Shuffle

I’ve heard this song a million times, Hal thought. Let’s listen to something else.

He looked down at the tiny screen of his iPod and pressed the “Shuffle” button. Pete Townsend was cut off in the middle of his verse with a humming loading sound.

The weak, distant voice of Sting wavered in through his ear buds. “I want my M-T-V… I want my… I want my M-T—“

He tuned it out. He’d heard this one a million times, too.

Hal watched the bleak, colorless early-morning world wash past him as he walked. His eyes closed halfway, and the leaves of the trees bleached beneath streetlights smeared together with the sky. They became a shapeless herd of leafy limbs and misshapen, verdant heads, lined up in an eerie procession along the sidewalk.

A Doppler greeting streaked passed him. “GoodmorningMr.Sanderson!”  

“Good morning,” Hal croaked. He managed to discern Aggie via her hair—she was wearing it pink this week, from the look of it—and waved back. He imagined that the gesture got lost in the dark beyond the streetlights.

The iPod plodded on as it usually did. It seemed to be in a very Police-happy mood. It loaded for an instant, and roused itself into “Don’t Stand So Close to Me.”

“It’s no use
He sees her
He starts to shake and cough
Just like the
Old man in
That book by Nabokov—“

“Shut up,” Hal mumbled. He hit the “Shuffle” button again. “I didn’t ask you for your opinion.”

I’m a lot of ignoble things, he thought to himself. A bit lazy. He patted his slightly paunchy stomach. Pretty anal about rules. I hate trying new things and I dislike change and things I’m not used to. But I am NOT a dirty old man.

You couldn’t even take her out drinking, the nagging voice of cynicism in his head said. She’s not OLD enough.

She’ll be 21 in May, he responded to himself. And I’ll buy her a lovely bunch of flowers and a nice card.

You’re technically old enough to be her father.

Yeah, if I’d been a mad teenaged playboy knocking up women left and right.

It only takes once, you know.

Hal was so absorbed in arguing with himself, he nearly walked face-first into the glass door to the bakery.

Aggie had gotten here before him, of course. She’d come in on her bike. She was already sitting behind her desk, organizing her papers and getting things ready. He punched the “pause” button on his iPod so he could say “good morning” to her.

She beat him to it. “Good morning, Mr. Sanderson,” she said.

“Aggie, I’ve told you a million times,” he said. He chuckled sideways. “You can call me Hal, y’know. This isn’t the kind of place where we hang people for being a little informal.”

Well, that should be obvious. Bubblegum-pink bangs hung in front of her face; she had a glittery temporary star tattoo affixed to her temple. She looked like a year-2000-circa-1960 space babe from a corny sci-fi TV show. So long as you wore a hair net when you were handling food and always washed your hands, the boss didn’t care if you showed up at work wearing a top hat, a baseball jersey, and an inner tube.

“How’re classes?” he asked her. He swung over to the sink to wash his hands and pick up a pair of gloves.

“Good,” she said. “I’m a little behind on my project for Chem class, but I guess that’s what I get for trying to juggle both school and an internship.”  

“Ah,” Hal said. “Bummer. …Does anyone still say ‘bummer’ these days?”

“I hung out with the kids who memorized their vocabulary lists,” Aggie shrugged. “And then they used those words. Man, junior year? All my friends were saying ‘espoused,’ ‘conduit,’ and ‘apiary.’”

“Isn’t an apiary a place where you keep bees?” The latex gloves snapped as he pulled them over his hands.

“You’d be surprised how many ways there are to work that one into a sentence,” Aggie said. “Like, ‘He should be covered in honey and dropped in the middle of an apiary.’ I think that one was Mr. Peters; fourth period Home Ec.”

“He said that?”

“No. He deserved it,” she said, making a face.

Hal laughed earnestly. “Y’know, Aggie, even at four in the morning—I swear, you just—you’re a funny gal.”

“Hey, thanks,” she said.

The electronic shop bell chirped as Rick came in. He was inhaling his coffee in a way that suggested it had gone lukewarm several minutes ago. “Yo,” he said.

“Yo,” Hal and Aggie returned.

“We working on the surfer kid cake today still, or did Roseanne get that one done?”

“I think Rosie finished sculpting the fondant for the dude decoration, but we still have to finish the base,” Aggie said. She began shuffling through the shelves behind her. “I’ll go get it out of cold storage—am I still doing the seashells? You never got back to me on that—“

“Go for it, Aggie,” Hal said. “Looking for the keys?”

