A watch.

I had found out later that Jack had stolen a watch.

It wasn’t an expensive one, but rather a thing of cheap, shining golden plastic that was meant to make poor people seem kitschy, though established. But it was something he’d stolen nonetheless. And from that day on he wore it - or, well, for at least two days until he grew bored of its flash, or maybe even embarrassed of what he’d done - and he was brandishing the thing on his wrist like a young boy with a trophy won at a little league tournament. When he came into the shop the Monday following his thievery, he made a point to show me that he was, indeed, wearing the watch. I only regarded it with pursed lips and a disapproving furrow of my brow.

“You, uh, don’t mind if I have lunch here, do you?” He suddenly asked after he finished purchasing his sandwich - a plain ham and cheese - with another bottle of Coke.

“Don’t you always?” I said, perhaps too bluntly, too bitterly. I didn’t care. Unlike before, there was a new nerve in talking to him. I was conversing with a criminal!

He winced, but shrugged. “Well, yeah, I know, but I mean, like… in here - with you.” Without really realizing it I must’ve given him a look because he quickly added, tone dropped in a low whisper, “Can’t have the cops busting me while on break, y’know?”

He leaned in a little closer over the counter, whispering out the side of his mouth, “You ought to know: I have a tendency to be quite the rapscallion, so I can’t be busted, especially ‘round here. I got a reputation to upkeep!”

I stared at him with awkward silence, but then slowly nodded. “I’m sure you are, considering you came in here like a bat out of hell with a stolen wristwatch,” my eyes flickered down to said watch on his wrist, which he shifted to offer a slightly better view. Its faux gold shimmer made my own, made of a cheap silvery metal, dull in comparison.  “I couldn’t imagine why cops would be after you.”

He shrugged. “Can’t imagine why, either.” He then tapped his knuckle against the countertop. “So, how about it? Can I join ya for my break? Seems awful quiet and lonely in here - you look like you could use the company.”

I really didn’t need company. Or at least I didn’t think I did - I knew that I at least wanted his company, despite the previous Saturday’s events. I never minded being alone in the shop, listening to the music on the radio or reading through a magazine. At the same time, the thought of Jack’s absence in this moment made me feel hollow in a way I couldn’t find words to describe. I would’ve rather him be here than not, and having to wait until the next day for him to come.

“Sure… I-I don’t see why not.” I said. Behind the counter there had always been two stools: one for Mom, one for me. Mom, once again, was out, so I dragged hers out from hiding and offered it to him by patting my hand against its seat. “Make yourself comfortable, and the radio is yours to control.”

I didn’t know whether to feel excitement, dread, or annoyance when he offered me a small grin as he took a seat and erupted into a ramble about a motorcycle he saw that morning (I remember it was, as he described it, a “fucking sweet Kawasaki GPZ1000RX” that “purred like a dream.”). I felt none of those yet all of them all at once, and all I did know at the time was that I was afraid of the tickle that started to worm itself within my belly and chest.

✴⛎︎✴

And thus, for better or for worse, started a new routine, or at least for the days Mom wasn’t in the store and was instead out on the town with Grandma or watching T.V. with her.

Jack had started arriving earlier than his usual 12:30. He’d buy his lunch of a sandwich and Coke - and never deviated from that meal, save for the day he bought a bag of Gummy Worms to share with me - then he’d talk with me while he ate or I’d listen to his ramblings (which varied from day-to-day; it felt as though his mind never stayed put in one place but was instead a thousand miles ahead of him). Whenever he was around, there was never an awkward quietness that needed to be occupied by the radio and I don’t think I hardly spoke with him around beyond the basic greetings. And I was perfectly content. I liked listening to him and the playfully adventurous way in which he spoke. (He could talk about a piece of dust he found on his shirt and I would’ve been absolutely enraptured, giving him nothing but my undivided attention.)

Mostly, it was just us two. We were (almost) alone. There was one day, during Jack’s lunch hour, where Mom was in the store, and she spent the whole time leering at Jack the same way she did with teenagers that spoke an octave too loud for her liking or her ‘hellions’ that wore biking gear - like Jack. Jack would wither beneath her gaze, but he never faltered or crumbled. He was still polite and just courteous enough, and I swore he bore an expression of melancholy whenever he left the store. His departure was always announced by the revving of a motorcycle, and I always held my breath until the roar faded into a purr, and then into nothing.

