Are you old enough to be in here? Yup. That’s the first thing I’m gonna say to her. Well, after introducing myself. Gabe Saunders was nursing his Styrofoam cup of coffee. He had an absence of two years from the senior center on 6th Avenue. There was Covid and a brief jaunt in Morelia. He found it cheaper to live in Des Moines, especially being a vet. He could ride the buses for free, and the county had various departments and assistance for veterans. As much as he hated the political bent of the state, he couldn’t do much better living off social security and a small disability pension from the VA anywhere else.
He had not seen her in his first incarnation at the center. Her beauty struck him right away. She was petite. Short grey hair with still some black woven through in a French braid. Glasses. She had hips, perhaps the bane of her existence, and why she attended the Zumba classes. It’s not quite a stereotype that black men like ‘em a bit large… Gabe never saw her unless it was the Monday, Wednesday, Friday exercise classes.
Gabe was getting up the nerve to ask her out. At the center he was aware of the devout—which he wasn’t—and the MAGA supporters, which he vehemently was not, being among the members. Even though it was 2025, he was still reticent about asking a white woman out. At first, he situated himself to see her when she left the exercise classes. She never stayed for the free senior lunch, and he never saw her at any of the other activities. That told him that she might be married. Still, a shooter’s gotta shoot his shot.
“Good morning,” he mustered up the nerve one day. She and a friend she came with, were perusing items on a cork board that had flyers plastered to it.
She turned to look at him. Not seeing any revulsion, he continued. “How are you?”
She allowed a small smile and responded, “Fine. How are you?”
“Fine, now.”
She smiled and they soon left.
Other than coming to the karaoke sessions every other week, Gabe didn’t spend much time at the senior center. He had been a loner most of his life and by this time, knew whom he liked and didn’t. Going to the exercise class just to see this one gal rubbed him the wrong way. That and being reticent about his initial concerns came to the surface. His main stumbling block was that he lived out of his van.
Kinda hard to ask a gal to come up and look at your etchings when you gotta move shit from the front seat.
It was by chance that he met Rory. He had seen her before and even then, he thought Hmmm, that’s a possibility. Rory was about five seven. She was darkly complected and, to her detriment, had an uneven complexion with some dark spots. However, she was slim, not hard to look at, and she wore dresses, which few women at the center did. She looked as if she wasn’t of retirement age.
Once when she was coming in and Gabe was leaving, they nearly ran into each other. Both laughed it off with her saying excuse me and Gabe quipping, “I’m never sorry bumping into a good-looking woman.”
She gave him an appreciative smile. What stopped him from talking more to her was she was always escorted by the same man.
There weren’t many blacks that attended the center on 6th Avenue. On karaoke days, he heard a lot of songs from the 50s and 60s. Johnny Angel. Make the World Go Away. A lot of Elvis. A lot of country. There was one guy who always sang Okie from Muskogee that would make Gabe leave the room. Some he knew, some he didn’t. By perusing the catalog of songs, Gabe could see the selections were geared towards an older audience. The only songs he could sing reasonably well were some of Sinatra’s.
Usually, the applause for the singers was polite. However, his rendition of Fly Me To The Moon got an enthusiastic greeting. More than one person came up to him later and commented on how well he sang.
Fast forward two years from his first time. Another gal named Rose was a great singer. She asked him to do Unforgettable. That song immediately went into his repertoire. He noticed that the brunette had applauded his effort, and he nodded towards her. She was sans her usual escort. Seeing how that there were less than twenty people in the dining room, his affirmation wasn’t anything considered brazen.
When he went to refill his coffee, she came up. “Nice job on that song. You sing really well. Have you ever been in a choir?”
A smile stretched across Gabe’s face. “Thank you, I was in choir in junior and senior high.” He extended his hand. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced. My name is Gabe.”
She smiled and slipped her hand into his. Though his grip was light, she could tell he had strength. “Rory. Nice to meet you.”
He turned her hand so that the back was facing him and he gave it a light kiss.
“Ooh,” she gave her hair a slight bob with the other hand. “A gentleman, I see.”
He looked over her shoulder. “Glad your husband isn’t here to see me. I don’t wanna cause a ruckus.”
