out to lunch
july 6th, 2000

"are you someone they say dances to the beat of a different drummer?"
"well, you could say that."
"so was i, once. still am, i suppose."

she eyed the heavily overweight man with a gleam of doubt suspended in her 
mind. his words seemed tinged in bitter sarcasm, and his breath hung in 
odd places when he spoke. his face looked worn by every single year of the 
half-century he had lived, and devon was at a loss at deciding whether he 
was happy or not.

he rambled on a while about his days in the army, getting into fights and 
meanness. the stories reminded her of her grandfather, of his drunken 
brawls and poker games and absent without leave adventures. she had 
learned earlier in the afternoon that the man had recently had a pulmonary 
proceedure to help him breathe better at night, that his daughter had 
recently graduated south greene, and he poked fun at her, calling the 
wilhoit's a "family with money" while devon hid a growing resentment in 
her eyes because he knew damn well what her family was.

she had discovered all this because they had asked her to lunch with them. 
she was working a temporary assignment, filling in for a receptionist on 
vacation. the pay wasn't great, but the job itself was wonderful. the 
office was never busy, and there was plenty of time to spend catching up 
on emails or a few more pages in the mckean novel she was reading. the 
people were nice, though devon preferred them at a distance. she felt 
uncomfortable in social situation such at these, especially in a workplace 
environment, afraid she might say something wrong, something to offend, 
that she might not hold her fork the right way, or drink from a glass 
properly. she was pleasantly surprised to encounter a relaxed environment, 
talking about college, and life, and longing to escape somewhere new and 
interesting for weekends.

"what's your major?"
"english."
"ah, english. my worst subject. i took an english class a few years ago 
and *hated* it. all that reading and writing."

she noticed the overall sense of negativity among her coworkers. they 
poked fun at the food and the waitress at the resturant. they complained 
of work, computer viruses, non-present coworkers, and spouses. "what empty 
lives," devon thought to herself, though she couldn't help but be 
surprised at the secret desires and dreams she would have never imagined 
them having. but by either fear or the impending practicality of age, they 
didn't date to go out and do what they dreamed. and she feared becoming 
just like that, someone afraid of doing what she dared, what she dreamed. 
she had been using her free time to enter some of her old journal entries 
from her sophomore year. she laughed as the old dreams and words tumbled 
beneath her hands with such blind determination. it was comforting, 
however, the knowledge that she had at least changed, had grown wiser, 
more polished. but there was something about the ferocity of her youth 
which she missed, and it made her smile.

of course, devon was nothing like an adult. she slipped out of her high 
heel shoes and stretched her toes out beneath her desk, enjoying the 
comfort of a few short minutes of freedom. "did you just graduate high 
school?" they ask her, and devon hides a smile, and shakes her head, 
telling them that she is entering her fourth year of college, that she is 
twenty-one, that she has a ten-month-old daughter waiting at home. and 
they laugh and assure her that her child-like characteristics are 
something to pride, something to hold onto, because once you hit the age 
of fourty-seven, all of the sudden your body discovers gravity and 
everything falls apart. she nods, and smiles, and laughs when they laugh, 
feeling quite out of place, and shifting in her shoes, and unable to shake 
the feeling that she has lived longer and grown wiser than most of the 
people who are twice her age. she shakes her head for being so arrogant, 
and checks her email. she sips at old coffee, and turns another page in 
her book.

"if you overefine you get lost in de music, if you underefine you get lost 
in de experience. either one results in going away from who you really 
are."

the cajun catfish was not quite what she had hoped for. she thinks of 
painting, jots a few lines down, dreams of new webpage layouts and weekend 
adventures to somewhere other than here. she wonders if when she is 
fourty-seven, she'll still be wishing she did all of the things she wanted 
to, afraid to do what she really dreams. or will she be happy and proud of 
herself and her life for accomplishing so much and achieving tremendous 
amounts. she wonders what the 15-year-old devon would think if she met the 
21 year old on the street. what sort of a conversation they would have. as 
the 15-year-old virgin swears she'll never have sex, and the 21-year-old 
holds a baby in her arms; as the 15-year-old wants to trigger the downfall 
of western civilization, and the 21-year-old takes the government 
corruption and the inhumanity of humanity as a simple fact of life that is 
too grand to be concerned about; as the 15-year-old feels alone and 
isolated, and the 21-year-old feels immensely loved and surrounded by 
friends. sometimes she likes to believe she hasn't changed very much, but 
she has...she has.

and she searches the corner where the little blue cat in the corner used 
to be, and almost trips over his shadow.