Chapter 8: At Frankie’s Flying Skillet

“All the years I’ve lived here, Shari, and I never knew this place. I assume the food’s good?”

“It is good. More importantly, it has an accessible entrance, and room to park our chairs without obstructing the other tables. These are questions you need to keep in mind for your new wheel-based lifestyle.

“Sam, yesterday I hit you with a lot of personal stuff. I kind of shocked myself, even. But there’s something about you that inspires trust, and confidence. I bet you’re a popular professor at the college.

“And I talked about how we should learn about each other so I could better help with your life transition. That’s still true. But I like you. I want to be your friend. I think being friends would do us both good, don’t you agree? I see that you do.”

Staff appeared and took their lunch orders.

“So, my friend, it’s now story time for Sam. I’ll suggest you use my topics from yesterday as a guide.”

“Alright, Shari. Well, my nipples are kind of beige.” Shari’s eyes got huge, and her jaw dropped into her lap. “I have curly brown hair everywhere, and I also don’t shave my legs. Or my pubes.” She stifled a shriek, and put her head down on the table, shoulders heaving. After a minute, she looked up, caught sight of Sam’s face, and was gone again.

Finally, she composed herself, and wiped her face with the napkin. “You jerk! You made me cry. I hate crying in public. And I think I pulled a muscle. I almost fell out of my damn chair; I was laughing so fucking hard. OK, you’re doing well. Keep going.”

“Just to finish with shaving, I was tired of scraping my face. I started a beard last year, but it came in gray, so I shaved it off immediately.”

“I was born 40 years ago, right here. I had a younger sister, Connie, but she had pneumonia and died when I was six and she was only three. I have almost no memory of her. Other than that, I had an utterly unremarkable childhood.

“My father was a CPA, my mother was a homemaker. I didn’t get away with much, my mother being home all the time and me being an only child. I was closely watched in the afternoons to make I always completed all of my homework.

“About age 13 my mom ratted me out to my dad when she found a crusty t-shirt in my room.”

“You need to explain that, Sam. I don’t understand.”

“Um, ah, OK. I’m thirteen and my body is changing. I’m alone in my room. Occupying my mind are some older girls and their fascinating chests. And then, I need to avoid staining the blanket on my bed. So, I grab my old Spider-Man t-shirt and add a damp area to it. Got it?”

“I guess so, Sam. Also, ick. Not that I’ve ever witnessed that, but let’s move on.”

“So, I got an awkward lecture from my father. Mostly expressed in terms of some far far away future time (after I graduated from college) and could start ‘courting’—as he put it.”

“Now my mother was just angry, and disgusted. She said, ‘From this day forward, you’re doing your own laundry, and emptying your own wastebasket. For that matter, I’m not going in there anymore. Make your bed yourself every morning, keep the room clean, and for pity’s sake, keep that door locked when you’re in there. Are we clear?’

“You can tell, I remembered that speech. And sadly, my only love life was just me and my right hand (behind that locked door) for the next five years until I went away to college.”

Shari wore a puzzled expression on her face. “So, no dates for teenage Sam, either. I don’t get it. Judging by your current mug, you were a decent-looking kid, with a functional body and a working brain, Professor. So did those chests lose their allure?”