She chortled. “That ain’t my husband. He lives in my apartment building, and I hitch rides with him.”
With him holding her hand, as luck would have it, the gal he really wanted to speak to was coming out of the exercise room. She met his eyes, quickly averted them, and walked past.
Gabe sighed inwardly. What the fuck is she doing here? Musta forgot something. A bird in the hand…
“I see that you don’t come here often.”
“You’ve ate the food here, right?”
“Good point,” Gabe said with a laugh.
They stood, sizing each other up. Finally, Gabe said, “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”
When Gabe suggested coffee, Rory said, “I’d rather have a beer.”
Gabe’s eyebrows arched in both surprise and pleasure. Her next words were even better.
“Why waste money at a bar. We can grab a six-pack and head to my place.”
Gabe offered to get the beer and took her address.
Rory lived in an 8-plex on Sherman Hill. She had a one-bedroom apartment that was modestly furnished. They watched t.v. and drank the six pack. He glanced at the wall clock and saw that he had been there for several hours. He couldn’t say that he was having a great time, but sipping beers and being close to an attractive woman was better than curling up under his sleeping bag in his minivan. Thinking that it might be time for him to leave, he got up and stretched.
Rory looked a little apprehensive. “You’re not getting ready to leave, are you?”
“Uhh, well, I didn’t wanna overstay my welcome.”
“We’re just getting to know each other. I see you at the center, so I know you’re a decent sort. Let’s say we get another six pack.”
It was close to eleven and that found them nestled close together. Her head on his shoulder and his arm around her.
“How come you never made a move?”
“I thought you were married. And a guy never knows how a white woman in this day and age is gonna react to a black man asking her out.”
“Fair enough,” she said evenly. She got up, stretched, reached out to him and said, “Let’s go to bed.”
Gabe was glad to have most of the night. It’d been nearly ten years since he had had sex. He knew he wouldn’t last long and wanted a chance to make it up to her. It was when he went to pee, he began to have some doubts. He wasn’t worried about pregnancy. She was certainly menopausal, and he had prostatectomy.
When he woke her to leave, it was about five. “Thanks for a great night,” he leaned in to kiss her.
She took hold of his arm and said “Write your number down. I’ll call ya later.”
When he got into his minivan, he finally let out a sigh of relief. He took a breath and drove to one of his haunts and slept the rest of the night.
Gabe hardly went to the center. The lunches, albeit free, were bland for the most part. Other than karaoke, he’d hit the center during inclement weather or if he wanted to use the net. Against his better judgment, he called Rory and left a message on her voicemail. “Last night was fun. I hope to get—” and he paused for a moment. And then quickly added, “We can get together soon.”
Gabe was at the North Side library when he got a call. He preferred Central for its ambience. North Side was on his stomping ground. He didn’t recognize the number but knew who it was.
“Howdy!”
Rory laughed in his ear. “D’ya always answer the phone that way?”
“I don’t get many calls.”
“What’re you doing?”
“At the library. Reading the papers.”
A pause.
“Ya wanna come over?”
She gave him a kiss, and he could taste the alcohol on her breath. He felt comfortable in her apartment. He pulled her into an embrace.
They were in bed, and he said, “I live outta my car.”
“She leaned across him and lit a cigarette. “I figured as much. I’ve seen your minivan. Is that why you wanted to meet me here?”
He nodded.
“Do you wanna shack up here?”
He caught his breath before answering. “No, I’m good. If I could take a shower every now and then…”
“I could live with that.”
Retired people don’t sleep much and wake up early. With a kitchen at his disposal, he asked “Wanna have some breakfast?” He’d done some catering and was proud of his prowess.
“Coffee’s just fine.”
A little crestfallen, he said, “Okay. D’ya mind if I make something?”
“You be you.”
There was hardly anything in the fridge. There was a tub of margarine, some opened jars of tomato sauce, and some bottled water. He turned around and saw her in the pantry. She was taking a hit from a pint of Kessler’s. With a smile, she said, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
He merely nodded. He worked briefly for Home Instead and learned that a lot of seniors drank during the day. He went through the training and had two assignments. One was a hospice patient dying in his home. He and Gabe got along great, and Gabe received compliments from the man’s family. However, he was taking care of Sarah, an octogenarian with dementia and could only work part-time. They wanted him to take more hours despite knowing his circumstances.
