ME AND BOBBI©
by George Wilkerson
Coffee, She, and Me
Ed. Note: Bobbi, George, is sharing an internal conversation with us, and in effect, outting herself to the world. We think you'll find her (and his) point of view interesting
I can tell from the gleam in her eye that she's had too much to drink.
"I heard that," she says. "And I don't like appreciate your
meddling in my fun."
"Maybe I should drive," I offer as she takes the car keys out of
her purse.
Bobbi
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She snickers at me. "And how do you propose to do that?" she asks.
"YOU came with ME. Remember?"
As usual, she's right. "OK then. Let's wait a while before we leave.
Have some coffee."
She stops short. "I tell you what," she says. "I'll have some
coffee if you'll tell me where you went this evening."
As I guide her back to the bar I raise my eyebrows at her. "Pardon
me?"
"This evening," she says, slipping carefully back onto the
barstool and motioning toward the bartender. "About twenty minutes
after we got here, you disappeared. You left me here all by myself."
I shrug. "You were having a good time. I took a break."
"And now you want to blame ME for drinking too much?"
She has me on that one. "Yes...well..."
"If you want to run off somewhere and leave me on my own, that's fine,
but don't come back three hours later and get on my case because I'm
tipsy."
The bartender leans toward her. "Bobbi?"
"We'll just have some coffee," she says.
"I'm sorry," I say. "You're absolutely right. I shouldn't do
that."
She shakes her head. "Disappear all you want," she says. "If
you feel like I'm mature enough to handle myself alone, then you go right
ahead and disappear. But please, " she adds, sounding too much like my
mother, "don't come after me later for anything I do while you're
gone."
The bartender brings the coffee and places it in front of us. "One
sugar?" he asks.
We nod, take the packet from him and tear it open, dumping the contents into
the coffee. "You had plenty of reason to worry about me when I was
younger," she says. "No telling what I might have done back then.
I mean, the few times we got out. If you had disappeared on me then…"
"I was too scared,"
"We were both scared." She stirs the coffee, lifts the glass cup,
and brings it to her lips. "In fact," she says, blowing across the
top of the cup, "I'm still not 100% secure. I don't think girls like me
are ever completely confident. Even the ones who have surgery and all. I
mean, there are gonna be problem situations no matter what."
The bartender returns and, leaning forward, points to a man on the other
side of the bar. "The gentleman over there would like to buy you a
drink."
George |
Bobbi hesitates, then shakes her head. "Tell him no thank you,"
she says. "Not tonight."
The bartender moves across the bar and speaks briefly to the man. He smiles
at us, lifts his drink and salutes. Bobbi smiles back and lifts her coffee,
imitating his motions. "Thank you," she whispers to me, "but
if you weren't here..."
I smile. "I'm always here," I say. "Even when I'm
gone." But she has no reply, so I wait until she has finished her
coffee. "Ready to go home now?" I ask..
She nods and reaches into her purse for her keys. "It would be nice if
you could drive," she says, yawning. "I'm really tired."
"Me too," I say, opening the door for her. "Me too."
© 1997 George J. Wilkerson and Bobbi
Wlliams. Unless otherwise specified, you may not reproduce the contents in
any form without permission.
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