Vital Signs

Part 32

Monday morning it's back to school for Jillian. Her mother and I make it clear that there is to be no more arguing with Ms. Castellano. Megs volunteers transportation services to school. And speaking of transportation, I've decided to commute to the office on the old bike that I found in the back of the garage beneath a layer of dust, cobwebs, and sediment. It wasn't hard to find. It was right there on the bike rack where I left it at least five years ago. Maybe seven or eight.

Thanks to procedural memory, they say that you can never forget how to ride a bike. But  procedural memory can't help with aggressive drivers, narrow streets, potholes, and rush hour traffic. During my fifteen-minute bike ride, on multiple occasions, I narrowly avoid a trip to the hospital or the coroner's office. At one point, while making an evasive maneuver to dodge a speeding SUV (see what I did there?), my lunch hops out of my backpack onto the roadway and is run over by a school bus. Of course, the kids on the bus laugh.

                                                                               #######

I'm working at my desk when I hear the office door opening. I check the time. 10:32. I don't have any appointments scheduled. I'm not dressed for visitors. I take a quick sniff of my armpits then thrown on my dress shirt over my T-shirt and begin buttoning as fast as I can.

"Hello?" I hear a familiar voice. 

Still buttoning furiously, I exit my office to find Carl, coffee in hand, admiring my bike.

"Hey, Carl. Sorry about that. I wasn't expecting visitors."

He turns and responds with suspicious eyes on my outfit - sneakers, sweat pants and the half-buttoned Oxford shirt. "This your bike?"

"Yeah. I rode it to work. I forgot my bike lock so I brought it up to the office. Just for today."

He drains his coffee then sets the empty paper cup on the receptionist's desk.

He grins proudly. "Wanted to tell you faccia-a-faccia. You're rockstar status at Aunt Betsy's."

"Rockstar?"

"You're our secret sauce, keeping the chickens clucking and the ducks--"

I cut him off before he can finish.

"You've heard good things from Lowell and the team?" I smile.

"I shoulda slotted you in baked goods optimization years ago."

"Their ad agency, Saucy Cat." I shake my head. "Could be an issue."

He gives me a paternal pat on the back. "Let's use the positive hose to knock down that fire."

I nod.

"So Aunt Betsy is filling out your calendar?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Pretty much? I mean, there's no more room in the assignment wagon, right?"

"Huh?"

"No other projects under the microscope?"

I see where he's headed.

"Carl, I left Trollamex back at the office. And that's where it's gonna stay."

He grins broadly and gives me another pat on the back. I almost expect him to tousle my hair. His smile falls when he looks around the empty reception area then trots down the hall and pokes his head into the vacant conference room.

"Where's your Keurig?"

"Uh, I don't have one."

"Going forward, we need to get you a coffeemaker."