But during his lunch breaks, I had come to learn more about Jack’s work as a mechanic at Lakeside Auto & Oil, a place that I realized was a whole six blocks away from the store. Six blocks. That was a hike, both on bike and especially on foot for a half-hour lunch break. Why would he go so out of his way just to have lunch here? There had been a sandwich shop literally right across the street, much closer and used fresher produce.

 Oh, and his bike…

I had quickly come to learn that he has a passion for motorbikes, as it felt like they were the one thing he loved more than life itself. There was a day where he’d brought his bike, which he introduced as Miss Missy, a “Kawaski Z1000” with a sleek black finish, and we stood outside the store to marvel at it. He talked and talked, told me about the bike and even introduced it as though it were a person. (“Miss Missy, this is Temperance. Temperance, this is Miss Missy!” To which I just responded by offering the bike an amiable pursing of my lips, because how is one meant to greet an inanimate bike?) It was like a kid showcasing a steer at a 4H fair, honestly.

“She rides well,” Jack said, lightly padding the seat with a smirk I’d quickly come to learn was trademark. “I should take you for a ride sometime!”

The thought was instantly unappealing to me. The loud noises, the exhaust, the proximity to other vehicles, nothing to keep you from flying off the seat and tumbling into the road was enough for my palms to grow clammy and my heart pound with overstimulation. I only tried to offer a tight smile and a “Sure, sometime.”

He also talked about his home life in Suamico, and his mother, his sisters. He spoke of them so solemnly, but he’d tried to mask sadness behind the carefree storyteller persona I’d come to grow affectionate for.

“Yeah, came from a larger family, just my mom and six sisters,” he then started to count off on each finger as he named them all (in order of age, I assumed), “My mom Vivienne, then my sisters Janet, Debrah, Sandy, SueAnn, Alice, and Leigh. I was the middle of them all, smack between Sandy and Sue, and I was like the dad since Dad was gone - never really knew what happened to him, but Mom said fumes from the war in Europe got to him after he came home from the frontlines, but a lot of his buddies thought he died by falling into a pulp vat at his paper mill job in Green Bay, or he ran off with a nice mistress to California. Never really did find out, and I’m too old to care now.

“I became the dad, man of the house. But I… I really wasn’t the man the girls needed, y’know? I was a little half-pint kid, and boys would pick on me for it. So, I fought them. Would duke it out, throw a jab here and a punch there, to prove that I was tough. So,” he pulled his lips to bare his chipped teeth, an animal flashing his fangs, “I never really proved them right, even when I stole cool shit to show them and prove I was useful in some way. So, I stole a bike and came here to Milwaukee. Well, a part of it was dodgin’ the draft, too. Some of my friends got their letters to go to Vietnam, and I left home before I’d have the chance to receive mine, and I haven’t heard from Mom or any of my sisters since. Never really even knew if I did get drafted or not… I just like wearing that draft-dodger badge, though. Adds to the rugged mystique, wouldn’t you think?”

I nodded, because it was true and also because I couldn’t find a way to conjure up a response to this life story from him. He just seemed more like a hippie vagabond and an alleycat, and I wanted to learn more about him. I wanted him to open up like a book and tell more stories, of Suamico and the Wisconsin northwoods, of the people he’d met during his adventures of thievery and stealing and playground brawls. It felt dangerous, knowing a man like this… Mom never let me even glance at men like Jack before, regardless of how harmless or cut-throat they seemed. In moments like this, Jack and his stories were all mine. Not Mom’s, not anyone else’s. Mine. And I wanted to stay that way.

And I just sat and listened to him, hearing him tell his stories of how he stole and fought as a form of compensation. He spoke of the rush of stealing, the thrill of acquiring new trinkets when there was the risk of danger. “It’s like that Indiana Jones guy! When he’s running from that boulder, y’know? It’s like that, that’s who I feel like! That adrenaline is a hell of a drug, makes you feel alive.”

I wondered what other things he must’ve stolen since he first started talking to me.

