Eddie

Tonight, after a hard, long nap, I decided to take my lonely body out of the house. The Boy has only been back in France for a day and already I am finding it hard to fill the hours.

I went to Fishtown, home of tattooed hipsters on bikes, vintage shops and art studios. One art studio in particular is the second home of a friend from college and the only real reason I would head in that direction. I needed a familiar face, even if said familiar face has been a particular let down as a friend since I've been back in the city.

He was there and we made small talk, trying to remember the things we had in common and coming up rather short. I connected with his friend - a pretty blonde girl with a radiant smile whom I lament is moving shortly to the opposite side of the country. At a loss for what to do next, I wandered.

Even though the point of the evening were the arts and crafts lining the street, my eyes wandered dreamily towards a window filled with antique china, their delicate blue lace patterns and petite pink flowers scattered across an old sheet. Beside it, a coin shop.

I entered, only slightly perturbed by the two girls looking through old vinyl records and making loud commentary on each.

"What's this one? There's not even a name," said one, holding up a plastic sleeve with cover art that very clearly showed The Rolling Stones in caricature.

I squeezed passed their presence to a box filled with small prints, mostly from the Color Printing Headquarters, depicting advertisements and certificates and old magazine pages. Behind two glass counters a tall old man in square glasses clicked on a trumpety swing song.

I thumbed through a few more and before choosing one in bright reds and yellow that said "Eat More Bananas" and went up to the counter with my purchase. The song changed to one by Serge Gainsborough.

The old man was singing along.

"Tres bon choix," I said, remarking that he might know some French.

"Tres bien, indeed," he replied, smiling.

"Do you have a card machine?" I asked. I don't carry cash for a reason, and yet when breaking my own spending rules, it can become very inconvenient.

"No, we don't we can't afford it. But there is an ATM down the street."

"Oh... No thanks," I replied, embarrassed. The amount of money in my account would not support an ATM transaction, only a 6 dollar print.

"Do you live around here? You could bring it tomorrow."


"Oh, no I don't. But it's okay really!"

"No, it's not," He replied warmly. "Listen, there is a black mail box next door. Just drop it off when you can."

"Really?" I said, pondering whether or not I would be back in the neighborhood. But I liked this little old man. Something about his funny little coin store was comforting. Perhaps I could come back around. "Okay, show me the mailbox, will you?"

Quickly, he zipped out from behind the counter and brushed passed the two girls pouring over the vinyl, all but grabbing me by the wrist to come along. Outside on the street, he showed me.

"It's right here."

"Okay. Well, thank you!" I stuck out my hand to shake his. It was warm and soft in the way that old skin is when it hasn't had much work to do for a long time. "I'm Juliet."

Just as he was about to tell me his name, a woman swooped up beside us, frowning.

"I'm going to the sandwich shop, do you want a hoagie?"

The old man fell dead silent, eyes plummeting to the ground. His body stiffened and his arms clamped firmly to his sides. Though he was probably six foot two, he suddenly looked small, like a child being punished.

"Have you eaten today?" She snapped at him. Her curly hair framed a face of around fifty and her scowl aged her another ten years at least.

"What have you eaten? Have you eaten anything?"

The old man, suddenly mute and unsmiling, shook his head quickly. He did not look up.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?" The woman began to say, coldly. At this the old man shoved past us both, eyes still glued to the ground and hurried back to his store.

I looked at the woman, shocked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

"Didn't he look like he was about to have a conversation with you?" She said. "That was really weird, wasn't it?"

"Yeah..." My eyes were passed her at the door of coin shop where the old man had disappeared.

Just as quickly she made off towards the store, no further explanation given as to what had just passed between the three of us.

In my hand I was still holding the print, "Eat More Bananas" blaring up at me in a puffy gold serif font. What just happened? Who was that woman, was the little old man alright? On the spot I decided I had to return to that mail box to leave him his six dollars, for all the trouble I had seemingly cause him. But I didn't even know who to address it to.

"Wait, what's his name?!" I called after the woman.

"Eddie."

I barely made it out as she ran away. I was left standing on the street alone.