His second and last assignment was with a surgeon he knew from when he worked in a hospital. The doctor didn’t remember him, but they had been cordial. He once said to Gabe, “I got an OJ joke for ya, don’t get offended. D’ya know how to get Michael Jordan to play basketball again? Kill his mother.”
Gabe worked twice for him. The doctor was curt and spent most of his time prostrating on his sofa. The suite was spotless, but the doctor kept finding innocuous things for him to do. What sealed the deal was when the doctor pulled up his Netflix favorites, and among them was Tucker Carlson.
He looked at Rory anew. The puffiness now made sense. I don’t care. We ain’t married. Right then he knew he was going to have to watch his step with Rory.
But it was great to have a place to stretch out other than being at the center or the library. Also, in his minivan, he had haunts during the day but slept in different places at night. He made it a point to not sleep at her place every night.
It was karaoke day, and they sat together. Every day, before lunch, a call for silence was asked for. People clamored for the privilege to take the microphone from Nicole, the manager and to ask, “May we have a moment of silence, please.”
Gabe was an atheist and sat impassively. He noticed Rory had her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her. When the moment was over, Gabe reached into his backpack and removed a can of Planter’s. When he first began to live on the street, he relished the lunches at the center. As time went on, he ate there less, especially if he could cook for himself. He glanced at the fare that Rory was having.
“Whew! It’s a goddam shame how they cook that broccoli to death.”
She gave him an admonished look. Her eyebrows arched as if she were being electrocuted. She raised a finger to him and said, “Don’t say goddam!”
Gabe didn’t answer. He gave her a look of his own. And began munching on his peanuts. He noticed that she barely touched the broccoli. He offered his can to her. “Like some nuts?”
She gave him a lecherous smile. “Are they shaved?”
He returned her smile and said, “Don’t write a check you can’t cash.”
As she leafed through the can, she removed a Brazil nut. “I don’t care for these. Too bitter.”
Gabe stiffened his seat.
“You know what they’re called, right?”
“Brazilian nuts.”
“I thought it was–”
“Don’t say it.”
“What? They’re nigger toes, aren’t they?”
“I see that you have a problem with me saying goddam, but you don’t see a problem saying nigger.”
Her face hardened. Her lips formed into a straight line. “Shut your face,” was all she said. She rose, dropped off her tray, and left.
Gabe had several devices that were charged with solar panels. He had one on the roof and had a portable folding panel that he used to stay out of the sun. He had a few haunts where he collected the sunshine. The Cash Savers on East 14th and Euclid, The North Side Library further up on Euclid and of course, the center. His minivan being in the center all day didn’t draw any scrutiny.
As he sat inside the van, he mulled his circumstances. With a cell, solar generator and some other creature comforts, he was much further along than when he began to live in his car. He didn’t rely on the center, but it was a nice resource. If push came to shove, he could always go to another center. One thing in Gabe’s corner was that he never got lonely. Being alone in his thoughts was his best companion. Although he was friendly with some at the center, there was none he socialized with. Until Rory.
“Hullo,” she answered in a dull voice. “‘Bout time you called.”
Gabe looked at his phone before answering. It’s a good thing I don’t have Zoom. “Y’know, the phone works two ways.”
“I don’t know why you’re mad at me. Niggertoe is in the lexicon. You can’t be mad at me for that!”
Gabe paused. “When’s your birthday?”
“Huh?”
“Humor me.”
“In August.” Her voice lowered its intensity.
“Virgo?”
“Yup. Why do you ask?”
“‘Cause I’m not sure if you’re doing that annoying splitting of hairs Virgos do, or just being a woman who can’t admit she’s wrong?”
“Fuck you!”
“Shall I call you or nudge you?”
There was a split second of silence before Rory burst out in a laugh. “Nudge me, baby.”
With the tension considerably lessened, a purr came into her voice. “You comin’ over?”
She called him a few days later and asked for a ride to pick up her car. He met her upstairs and she said, “Most guys I know would call me and say come on down.” They walked side by side until they got to the street.
