The Wrong Words, The Bookstore And The T-Rex

While driving down the road, I tap out quick messages to Pandora on the qwerty keypad. I ask her why she loves me. A valid question, I feel. I am hoping her answers will be superficial but they aren't. But are they the ones that bind people over time?

The fall night is quickly sinking toward dusk. Pandora shifts from texting to calling. I pull into the parking lot of Barnes & Noble and park next to #1's familiar pastel green Focus. The lot is mostly empty. Our conversation is stunted. I am unsure what to say to her. I have my phone in my hand, the long black cord from my ear piece dangles along beside me, as I walk into the store.

"Can you call me back later?" I ask. "I am about to meet up with #1 for dinner."

It was the wrong thing to say; a time when a white lie would have been better. She already has a deep resentment of my relationship with #1. I wasn't thinking. I feel her disappointment in me in the silence before we say goodbye. Pandora hasn't contacted me since.

Inside a flash of green cuts across the main aisle, a miniature dinosaur complete with soft felt talons, a three foot tail and a toothy grin. The T-rex turns my way. Recognizing me he stops in the middle of his mischief. The child within the costume smiles then takes off as he hears his mom calling his name.

I catch up to them at the information desk. #1 is dressed in a short denim skirt and a blue long sleeve top. She looks slightly flustered. The T-rex bounces around her knees. She's looking for the latest Stephanie Meyers novel. No not one of the Twilight books; it's called The Host, the first book of her new series.
I volunteer to search and she takes off toward the front of the store with her little monster in tow.

The old lady behind the information counter is methodical-- which is a polite way of me saying she is slow. I ask her where I can find the book. I have time to tap out, "old people should not be allowed to work," on my phone while she consults her computer screen. After what seemed like enough time for me to reach retirement, she sends me off to the Science Fiction and Fantasy section.

I bring the thick hardcover novel back to #1. She regards it briefly, changes her mind about it and tosses it onto the shelf in front of her. If it was anyone else, I'd be surprised but not with her. She is onto another mission already and is searching for a book on tattoos.

The T-rex wants to play. I take him over to the children's section where he sinks his teeth into the toy train table. His mom continues on her search.

"Play with me!" He insists.

"Okay, okay!"

I pick up a train and push it along the track. The little T-rex attracts smiles from the passing adults. He doesn't notice, so intent is he on the trains. When it is time to leave, he pouts.

"Pick him up." #1 insists, afraid he will break out in screams.

"What does T-rex like to eat?" I ask to distract him. "Hamburgers? Hotdogs?"

The train table is quickly forgotten as we get into a debate concerning the diet of a dinosaur. The little monster begins chanting, "hungry hungry" as we drive to get food.

"He is his mother's child."

He continues to attract attention from strangers at the restaurant. The little boy in the Halloween costume eating his meal—or not as was the case. Garnishing attention unrealized just like his mom.