Story about Anything

He cocked his head to one side, like a pug trying to figure out what was in its bowl, as if trying to figure out what was on his plate. It was mashed potatoes. With gravy. Like, really good stuff. She watched his reaction, fascinated. She was definitely intrigued, because he was quite odd. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not, but it wasn't necessarily bad. It was justwell, odd. Like when someone plops a plate of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes in front of you, the normal reaction is to, I don't know, grab a fork or something. Not cock your head like a puppy like you have no idea why there's mashed potatoes on your plate.

"I swear I asked for fries."

"You didn't."

"Well, I didn't ask for mashed potatoes. Why on earth would I do that?"

'No. I don't think you asked for anything 'cept chicken-fried steak and a Coke. It just comes with mashed potatoes."

"I should ask for fries."

"She's right behind you. Call her over."

"I think I will. I mean, I like fries. I don't like mashed potatoes. It's the crispness. I like that. I don't like mushy."

"No? No mushy?"

"No. I hate bananas. I hate mayonnaise and anything like that. I don't hate mashed potatoes but I like fries better. And if I have to eat mashed potatoes, I like them lumpy. Like mash them with that thingy like once or twice. What's that thing called?

"Potato masher?"

"Yeah, that."

"Once or twice? Is that even mashed potatoes."

"To me it is. I mean, there's no rule that says it has to be mashed more than once, so I figure one mash is good enough and then you can call it mashed potatoes."

"Do you have to mash the potato all the way?"

"Well, yeah. If you only mash it halfway down, you've got this funny half-mashed potato. You can call it half-mashed, because that's what it is. But you can't call it mashed, because it's not."

"Well, I'm pretty sure you can call it whatever you want. People call things funny things all the time on menus."

"Like chicken fried steak. You know how long it took me before I figured out what the heck that meant?"

"I don't think I've ever thought about that. I grew up here, we just always kind of knew what chicken-fried steak was. I thought you were from here, too, like Jefferson County?"

Jefferson County was about as podunk as it gets. They were at the best restaurant in the entire county, the Waffle House. Fluorescent lights, torn vinyl on the booth. Old couple in the booth behind her, and her high school janitor sitting at the counter like he always does. But the Waffle House has like, no style. It's just a place. If there was a better place, you'd go there, but it's Jefferson County so there isn't and you don't.

"I moved there when I was fourteen. I'm actually from California. Not like the good part or anything. The central valley. Sort of ugly and hot. All we did was skate and smoke."

"When you were fourteen?" she said, eyebrows raised. This was good. He was already revealing something about himself. The last couple of guys were like these brick walls. Monosyllabic monkeys, barely able to grunt a "I'm in sales" or "I like your rack."

"More like eleven. I was doing coke at fourteen."

Okay, that surprised her.

"I don't do that stuff now. I straightened myself out when I came here. First kid I met was like me, except first day he's offering me oxy and I'm a little weirded out. I kind of decided I wasn't going to do that scene."

She felt relief. She didn't want to...

"We should take a trip someplace warm," he said, kind of out of nowhere. Was he being serious? "I'll learn how to surf, and we'll take diving lessons, see some sharks."

She smiled. "Sounds wonderful, actually. Where do I sign up?"

He smiled back. "Did you think I was weird, with the mashed potatoes thing?"

"A little."

"Yeah."

"I'm okay with that."

She wondered about his wandering eye, though. Everything else was great. Like, really. Cute, interesting. White, which was intriguing. That was a new thing. California, it figures. The local guys were way too cracker for this. But what about the wandering eyes? This was not good. Was she imaging it? Blowing it out of proportion? If a hot guy walked in, she'd look. Right? What's good for the gander is good for the goose, right?

"So do you have a plan yet? Like, how you're going to get to this beach spot?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You should. Seriously. I graduate from Tech next semester and I've been thinking about that a lot. Like, where am I going to move to.

"Lots of fine sisters in DC." She couldn't believe she said that. She'd made up this whole narrative that he had a thing for black girls, and was hot for Jackie Brown and she really said that. Really?

"I don't get it."

"No, I'm sorry."

Jackie came past. "Hey, can we get some waters?" he asked.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Did you think I was checking her out?"

Not that she was ever jealous. She wasn't going to admit that to him. This had promise, maybe best not to call herself out for that jealous streak. "No, I wasn't thinking that."

"You were! Wait a minute. If you're jealous, that's a good thing," he said with a smirk. Like when a guy winks with his mind, but not with his eye, and…