“Yeah—“

“Over here,” Hal said. He nonchalantly reached for a shelf above him and pulled down a red San Francisco lanyard. “Why don’t I get it,” he said. “You two—uh, why don’t you start mixing the fondant. I’ll go—“

“Morning, everyone!” Roseanne said as she entered.

Hal reached back into his pocket and poked his iPod into life while he went rummaging in the back room for the cake. He always made the wrong turn when he was trying to get to the fridge.

This song wasn’t one of his usuals. His sister had recommended it to him. It was from some TV show or other she liked. “Cowboy Something-Or-Other.” He didn’t think it actually involved cowboys, though. He imagined this song was played over the credits, maybe of the last episode—it had that kind of slow, reminiscent, vaguely triumphant quality to it. It felt “cold,” in a way. He unlocked the refrigerator and ambled inside, chewing on his tongue, thinking.

You know, it’s not like this is some weird, creepy stalker thing, he thought. That? That was intelligent, engaging, funny conversation! That was like Seinfeld. That’s why I like her. I mean, god, that pink hair? Hideous.

His fingers walked the shelves fitfully, looking for the cake. His eyes seemed to think they’d find it on the third floor tile from the left corner.

He stuck his fingers into a half-formed mound of fondant. He pulled them back, tiredly examining the blue dye stains the frosting left on his rubber fingertips. It looked like a piece of an abandoned wave. The cake beside it was a flat sheet of pure blue, swirled and airbrushed with sea-like colors. This was it, then. He slid out its panel. Balancing it carefully in his arms, he walked out of the fridge and swung the door closed behind him with his backside.

“Bring it over here, Hal,” Roseanne said, indicating an open workstation.

The words got a bit tangled up inside of the song, but Hal managed to sort them out amidst the singer’s wavering. He tried to jab his iPod off with his elbow, but the cake had his arms pinned. He slid it down on the counter before turning the music off.

“Thanks, Hal,” Roseanne said.

“Could you go do the check on the ovens for me?” Rick asked. He kneaded red food coloring into a log of pasty white fondant, his gloves turning a morbid shade of red. “I think we forgot to clean Oven 4 properly yesterday. Be on the lookout for grimy cake bits.”

Aggie stuck out her tongue. “God. Do you really have to use so much?”

“It’ll be pink otherwise,” Rick shrugged.

“But it tastes so nasty!”

Truer words never spoken, Hal thought. Something about the red food coloring just made the frosting and fondant so unspeakably bitter.

“Preach it, sister,” he agreed with her. Then he pulled himself off to the other room to investigate the ovens, as per Rick’s request.

Hal heard Rick muttering “I can’t taste it” as he slipped away.

The iPod went back on. The very end of a song resumed.

“Preach it, sister?” The new song picked up. Damn. I’m not even with it and I know that was lame. He admired his face in the reflective surface of one oven’s door. I need a shave. Young girls hate guys with stubble. It makes you look old—

Well, Jesus, what am I saying? Make up your mind! He threw his head back purposefully. Multiple choice, man. What are you? Are you some creepy old lech watching her from afar—

No! It’s not a lech! Well, I’m not—oh, fer Chrissakes! He turned sharply, and his forehead collided with a low cooling tray.

“ARE YOU OK?” Rick, Aggie, and Roseanne called.

Hal massaged his bump. “YEAH,” he shouted back. “JUST HIT MY HEAD.”

“DO YOU NEED ICE?” Aggie asked.

“I’LL BE FINE,” he said.

Hal shook his head, trying to throw off the throbbing sensation running up and down his eyebrows. Concentrate now, he thought, absentmindedly opening and closing all the ovens, not seeing what was inside.

So. Tell me. What are you trying to do her—here!, Hal Sanderson? Yes. You have a thing for this girl. This girl is college-aged; you are 34. Having established that… Was that oven clean? Something about a coil? He’d just closed the door, and he couldn’t even remember. Between the pounding in his forehead and the music between his ears and Aggie, he had no idea what he was doing.

Alright. So. Despite the age differences here, are you going to attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with this girl? Or are you going to try and repress the thoughts for fear of being seen as a creepy old pervert? You can make a rational decision about this; I know you can.

The iPod clicked and began to load up the next song. Hal stared blankly at the inside of the oven while the song began.

“Don’t don’t let’s start—“ the song went.

“I’m not,” he muttered.

“WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?” Rick shouted.

“NO ONE,” he said. “SORRY.”

“OVENS?”

“Uhhh…” And he really couldn’t remember! He opened and closed as many of them as he could reach in quick succession. “LOOKING GOOD!”