But the days passed, and I would find myself missing Jack whenever he left, and that I didn’t want him to leave. But I didn’t - couldn’t - make any indication of that being how I felt. Well, it would’ve helped if I could pinpoint exactly what I had come to feel. It was something that left me feeling confused, a feeling of immense content and excitement whenever I saw him, and then a painful loss whenever he was gone. But I never said anything, keeping it bottled up inside me, not daring to mention them to anyone outside of myself. Just as Jack had become mine, my feelings had become my newfound secrets.

Then, one day, Jack came to lunch seeming unlike his normal self (I had come to already have a sandwich and Coke ready for him on the counter - free of charge, his company was compensation enough - as Mom and Grandma were out grocery shopping in preparation for a trip up north). He seemed more reserved, quiet, his gaze cast down. Even the smile he casted at me was tight and lacked its usual mirth. It frightened me.

“Hey, Temp,” he said, not as excited as usual as he sat at the counter, hands remaining stuffed in his pockets.

“Something is bothering you,” I said, with perhaps a little too much earnestness in my tone as I pulled my stool so I could sit closer to him.

He shrugged. “Just an old guy at the shop. They were all cranky and bitchy, chewing us all out for something about his car… I don’t know, I don’t want to bother with it.” And he never really said anything more, even though his lips twitched, brow furrowed, and hands curled into a nervous fist, as though he wished to share more, but something within him was restraining itself from doing so.

“Ah,” was all I said and was unsure of what to add onto it. I didn’t know what to add or if it was necessary to do so, so I just didn’t . But, just then, another thought crossed my mind, and I suddenly felt nauseous. Something in my gut buckled, and that tickling sensation crawled up my chest, between my breasts, up my throat, and then past my lips until I blurt, “Would you want to come over tonight? For… movies? A-and food?” That’s what people did with people they liked, right? I couldn’t recall or agree with what Chastity would’ve perceived as a ‘normal date,’ as she was the kind of woman to meet someone at a bar and bring them back, leaving the rest to be a mystery to me. Dinner, drinks, movies. Those were the main ways to hang out with someone if you wanted to get to know them in the movies. It’s what Chastity did. Then I could do it too.

Jack’s brows shot up and the worry that surrounded him seemed to melt away in an instant. “You want me to come over?” he lightly tapped on the counter. “Here?”

“N-No, I mean my place,” I gestured to the ceiling, to the apartment above us. Why would he want to meet here in the store? “My mom and grandmother will be heading up north for the weekend, so the place will be empty. I will have it to myself.”

This was true. They were heading up north to visit my Uncle Al, Mom’s youngest brother, at his cabin, to do some hunting. Turkey season - it was where Mom liked getting potential turkey for Thanksgiving every year, and then leftover meats would be shredded for turkey sandwiches for the store. They never bothered to invite me to go hunting, which I didn’t mind, as I didn’t really feel at home between the pines where I would only exist to be a meal for mosquitoes, ticks, and leeches. And I wasn’t a killer.

He had that half smile, and sighed. “Sure, I think I’d like that a lot. I get done at six. I can be here by 6:30. I’ll bring food, on me - takeout okay? Chinese?”

There was a spark in my chest, something that hinted at excitement, and my mouth itched into a small grin. “That’ll be fine. A-and I’ll have beer,” that was always a big deal in the movies, offering a guest you liked a drink. “Pabst.”

He clicked his tongue and drew in a long, sharp breath between his teeth as he rolled his shoulders, hands slipping into his pockets. “I dunno, Temp, I’m a bit more of a fancy-dancy wine guy myself,” he then stood back a bit, as though to display his oil-and-grease-stained attire and greased hair, and smiled, which faltered after several beats of awkward silence. My lips pursed. Was I supposed to say something?

“You don’t come across as a wine guy to me.”

But he laughed softly, reassuringly. “Beer would be great, Temp, I’m just joking.”

I tried to laugh along, the sound coming out breathy and light. “Right, right.”

His smile returned as he began a backward, dogged stride towards the door. “So, 6:30?”

“6:30? Yes, that’ll work.”

He smiled and nodded. “Alright, see you then, Temp.”

And when he left, in the place loneliness would be there was a spark of excitement, and a flutter in my heart, and in my gut.