As time passed and friendships deepened, Clair learned more and more about Chase.
The first and most obvious thing was his unshakable confidence in himself. He wore strange clothes -- shoelaces that didn't match -- laced in paint-covered combat boots. He wore camouflage cut-offs below the knee with short-sleeve button downs, and a two-foot chain on a bi-fold wallet. He drove strange cars. Yes, cars... plural. One was a brown El Camino (no one drove El Caminos anymore) and the other was a white hearse with red flames painted on the front hood. He had unusual interests -- perpetually preoccupied with Halloween and Friday 13th - the day he was born. All these oddities were completely unique to him, and he never apologized for them, ever. He knew who he was and what he liked - and he never sought validation for any of that from anyone other than himself. Clair had no choice but to respect that.
In truth, Clair got bold enough to question him about the hearse one day. "Don't you think putting flames on the front of a hearse is a bit sacrilegious?"
"Maybe, but it'll be great come Halloween. I've got so many great plans for that car...." he carried on.
Even as he spoke in enthusiasm to the end of his thought, Clair got a very strong feeling that Chase was being sincere. He wasn't just talking to impress or shock people. He genuinely had plans for that hearse - notwithstanding anything that anyone else may have said. He must've been saying something very profound and legitimate along with all of that, the problem was Clair was too stunned to hear it. She never could remember the rest of what he'd said. She just chalked it up to her being deaf to whatever she suspected remained of his rationale after he'd quasi-mocked a hearse. Still, Chase had left her speechless... an otherwise rare occurrence.
He was a musician too... saxophone. Ever suspicious of musicians (having dated a couple), Clair herself played the french horn and to paraphrase Shakespeare, "there was always a merry war betwixt the two". She really did not like the honky sound of a saxophone. It grated against and irritated her ear. But somehow... Chase's playing didn't bother her much.
There they were... all lined up.... reason after reason after reason to justify disliking him, and yet... she instinctively could not do that. She had a certain hunch about Chase, so -- in spite of herself -- she liked him... and she liked him more as every day passed... like compounding interest. It was that simple. By all accounts Clair and Chase should've maintained a certain disinterested distance from each other... but time passing revealed that nothing remotely like that happened.
The first and most obvious thing was his unshakable confidence in himself. He wore strange clothes -- shoelaces that didn't match -- laced in paint-covered combat boots. He wore camouflage cut-offs below the knee with short-sleeve button downs, and a two-foot chain on a bi-fold wallet. He drove strange cars. Yes, cars... plural. One was a brown El Camino (no one drove El Caminos anymore) and the other was a white hearse with red flames painted on the front hood. He had unusual interests -- perpetually preoccupied with Halloween and Friday 13th - the day he was born. All these oddities were completely unique to him, and he never apologized for them, ever. He knew who he was and what he liked - and he never sought validation for any of that from anyone other than himself. Clair had no choice but to respect that.
In truth, Clair got bold enough to question him about the hearse one day. "Don't you think putting flames on the front of a hearse is a bit sacrilegious?"
"Maybe, but it'll be great come Halloween. I've got so many great plans for that car...." he carried on.
Even as he spoke in enthusiasm to the end of his thought, Clair got a very strong feeling that Chase was being sincere. He wasn't just talking to impress or shock people. He genuinely had plans for that hearse - notwithstanding anything that anyone else may have said. He must've been saying something very profound and legitimate along with all of that, the problem was Clair was too stunned to hear it. She never could remember the rest of what he'd said. She just chalked it up to her being deaf to whatever she suspected remained of his rationale after he'd quasi-mocked a hearse. Still, Chase had left her speechless... an otherwise rare occurrence.
He was a musician too... saxophone. Ever suspicious of musicians (having dated a couple), Clair herself played the french horn and to paraphrase Shakespeare, "there was always a merry war betwixt the two". She really did not like the honky sound of a saxophone. It grated against and irritated her ear. But somehow... Chase's playing didn't bother her much.
There they were... all lined up.... reason after reason after reason to justify disliking him, and yet... she instinctively could not do that. She had a certain hunch about Chase, so -- in spite of herself -- she liked him... and she liked him more as every day passed... like compounding interest. It was that simple. By all accounts Clair and Chase should've maintained a certain disinterested distance from each other... but time passing revealed that nothing remotely like that happened.
No comments:
Post a Comment