Gavin
It was a horrifically beautiful day when I met Caolin. One of those late spring days with a stirring breeze that seems to push away all memories of the long Chicago winter. The Bradford pear trees were in full bloom and the white and pink blossoms were thick on the hoods of cars and newspaper stands. I remember the smell of hotdog vendors and coffee soothing the understated lingering itch of future allergies. It was the kind of day when it feels like God has kissed you full on the lips, and gone on his way.
I was walking back to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, my home and occupation for twenty-some years. I was feeling the tug of the procrastinator in me telling me to go out and enjoy the day rather than engage in the mundane grading of term papers. As a professor of philosophy and theology at Loyola of Chicago, I was well versed in the eloquence of bullshit and somehow found the resolve to resist my own. In these silent battles of whim versus duty, the victor was almost always the later. The only concession to fancy this day would be in stopping by Charlie�s to pick up a bottle of Clearly Canadian, peach flavored, a luxury even the most piously humble should relish. It is ironic that this small decision would affect my life in so many ways.
Charlie�s is the local gourmet grocery store/convenience store that services the diverse population of this midtown area. What it might lack in inventory it more than makes up for in character, namely the owner and chief public commentator, Charlie. As I walked in the door to the tinkling of the brass doorbell I overheard a familiar conversation, and smiled as I watched the two combatants, Charlie and his best friend Felix.
��And another thing, these guys are bums! Millions of dollars and they still need to steal cars and sell drugs?�
�Listen, Charlie, despite your rantings the entire Chicago Bears roster is not made up of drug dealers and thieves. Even if it was you�ve had season tickets now for how many years?�
�Well, that�s going to stop. I will not contribute to the delinquency of millionaires!�
�Charlie you say that every year. You�re just saying it now cause it�s Cub season!�
�Bah!� Charlie said with a finality that didn�t need the presence of the patiently waiting customer on the other side of the counter.
�Ah, Gretchen! The prettiest nun ever. So good to see a true angel! Think you�ll ever give me somethin to go to confession about?� he said with a good-natured wink.
Looking at him with a sultry look and placing a hand on my hip, I stood in the best Marilyn Monroe pose I could muster and said, �For you, my dear, anything.�
Charlie smiled and opened his mouth to speak but Felix beat him to it, �Just don�t make a �Habit� out of it eh?�
Charlie groaned and retorted, �Imagine a New York Jew like you trying stand-up!�
The unflappable Felix bit back, �Charlie, you�re just bitter cause Ewing destroyed the Bulls last night�
With a knowing smile and nod, I disengaged myself from this most recent installment of their ongoing argument to go pick up my drink and maybe something to snack on later. Dried tomato pasta sounded delightful. As I walked through the aisles I thought about the two men at the counter. Both were in their late seventies, both very opinionated. More than that though, they were best friends. Charlie had lost his wife, Grace, six years ago. Since then the �New York Jew� Felix, whose wife had died nine years ago, helped him cope with the loss. The two were nearly inseparable. Felix lived with his successful daughter in a downtown apartment; Charlie lived by himself close by the store. Both were living out the twilight of their lives in relative comfort. The wounds time inflicted were bearable by the companionship they shared. I was happy for them, and more than a little envious.
As I snapped out of such sentimentality and reached for the bottle of Clearly Canadian, I saw two kids enter the store. They were conspicuous in the way people are when they are trying to be inconspicuous.
Charlie and Felix both stopped their bickering and examined these new arrivals suspiciously.
�Help ya find anything?� Charlie asked.
The smaller one shook his head and they moved nervously into the aisles. I really didn�t give anymore thought to them as I made my way to the counter and the two friends who were already starting their bickering anew with renewed vigor.
��You would think that, Charlie, you and Rush Limbaugh!�
�Thank you�� is all that Charlie had time to say before his retort was lost in the confusion of an explosion of action. I was roughly shoved aside as the smaller of the two young men pushed right up to the counter, held out a massive pistol and said, �Shut your mouth, old man, and give me the fuckin money.� He gestured with the pistol in the direction of the cash register. As he did this, the strangest feeling came over me. I looked at him, standing right next to me. He was a very slight young man in his mid twenties maybe. He had a goatee and long dark brown hair that I think was supposed to be slicked back but seemed to be more inclined to fall in his youngish face. I had dropped all my groceries, but I was strangely calm as I addressed him.
�Why are you doing this?� He glanced my way without facing me and said to the wall,
Shut up, bitch, and get back!� and he roughly shoved me towards the corner. I tripped and overturned a newspaper stand as I hit the ground. Felix and Charlie immediately started towards me, and Felix, the closest to me, was rewarded with a solid punch to the jaw that sent him the other direction. At this the other young man positioned by the door spoke out.
�Christ, you don�t have to do that Vittorio!�
I don�t know why I was shocked at the heavy Scottish brogue, but for some reason, even in our current state, I was immediately intrigued.
�Shut the hell up you moron,� Vittorio hissed.
�Stop with yer cowboy shit and let�s be done with this now,� the fair-haired more nervous man said.
The dark one called Vittorio spun back as Charlie was helping the dazed Felix off the floor.
�All right grampa, you know the drill, the money, no coins, then the safe.�
