Dottie Conversation (Part 2 of 3)

If she'd been anyone else, that self-possessed smile might have annoyed him, but his previous conversations with her had convinced him of her intelligence. Her superior smile was pretty much honestly come by. She had a sense of humor, however sharp, and humor was something he valued second only to intelligence. Still, her "probably not" had unnerved him. Did she mean yes or no?

She was teasing him again, he supposed. At least, he hoped that was it. A lot of people like to tease, but that doesn't mean that they like you when they do it. People can tease you even when they find you disagreeable; sometimes, it helps. And of course some people just like teasing. He'd done it himself, in fact used to do it so much that he'd developed a reputation for honesty that others thought cruel. As he'd gotten older, he'd begun to realize that they were probably right. It wasn't even fun any more, it was just a habit. But now he had the habit, and couldn't change it. He'd lost control; he could not talk, but he couldn't change how he talked.

"Maybe that's why she can worry me so easily, talking about not talking to me any more. Teasers don't take teasing well, I suppose; they never know what is meant."

"Oh, well, that's all right," he said casually. "I wouldn't talk to me either if I could help it."

"You mean you talk to yourself and don't enjoy it?"

He looked at her face, but she wasn't looking at him. She was pulling a tomato slice out of her hamburger and making a face as if she smelled something bad. For a moment he'd worried that the expression had been for him. He presumed she just didn't like tomatoes.

"God, this is awful," he thought, his stomach muscles tightening even as he bit into his fishburger. "But she is fascinating."

"God, this is awful," she said.

"What?! What is?" Did she mean talking to him?!

"The hamburger. It's awful."

"I eat here all the time," he said, wondering if he was making sense. He frowned at his own comment, wondering if it was some sort of admission of stupidity. "You like it here?" she asked.

"No. I eat here. It's easy. The path of least resistance. Convenience and sloth, the road to ruin."

"Or to Hardee's?" she added.

"Yeah. Right here in Disneyland."

"This is Texas," she grinned.

"I know. I know," he sighed. "Mosquito University."

"I've heard it called that," she said mildly.

He liked her, there was no question of that-but she was so full of piss and vinegar that he always felt overmatched when he met her. He knew he was slow about most things, even though he knew he was intelligent. She was intelligent, and her mind was fast.

"Maybe she's even a bit dangerous," he thought. "I'm not sure."

Immediately his unwary nature rejoined, "But that's good for your adrenalin, fool! And adrenalin's good for the soul, isn't it?"

"Who knows?" he answered himself silently. He was out of patience with his own line of thought, and he wanted to stop thinking. The phrase, "be here now" rushed through his head, a phrase he'd heard (repeatedly) at a consciousness-raising seminar (I'm all right, but you're all assholes) he'd attended over a decade ago.

"You didn't answer my question," Dottie said.

Oh, yes, she'd asked a question: Did he talk to himself?! "Does a bear shit?" he thought.

"I'm afraid I do talk to myself."

"Do both of you ever talk at once?" she asked.

"No, I'm more organized than that, I think," he grinned.

"So, how have you been, otherwise?" she said, changing her tone as if preparing to be a little more serious.

There was that question that everyone asked, day after day, year after year, though hardly anyone wanted it answered or wanted to answer it. It drove him crazy. Amazingly, Dogger Gatsby didn't mind her asking it. He wanted to answer her, he wanted to tell her everything. Well, not everything, but a lot-more than he had time for, maybe more than she'd want to hear if they had all the time in the world. But he was on his lunch break, and there was less than 10 minutes left before he had to rush back to work.

He paused a moment too long and she said, "Now what are you doing, considering your options?"

He nodded and said, "Ah-" That's all he got out. His brain was still working slow. His brain was overloaded by the options: the truth, or an evasive pleasantry, or-.

"There are choices, you know," she said.

He looked her and wondered if she was reflecting his own thoughts. A wonderful woman!

"You can say something pleasant and witless," she grinned, "or tell me the truth, good or bad. Or you can even tell me it's none of my goddamn business, you know."

"I know."

He wondered if the strain he felt showed. He wanted to say more, wanted desperately to tell her how much he agreed with her, how pleased he was to hear her say that, and yet his words still stuck in his throat.

"This is stupid," he thought. "It scares me that I like her so much, that's all that's bothering me. I've got to get over that. In the meanwhile, I've got to get out of here and go back to work. Oh, God, life stinks!"

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