Hal wandered back into the main kitchen. He pressed his iPod off again, but lost himself instead in the sound of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Yikes!” Aggie exclaimed when she saw him. “That’s some bump you got there. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

She pulled herself away from the fondant. “Hal? Are you sure you’re OK?” He stopped. The squeaking of his shoes stopped. Her shoes took up the slack for his.
She stopped in front of him, the most flyaway tips of her cotton candy hair inches from his chin. She was looking up into his face. A thick, sweet, earthy smell crept up his nose from her hair.

She’s not pretty, he reminded himself, his eyes falling down her face.
  
“Hal… Seriously, are you seriously all right? You look depressed.”

“A dog ran over my car,” he grumbled distractedly.

Roseanne’s eyebrows bent. “I think that bump got into your noggin, Hal,” she said. “Maybe you should go lie down. Once the boss gets here, ask him for the day off.”

“No, it’s—“ Hal took three wide steps back from Aggie. “I’m fine. It’s fine. I just got a late start this morning, and now I bumped my head, and—it’s cool. I’m cool. I just need a cup of coffee or something.”

“Oh, I’ll make it for you!” Aggie said. “I’m done with that fondant anyway. Be right back!” She strode off toward the break area, throwing wheeled trays off to the side.

See, now, he thought. She’s so kind and caring. His eyes followed the sway of her legs and hips as she bustled off to get coffee. Any guy’d fall for a girl like that. She got all worried about me when I hit my head! Isn’t that sweet? And now she’s making coffee for me. See? She’s really, really nice! How can you not love such a really nice girl?

He fell back into a stool while he waited for her to return.

Her grin was perky and energetic when she returned. “Shooting smile rays,” his sister would’ve said. The silver glitter of her star tattoo perfectly complimented the white sparkle of her teeth, and her cheeks glowed rosy red beneath her hair. No one had ever looked happier to be alive.

A frustrated tear formed in the corner of his eye. She’s not pretty. She’s kind and intelligent and fun to be around, but nothing about her is pretty.

The bitter, over-brewed scent of the coffee mingled with the heavy, oily scent of her hair. She pressed the mug directly into his hands. She forced his fingers around the handle. “Here you go,” she said brightly. “Hope that makes you feel better.”

His cheeks pinched as he took a sip. He got out of the chair and set the mug down on the countertop.

“You know what? Roseanne, you’re right; tell the boss I’m taking a sick day. I’m going to go home and go back to sleep.” He got up with more gusto than someone taking a sick day ought, and blew out the door with a hollow tone from the digital shop bell.

Hal was in the kitchen, spreading mustard on his sandwich and swaying vaguely to the rhythm in his earbuds, when a different song interrupted the one in his head. He pressed “pause,” silencing the iPod, and picked up his cell phone.

“Hal…?” Roseanne’s voice creaked.

“Yeah? What’s up, Rosie?”

Roseanne’s throat clicked. He heard sirens tweeting behind her breathing.

“Oh my God,” he said. “What’s going on? I hear sirens. What happened?”

“An oven caught fire,” she said. “The shop—“

“Is everyone alright?”

“Rick and Aggie got burned a little—“

“Oh my God.” The knife in Hal’s hand fell to his countertop. “Oh my God! Are they OK? Are they going to—“

“Our ovens are totally trashed, Hal. The boss practically broke down crying. We lost thousands of dollars in equipment, as well as all our day’s work.”

“How badly are Aggie and Rick hurt?"

“They both went to the hospital,” Roseanne said.

“Ambu…?”

“—that’s the fire truck,” Roseanne sighed. “The ambulance already left. Rick kept insisting that he was OK, but his shoulder looked awful. Maybe… second-degree? I dunno, I’m not a med student. Aggie’s hair caught fire, but she got it out—they still want to check up on her. Doesn’t look burned, just ugly as sin, but the docs want to be careful.”

“Damn,” Hal muttered. “Damn.”

“Look, they’ll be fine,” Roseanne said. “The shop—I dunno what we’re gonna do, Hal. The building itself is fine, but all that equipment… Our salaries are gonna nosedive until that stuff gets paid for again, I’ll bet. Aggie’s more of an intern, so I dunno what’s gonna happen to her…”
   
Hal’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “What caused the fire?”

“Probably a shorted coil in one of the ovens.”

Hal’s heart fell into his stomach. He began to strangle his cell phone involuntarily.
“Look, the only people the boss blames are the stupid repairmen who should’ve caught it, not any of—Hal?”

Hal snapped his headphone closed, and stared stoically up at the ceiling.  

