The Loners: Chapter 2

When Paul left the University around nine the next evening, he hated the thought of facing his empty house so he stopped at The Triple C Coffeehouse instead. It would only be open for another hour but that was time enough for him to grab a cup of joe and take his time to drink it. He hadn't meant to become a regular. He hated the idea of being recognized by the staff at a public establishment and feeling them observing his loneliness. But he'd become one in spite of himself. It was because of the owner more than the coffee although it was good enough.


He wasn't usually one for small talk but something about Catherine always made him say more than he'd planned. So far he'd told her he was a bus driver and a custodian. He generally never volunteered the fact that he emptied trashcans and cleaned urinals for a living but he'd told Catherine for no discernible reason. He took a seat at his regular place at a booth toward the back and waited for someone to take his order. When Catherine herself appeared, his face broke into an unaccustomed smile.

"Howdy, Mr. Bus Driver," she said. "Hot chocolate as usual with whipped cream?"

"Yep," he said. "How's business?"

"Could be worse. It pays the bills."

"How long have you had this place?"

"Almost two years now. Didn't think I'd make it through the first one but now it's going stronger than ever."

She walked off and returned a moment later with his drink. "It's hot," she said. "Don't burn your tongue."

"Yes, ma'am."

He sipped the drink slowly, in no hurry to be done with it. The place was over half full of patrons, mostly college kids talking amongst themselves and creating a buzz of a hundred conversations. Paul found the chatter pleasant but at the same time it made him lonely. He could hardly remember the last time he'd sat across from another person at a restaurant and spoke about whatever inane topic came to mind. There was a time in his life when he'd taken such things for granted. He drank the hot chocolate so slowly it was almost room temperature by the time he finished and his watch told him it was only fifteen minutes to closing time. He watched Catherine hustle around the restaurant from the corner of his eye. Once, she'd made eye contact with him from across the room. He'd quickly looked away.

She probably thinks I'm stalking her now, he thought.

But when she came to take his empty cup, she was friendly as ever.

"Why don't you have a hot date tonight, Mr. Bus Driver?" she asked.

"I don't make enough money to date," he answered.

"Do women these days date just for money?"

"I wouldn't know."

She started to say something else but studied his face for a moment and changed her tone. "You're an interesting guy, Mr. Bus Driver. I haven't quite figured you out."

"Not much to figure out, I'm afraid. My name is Paul by the way."

She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Paul." She said it like she meant it and he was sure she was far more interesting than he was. She doesn't know I'm a monster, he thought. She went to take care of another customer and he sensed she wanted to speak to him longer.

He took the opportunity to place the money for the bill and a generous tip on the table and leave.

The following week, on the bus route, Paul watched Michael Eldridge step on the bus and boldly sit next to Rajeer. He pressed against the boy closer than he needed to, purposefully squeezing him against the window. Paul didn't like it. He watched him through his rearview. Rajeer looked the picture of discomfort, peering out the window, not daring to turn his head toward Eldridge. When they'd nearly reached the school, Paul saw Rajeer reluctantly reach in his coat pocket and pass the other kid a twenty-dollar bill. Eldridge crumpled it in his fist, stuffed it in his pocket and gave Rajeer a furtive punch in his side.

Rajeer sucked in breath and his eyes watered in pain but he made no sound. Paul didn't think the kid realized how well Paul could see him through the mirror. When they reached the school, the boy tried to be one of the first students to scramble out but Paul grabbed him by the waist of his jeans and pulled him back.

"Let go of me, you son of a bitch!" the boy screamed.

Rajeer watched frozen from his seat.

"Give him back his money," Paul demanded.

"I don't have any damn money. I can get you fired. You don't know who you're messing with, man."

"I saw you take his money and punch him. Give the boy his money back."

Paul was holding his temper with an effort. The boy studied his face for a second and sullenly reached into his coat pocket and retrieved the bill. He tossed it toward Rajeer but it landed in the aisle beside him.

"Pick it up," Paul told him.

"Or what?" the kid said.

"You'll wish you had."

The boy made no motion to do as he was told and for a moment, Paul feared his temper would boil over. But then Rajeer stood and retrieved the bill.

"Thanks," he mumbled to Paul. He left the bus.

"Don't try to ride this bus again," Paul whispered to Eldridge.

He glowered at Paul as if he were afraid the man would attack him. When he was gone, the rest of the students filed off the bus as silent as monks. Paul felt embarrassed as his adrenaline subsided. He knew he would have to speak to the principal.

At least I got the boy's money back.

