Sketchbook #6: Spenno

Umbrellas were useless. They buckled and flipped inside out in the brutal rain. More than a few passersby were knocked off balance by surprising gusts of wind. How quickly a day could change. Spenno retreated from the elements into a small Italian restaurant.

There were few others inside. The light was low. Spenno sat at the bar, his back to the front door, facing the intimate curl of the place. There were several empty seats between him and the only other patrons — two men laughing with their hands. One of the men was tall and tan in a denim jacket with various flag patches on the sleeves. His hair was well groomed. His beard was thick and long but manicured. The man’s companion was much smaller, bald, and squirrely. Both men drank Fernet and spoke Portuguese. When one man raised his class, the other teared up. They drank and hugged. Spenno wanted to be them.

Spenno wanted a glass of pinot noir but was intimidated by his hip, Portuguese neighbors and ordered a Negroni instead. The bartender applauded his choice, which made him feel sophisticated. How many times had his server seemed judgmental of his choice? It was rare to feel validated by restaurant staff. As such, Spenno grinned and sat up straighter. When the Negroni was delivered, the Portuguese men nodded and raised their Fernet to him.

On his third Negroni, Spenno, with pen in hand, found himself meditating on the nature of True Love. He ruminated on his darkest moments. He pondered ridicule and rejection and re-lived standing before lovers in the face of laughter and doubt. He wrote about all of it. Tears threatened but never fell onto the page like they used to fall onto Jessica’s abdomen.

#

After one of their minor breaks, before the final official split, they wrestled on his floor. When Spenno pinned Jessica down, he grabbed her breast in hopes of recapturing the spark they’d lost. He knew immediately he’d made a mistake. Those aren’t yours anymore, she said. She was laughing but there was seriousness in her eyes. He let go. Jessica was right. They weren’t together, he had no right. But was that the way he wanted it? Her breasts felt so comfortable, almost inevitable, in his hand.

When Jessica left that day, she was smiling but the corners were jagged. Spenno watched her walk down the street and around the corner. He went to his bedroom, picked up his phone, and stared at the screen. He thought about calling her, thought about inviting her to dinner, thought maybe she could spend the night. He put the phone to his ear but he didn’t call.

He thought of the first time they’d made love. The following morning, Jessica dug the French press from the depths of Spenno’s overcrowded cabinet. The smell woke him but he pretended to sleep. She carried a cup to him. Still, he pretended. She set the cup on his nightstand and went to take a shower. He didn’t touch the coffee. She left him a note on the table and tip-toed off to work. After she left, Spenno got out of bed and poured the coffee down the sink.

#

“What are you writing?” The bartender asked.

Spenno blinked, taken aback. He cleared his dry throat. “Nothing. Just working out a scene for a story.”

“Exciting. What’s it about?”

“Uh, don’t really know yet. But maybe it’s about this really shitty guy who can’t decide what he wants.”

“Ha! Let me know if you need any help. That’s the only type of guy I know.”

Spenno’s cell vibrated. He checked the number. “Can I grab the check please?” The waitress nodded and went to get his bill. Spenno answered his phone.