The Intrusion

Nineteen

(Sunday, March 18, 2018)

[Jordan]

I've been waiting in the lobby of Andy's building for the past ten minutes, the receptionist eyeing me off-and-on with bored indifference the whole time. The taste of apprehension fills my mouth. It's the not knowing—the confusion of it all. It's a puzzle, and I need an answer.

Why was Andy in my dream?

Or, maybe the real question is, why was I in his dream?

There has to be a reason, doesn't there? The feeling that Andy knows more than he is letting on overwhelms me.

I take out my phone and absently lock and unlock the useless device. My fingers swipe over the screen without thinking about the combination—my hands have the smooth motion memorized.

After about two minutes, I put my phone away. My right leg twitches and jitters uncontrollably. I let out an audible groan.

Why? Why?

Why would God make someone like me? Someone who is so tremendously impatient, yet also so inevitably early for every single God-damned thing?

It's only 5:55pm. I told Andy I'd meet him here at 6.

I groan again.

The receptionist looks up from her computer and glares at me.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm just waiting for my friend. He's always late."

She gives me a polite but forced smile and goes back to playing Spider Solitaire or Mine Sweeper or whatever it is she's been clicking away at on her computer this whole time.

Finally, at 6:03pm, the elevator in the lobby dings, the metal doors slide open and Andy steps out.

Finally!

"Andy!" I exclaim almost too excitedly, nearly leaping out of my seat. I make a mostly successful attempt at calming myself before walking over to him.

"Hi Jordan," he says, avoiding eye contact.

"How was your day? What did you and Alice do?" Even her name puts a sour taste on my tongue.

"We went for a hike." He finally glances up from his highly interesting shoes to look at me.

"That sounds fun."

"It was muddy," he responds.

I give him as pleasant a smile as I can force.

"Where do you want to go for dinner?" I ask.

"Oh, it doesn't matter to me. Wherever you want to go, Jordan."

"How about we go to All Star Wings?" We can't just go back to The Spot. We've been there way too many times already. I don't want Andy to think that is the only place I go!

"That sounds fine," Andy says dispassionately. He gives me a small smile. I notice he looks tired. Alice must have worn him out on the hike.

We leave the apartment lobby and walk down the street to the sports bar, not saying anything to each other on the way there. At least it isn't raining today.

When we finally reach the corner with the bar, I push the heavy, tinted glass door open. Andy follows me inside. Immediately, a warm dampness and the overpowering smell of stale beer hits me. I'm almost completely blind for a minute before my eyes finally adjust to the dim lighting.

"How many?" a voice asks, shrilly cutting through the dull roar of a hundred conversations saturating the pub's thick atmosphere.

I turn to see a waitress standing in front of Andy and I, grinning at us from ear to ear.

"Oh, just the two of us," I respond.

"Great," she says, and then before she can say anything else she is cut off by an eruption of shouts from deeper within the bar. They've got all the TV's going on full volume, and a group of people wearing jersey's and cheering for the Canucks sit in front of the drop-down projector screen in the far corner.

"Do you have any seating outside?" I ask the waitress after the noise dies back down to a steady droll. I want to be able to talk to Andy tonight, and with the game going it's impossible to have an actual conversation. And also, it's a really nice evening. I like being outside.

"Sure," the waitress says, leading us through the bar and out a back door to a small balcony overlooking the street. Just a handful of tables fill the elevated patio—all of them empty and still wet with rain from last night. Fake green grass covers the floor—almost like grass on a turf field. I'm not sure why they've decorated it like this, but I've got two theories: either so prissy dogs can feel comfortable going to the bathroom out here, or it's a tacky attempt at giving the patio the feel of a sports field.

I don't particularly like either of those ideas.

The waitress smiles at us and nods, exiting back through the door into the bar and leaving us alone. I take a seat facing a wall mounted television showing the hockey game. Andy sits across from me.

Finally. I have him alone, and now there is no one to get in our way. It's time to get some answers.