Hal debated with himself whether or not to buy anything for Rick, too. While Rosie indicated that Rick was the one who’d truly been hurt, he didn’t think most men appreciated flowers. He wondered if tiger lilies were sufficiently manly, having the word “tiger” in their name, while he tried to decide what to write on the tag that came with Aggie’s carnations. He felt like he ought to apologize, but he wasn’t sure what for.

He put the tiger lilies aside, and instead perused the card rack. He found one that sang “Hot Hot Hot” when you opened it, but he thought that might be in bad taste. He picked a nice, bland, white one with a cartoon drawing of a man on front, lying in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, and said “Get well soon” on the inside. He brought it up to the counter and paid for it alongside his flowers.

He laid the card and the flowers in the passenger seat of his car and drove himself down to the hospital. He debated plugging his iPod into his speakers, to listen to while he drove down, but decided against it. He went down the road to the hospital in relative silence, save for the sounds of cars rushing on by.

Hal pulled into the parking lot at the hospital. He picked up the flowers, locked the car, and swung toward the lobby.

“Hal!” said a surprised voice as he shoved in through the double doors.

“Aggie?”

A very choppy-haired Aggie rose out of one of the oddly-shaped chairs in the waiting room. Dark singe marks leapt along her melting-cotton-candy coiffure. An overly clean smell clung to the bandages pasted over her collarbone, and it mingled with the characteristic, unpleasant stench of burned hair.

“Oh! Flowers!” she said, surprised.

“Aggie? You alright?” He wove around the chairs. The smell intensified as he got closer. The bandages were dark with some kind of medicine, and the skin around it glistened with disinfectant—“Where’s Rick?”

“They’re keeping him overnight,” she said. She nearly toppled over a low table rushing to him; she threw her arms over his shoulders, but kept somewhat back.
The smell of hair and medicine flared in Hal’s nostrils and his neck grew hot.

“Oh, thank goodness he’s alright, though! Thank you, Hal! His shoulder looks pretty bad, but they’re letting me go; they gave me bandages and disinfectant. My face is only first degree, a bad sunburn, basically, and they checked my scalp and it’s the same. They say rotate the dressings on my shoulder; and check back in a week. Rosie offered to take me home; I’m waiting—do you want me to take the flowers to him, or—“

“N-n-no! They’re—“

He looked down into her face.

She still had her eyebrows—thank goodness—but her nose looked like it had already begun to blister. Her cheeks were a worrisome red that clashed with the scraggled remains of her hair. The thick smell of the medicine coming off her shoulder threatened to choke him.

My god, she does look hideous.

“Actually, why don’t we both go take the flowers to him?” He made a show of looking deeply into the bottom of the plastic cone surrounding the bouquet. He surreptitiously picked out the card inside of it and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Oh, good!” She stepped back, and her cracking lips and wide eyes smiled right
alongside each other. “He’s this way—c’mon! He’ll be glad to get them. You’re always so sweet, Hal!”

Hal smiled softly. But lord, doesn’t she have a lovely smile.

“Boy, all your poor hair,” he said conversationally.

“It’ll grow back,” she shrugged. “At least my skin’s mostly OK. I once spilled hot water on myself, and it looked way worse. We got it out before it could do any real damage. I’ll probably get some blisters, though. I hate blisters.”

“Maybe I should shave my head,” he wondered. “You know. To show some sympathy.”

“Oh, Hal, don’t!” she laughed. “No. You don’t have to do that. You keep your hair right where it is.”

“Oh? I can’t shave my beard either, then?”

“You’d look good with a goatee,” she said earnestly.

Hal thought about that.

“…Are you worried about the shop, Hal?” she asked.

Hal gulped. “Um. Rosie says that it’s going to cost a lot of money to fix the ovens. She says we’re probably gonna get our salaries slashed… And she says we might not be able to keep you on as an intern.”

Aggie sighed.

“I…” Hal began.

“It’s OK,” Aggie said. “What’s important right now is… Let’s go see Rick.”
Hal chuckled. “That’s not the way Rosie reacted. ‘Rick? Oh, yeah, he’ll be OK. The shop? Now, the shop is screwed.”

Aggie laughed. “Well, tell you guys what. If you fire me, I promise to buy as big a cake as my next job allows every week. If you don’t fire me and we go under anyway, I’ll hide you all in my closet until you can recover.”

Hal joined in on her laughter. “You’re awfully cheerful for someone with a second-degree burn and potential unemployment on you head.”

She turned her reddened, chunky-haired face toward him. “Well, Hal, what can I say? You put me in a good mood.”  

Hal grinned. Maybe she is pretty, he thought.