed the whitewalls and rubbed the windows
dry. The car was at its best. He ran his hand along the edge of the
hood and then wiped his fingerprints away.
"It looks beautiful. Is this what you wanted me to meet?
An old car?"
"Hey, Cindy. You found us."
"Perfect directions, and not a long walk. Is that your car?"
"I wish. It belongs to a friend of mine. Come on
inside." Josh led her up onto the porch of the old Victorian and opened
the door without knocking. "Miss Ingersoll? I'm all done."
"Come in, Josh. Introduce me to your friend."
"Miss Ingersoll, Cindy Carlson. Cindy, Miss Ingersoll.
The owner of that dream machine outside."
"Josh tells me you're quite a dream machine yourself, and
I can see that he's right. Come in and sit down. Sit over there. I'll
get you some tea. Or juice? Which would you prefer?"
"Some juice would be nice, if you have some." Cindy
smiled at the old lady, then let her eyes wander around the room
while Miss Ingersoll went to the kitchen and returned with three
glasses of apple juice and some Oreos.
"Cindy writes poetry. That's how we met. I sat in class
just listening to her verse. I actually fell in love with her words.
But then she attacked me, dragged me into the girls' bathroom, and
did things to me of which I cannot speak."
"He's mad, Miss Ingersoll. Nothing of the kind ever
happened. I'm not that kind of girl." She tried to look demure.
"One of the things that I love best about Josh, Cindy, is
his, it's not madness exactly, but maybe quirkiness. I suspect you find
it charming too."
"Charming? I never know who I'm with. The poet,
the philosopher, the beaten whelp, the charmer, the truthsayer, the
liar." She threw her hands into the air in exasperation.
"I don't lie. Well, not exactly. I'm a poet and a writer.
Truth is a relative thing." Josh put on a smug face.
"Whatever you get, Cindy, I think you should be
pleased. Josh is a very clever boy, and a good friend."
"That's why I brought you here. I wanted you to hear
all these good things about me. Keep talking. Focus on the
superlatives, and we'll list the ordinary stuff later."
"Josh brought you here because I wanted to meet
you, Cindy. He's been talking about you endlessly and I needed to
see for myself this creature that knocked poor Josh off his feet."
"What did he say about me? Do tell."
"Well, he said a lot of things about your looks and
your personality that I won't repeat. It's what he didn't say about
you that interested me the most. He finds you good company, easy to
be with, comfortable. I suppose that's not the stuff of hot
teenage romances these days, but it seems to reassure Josh."
"Reassuring? Oh, my goodness."
"Now wait. It's not a bad thing. I used to watch all sorts
of romances budding in the library when I worked at the high
school. Kids would stare into each other's eyes, or knock each
other's books on the floor, or babble endlessly about hairdos or cars
or parties or nothing at all. Desperate and empty kinds of things.
I think Josh is better than that. I hope you think so too."
"Maybe reassuring is a good choice. I would never
have said it, but even if he is mercurial, even if I never know what
I'm going to get from one moment to the next, he's always Josh. And
I guess that is reassuring. How long have you known him,
Miss Ingersoll?"
Josh watched the two women talk—talk about him.
Maybe the two women he cared about the most in the world. What
would they say? What if they didn't like each other? What if? The
room suddenly seemed cramped and hot. Josh stood up and went to
the window.
"I'm going to poke around outside. You sit here and
keep saying good things about me. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Josh ducked out of the room and went out the back door. He fixed
his eyes on the gutters, twenty feet up in the sky. And then looked
at the clouds. He found himself in the driveway again, and he
picked up the rag he had been using, and went slowly over the surface
of the car. He had been nearly finished when Cindy first showed
up, but he wanted to be sure the car shone. He wanted to. . . .
"Josh, come in here. Miss Ingersoll wants to talk to
you. Move it!" Cindy came out on the porch and interrupted his
reverie. Josh looked at the car, flicked his rag against the fender and smiled.
Inside, Miss Ingersoll was still sitting at the table.
Their juice was gone.
"Come, sit down, Josh. Cindy tells me you are quite
the poet. I don't think you've been showing me your best stuff."
"She just reads it differently. Sees more than is
actually there." Was he blushing?
"I thought that was the point of poetry. To capture
the truths of the world in a few magical words? At least that's what
it used to be in my day."
"That's what Josh does. With words." Josh laughed to
hide his embarrassment.
"I think you're both nuts." Josh tried to hide his smile.
"You should stop by and see me again, Cindy. Come
with Josh. He does my yard work, and takes care of my Thunderbird,
so he's here two or three times a week. But you could come
alone, too. We could have more girl talk. I don't get much chance for
that anymore."
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