I showed up a full half-hour late, but I was still the first one there. I felt like an ass. Mr. K. greeted me with a big smile and shook my hand.
"Welcome to Chez Kowalski! Do me a favor and don't tell me what you think of the place. I should have warned you about the lack of air conditioning. Did you bring the cups?" he asked as he shooed me up the staircase and shut the door behind me.
"Um, yeah, that's what's in the bag." What did he think I was carrying in a plastic shopping bag? Did he think I was homeless or something?
"Great," he smiled. "Now if Erika shows up we'll have something to put in them." He took the bag from me, took out the cups, opened the plastic package and began to arrange the stacks on a side table.
Was there some significance in his asking Erika to bring the soda when I had the cups? Mr. Kowalski, you sly dog. I was feeling desperate to cut and run. I could fake a stomach ache.
"Have a seat," he gestured toward the futon. This was obviously his sofa, but was it also his bed? The thought gave me a shiver, but I sat down on it anyway. On either side of the futon were tv trays bearing bowls of chips and pretzels, with a third one opposite. In between was a circle of folding chairs, and in the middle was a 1950's era hassock fan, which cooled the room remarkably well, helped by fans in both the living room windows. He had the tv on, playing the cable alternative music station. The Blur song playing was almost inaudible.
I sat in the middle of the futon, because as weird as that felt it seemed weirder to sit on one of the ends. My hands were folded in my lap, I realized. I unfolded them and ran them up and down my thighs, not knowing what to do with them. Mr. K. was about to say something when a woman emerged from the next room, tying her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail.
"Oh hey," Mr. K. said. "Jason, this is Michelle. Jason is one of my FWS-ers," he told her.
Michelle's legs were so long I was amazed her head didn't scrape the ceiling, and she was wearing very short white shorts with a striped polo shirt. Well done, Mr. Kowalski! Being a high school teacher suddenly didn't seem so pathetic after all.
"So," Michelle turned to me, "You've read Finnegans Wake, huh?" She smiled the most twisted, sardonic smile I have ever seen, and I realized she wasn't even wearing any makeup, but she was gorgeous anyway. I was too stunned to answer, but I was saved by the doorbell.
"Alright!" Mr. K. enthused. "More merry-makers. You two get acquainted while I go fetch them."
"Welcome to Chez Kowalski! Do me a favor and don't tell me what you think of the place. I should have warned you about the lack of air conditioning. Did you bring the cups?" he asked as he shooed me up the staircase and shut the door behind me.
"Um, yeah, that's what's in the bag." What did he think I was carrying in a plastic shopping bag? Did he think I was homeless or something?
"Great," he smiled. "Now if Erika shows up we'll have something to put in them." He took the bag from me, took out the cups, opened the plastic package and began to arrange the stacks on a side table.
Was there some significance in his asking Erika to bring the soda when I had the cups? Mr. Kowalski, you sly dog. I was feeling desperate to cut and run. I could fake a stomach ache.
"Have a seat," he gestured toward the futon. This was obviously his sofa, but was it also his bed? The thought gave me a shiver, but I sat down on it anyway. On either side of the futon were tv trays bearing bowls of chips and pretzels, with a third one opposite. In between was a circle of folding chairs, and in the middle was a 1950's era hassock fan, which cooled the room remarkably well, helped by fans in both the living room windows. He had the tv on, playing the cable alternative music station. The Blur song playing was almost inaudible.
I sat in the middle of the futon, because as weird as that felt it seemed weirder to sit on one of the ends. My hands were folded in my lap, I realized. I unfolded them and ran them up and down my thighs, not knowing what to do with them. Mr. K. was about to say something when a woman emerged from the next room, tying her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail.
"Oh hey," Mr. K. said. "Jason, this is Michelle. Jason is one of my FWS-ers," he told her.
Michelle's legs were so long I was amazed her head didn't scrape the ceiling, and she was wearing very short white shorts with a striped polo shirt. Well done, Mr. Kowalski! Being a high school teacher suddenly didn't seem so pathetic after all.
"So," Michelle turned to me, "You've read Finnegans Wake, huh?" She smiled the most twisted, sardonic smile I have ever seen, and I realized she wasn't even wearing any makeup, but she was gorgeous anyway. I was too stunned to answer, but I was saved by the doorbell.
"Alright!" Mr. K. enthused. "More merry-makers. You two get acquainted while I go fetch them."