He met with Mr. Boyett at 8:30. He told him of witnessing the Eldridge kid steal money from Rajeer and eventually returning it after Paul confronted him. He didn't tell him how he'd pictured throttling the boy by the neck until his eyes popped out. The principal seemed like a reasonable man and agreed Paul should have discretion over who was allowed to ride his bus. He said he would meet with the kid later today as well as inform his parents. He signed a couple of papers to make the deed official and it was done. Leaving the man's office, Paul thought he should be relieved the issue had gone so smoothly. But he didn't.

He wondered if he'd really helped Rajeer at all. He certainly couldn't fight all the boy's battles for him. He couldn't quit thinking about how angry he'd been. Before he'd joined the Marines, people often commented on his mild temperament but now the least little thing could turn him to a raging bull.

I should probably go to therapy, he thought. But he knew he wouldn't. His pride wouldn't let him.

Not too proud to empty trashcans for a living though, he thought as he parked at the college. But feeing sorry for himself was something he couldn't abide. Who's feeling sorry for Abid? he asked himself.

Dr. Simpson lectured on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs as Paul swept and mopped the classroom next door. He found himself listening intently, fascinated by the subject. He wondered if the professor knew about the problems his son was having. Paul decided to tell him.

He dillydallied after Professor Simpson's class was over, waiting for the man to emerge from his office. He finally came out nearly an hour later, carrying his briefcase and striding purposefully toward the door again. Paul stepped in front of him.

"Professor Simpson," he said. "My name is Paul Nichols. I drive your son to school."

"Okay," the professor said. "Can I help you with something?"

"I wanted to let you know your son's having some problems with a certain kid. I caught this boy stealing money from your son today. This was the second time I'd seen it happen."

"I see. Was something done about it?"

"The boy, Michael Eldridge is his name, is suspended from riding my bus now. But I'm still concerned for Rajeer. I'm afraid he might retaliate against him."

"I see. Thanks for the information, sir. I'll speak to him about it."

Before Paul could say another word, the professor was past him, heading for the door. Paul wondered if the man cared more about the theories of dead men than the well being of his son. He decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt...for now at least.

The time was nearly 9:30 by the time he left the University. He almost drove past The Triple C but couldn't resist. He went inside and took his usual seat. The restaurant was only half as crowded as it had been a couple of nights before. A young blonde girl took his order rather than Catherine. He asked for a hot chocolate again and decided to splurge on a loaf of banana bread. He was nearly done with the drink before he spied her in the back, hustling about. He resisted the urge to wish she might speak to him. By the time he was done with his last crumb of banana bread, it was five past ten and he was the only customer left in the restaurant. He put a ten on the table and stood to leave.

"Hey Paul, are you taking off without as much as a good-bye again?"

"Hey," he said.

"How about a coffee on the house if you'll let me take a seat with you?"

"Sure." Paul sat back down

She brought him the coffee along with a cup for herself and took a seat across from him. Paul studied her face as she sipped, thinking she was more attractive than he'd first noticed. Her eyes were a piercing blue and her face was smooth and unblemished. He couldn't tell if she wore any makeup at all. She wasn't wearing her apron and without it, Paul noticed how slender she was. He wondered if she worked out to keep such a figure. He got the feeling she'd lived a full life in a few years but rather than beating her down, her experiences had given her wisdom. He found himself liking her a great deal although he hardly knew her. It was the warmth of her smile that truly won him over.

"How long have you been in town?" she asked him.

"Since July."

"Where were you before that?"

"A little town Northwest of here called Camilla."

"I know where Camilla is. Not much more than a bump in the road is it?"

"No, it's pretty small."

"What did you do there?"

"Helped my dad on his farm. I lived most of my life there actually."

"Why do I get the feeling you've been a few places besides your dad's farm in Camilla?"

Paul chuckled "What gives you that idea. I was in the military a few years. Only got out about a year ago actually."

"You were a Marine weren't you?"

"That's true. What gave it away?"

"I've known a few in my time. I can see it in the way you hold yourself."

"I've been out of the Corps for almost two years now. I guess you never quite get it out of your system though. But honestly, I don't feel like a Marine any more."

"Why not?"

He studied her face, unwilling to answer, realizing he'd said more than he'd intended to her again.

"Do you get this kind of read on all your guests?" he finally said.

"No. Just the ones that pique my interest."

"I might not seem so interesting once you know more about me."

"I'm pretty sure you would."

Paul noticed her support staff looked to be putting the final touches on cleaning the place. They seemed antsy to leave.

"I should be probably get going. I don't want to hold everyone up."

"Suit yourself." She took a pen from her pocket and scribbled something on a napkin. "Don't be a stranger," she said.

She walked away without looking back. He reached for the napkin and saw her phone number written there. A thrill surged through him as he folded it and stuck it in his pocket.

I won't call her, he told himself. That would accomplish nothing.