Ordinarily, Gabe would be reticent about letting anyone ride in his minivan. But seeing that she knew his circumstances, he didn’t give it a thought. He was opening the door for her when he saw a man in tattered attire going through the trash cans. When the guy was near, Gabe slipped him a five.
Once inside the car, Rory had an indignant tone when she asked, “What did you do that for?”
He slid under the steering wheel and said, “As a rule, I tend to not give the homeless any money, especially if they’re panhandling. But, if they’re scrounging and fetching cans, I feel that they’re working.”
She snorted. “I once followed a guy who was begging. After a few hours, I seen him pack up and got into a late model car.”
Gabe said nothing. His face was reflective. “In my last apartment building, I found a homeless guy sleeping in the laundry room.”
“Oh my God! What did you do?”
“I made him a sandwich.”
She gave him a derisive look and muttered, “Libtard.”
“So much for that Christian charity.”
“Jesus said there are always gonna be the poor!” She snapped. “You can give them all your money if you want to, but that tells me why you’re living in a van.”
The drive to Gomez’s to pick up her car was silent. When she pulled out of the station, she rolled up beside him, rolled down her window and asked, “You comin’ over?”
He met her eyes and paused before answering. “Maybe later.”
She snorted again. “Well, that’s a ringing endorsement. I’m gonna pick up some beer so wait for me if I’m not there.”
As she drove off, Gabe thought, Is that the straw that broke the camel’s back?
It was in the middle of the night that Gabe had a nightmare Rory shook him out of it. “Are you all right? You were moaning in your sleep. I thought I’d better wake you up.”
He sat up as she turned on the lamp beside the bed. A sheepish smile was on his face. “Sorry. I have bad dreams every now and then. I’ve heard that I can get to be loud. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Wanna talk about it?”
“You’re gonna laugh.”
“Dreams don’t have to make sense.”
“Okay. I was living in my old apartment on East Walnut. My ex-wife was trying to come in through a window, and I was trying to keep her from coming in.”
Rory laughed. “Well,” she conceded. “That is funny.” She sat up and looked at the shot glass beside her. Gabe averted his eyes. “Bad marriage?”
Gabe grunted. “I was young and dumb and full of cum when I met her. I’m just gonna be brief ‘cause sooner or later, you’re gonna ask me why I stayed so long with her.”
The look on her face was enough.
“I was still a virgin at 20. I was in the Air Force, stationed in South Korea. Dudes I met before warned me about the bargirls. Said that they can get under your skin. All I was thinking about was getting a nut from a gal without using my hands.
“Skip ahead, skip ahead. First gal I meet gets under my skin. Gives me a sob story. I stay with her just to get her out of the bars. Skip ahead. She wears me down and gets me to propose. My tour ends and I have to return to the states. I’m still giving money to support her. In the meanwhile, I’m borrowing money from family and friends to go back and get her. When I do, I find out that not only does she have a boyfriend, but she also has the nerve to introduce me to him saying that he’s a girlfriend’s boyfriend.
“Skip ahead. I know what time it is. Going back empty-handed was too much of an embarrassment I wanted to bear at that time. And, coming from a broken home, I wasn’t a slave to the institution of marriage. I knew sooner or later; she’d give me grounds. So, I brought her back. I’m still in the service. I get orders going back to Korea.
“In Korea, we lived off base. Most homes are heated by charcoal bricks that send steam heat through the floors. The bricks need to be changed every six hours. They’re a carbon monoxide threat, so we’re advised to leave a window cracked open if we decide to live off base.
“One night I wake up nauseous as hell. I stagger to the biffy and try to hurl. It was then I realized it was CO. I stumbled back to the bedroom, and my ex is soundly sleeping. I’m not gonna lie to you, but for a long moment I thought of not waking her.”
“But…you did.” It wasn’t a question.
Gabe nodded.
“C’mere,” she motioned for him to come close. She held him in his arms and smoked until he slept.
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Al Simon, Jr. is a fossil living in Des Moines, Iowa. After being a dog handler in the service, Simon has worked in retail, healthcare and libraries. He’s the author of Dead Moines and has been published by Twenty-two Twenty-eight, Men Matters Online Journal, The Wilderness House Literary Review among others.
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