Every so often I spend a morning babysitting my grandmother, who is suffering from dementia and uses a walker. She was married to a college professor, and was one of the last teachers of those one room schools in a log cabin, teaching everyone from kindergarten to high school (or until the crops took precedence), and if she would have known ten years ago that someone would have to ‘babysit’ her, she would have rather died. She used to speak four languages (English, French, German and Italian), and now she has problems forming a sentence, resorting to gestures and writing down verbs and nouns on sheet of paper. She went on a hiking tour of the Appalachians for her honeymoon, and now she needs help standing up and sitting down if the chair doesn’t have a solid back and sturdy arms. She lives at my aunt and uncles, who live within walking distance of Initials; my aunt is retired and spends every day with her as a sort of makeshift nurse.
Babysitting may be too harsh of a term, to be honest. When I’m around, I mostly act as a chauffeur, driving her and my aunt to their various appointments. When my uncle is at work and my aunt is out of town, as she was last week watching her granddaughter graduate from high school in San Antonio, I stop by and help her in her routine.
She wakes up and reads the local paper (which needs to be brought inside), while she has her cup of coffee (which needs to be brewed and poured). After the first paper, she eats breakfast (requiring help opening the refrigerator door and reaching the cups in the cupboard). After breakfast (which needs to be cleared) she goes into the living room and reads the entire New York Times, and then goes into her room and does about an hour of stretches and exercises. Lunchtime is usually sandwiches. After lunch, she does some mental or artistic exercise, like a crossword puzzle or painting. Then comes a nap, and then she reads in her book. After that comes watching a movie or TV show (something with a beginning, middle and end, with a precise plot so she can follow along). It’s more or less dinnertime by then, followed by some sort of event to get her out of the house (trip to the library, music concert, visit to a friend, etc). If there’s time before the 10 o’clock news, she writes in her diary.
My aunt’s plane was delayed from Texas, and so she wasn’t able to fly back on Sunday night but instead Monday midday. I went over to their house, bright and early at 7 AM, to help grandma in her routine. My aunt returned just as I was setting the table for lunch, and she decided to take us out to eat for lunch instead.
We went to Atlanta Bread Company (keeping with grandma’s routine of a sandwich for lunch). I helped her find a spot while my aunt grabbed a paper menu and had my grandma circle the sandwich she wanted. She went up to order, and I surveyed the restaurant.
And was greatly pleased. One of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen in my life was sitting in a couch right next to our table, typing on his macbook and sipping coffee. We’re talking drop-dead gorgeous; tall and tan, with short dark hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a tshirt from threadless that showed definition in his pecs, shorts that fell up his thighs as he sat, exposing a pair of really great legs. Really, really great. He looked like a version of Clark Kent, but right next to me.
I probably gawked more than I should have, because he quickly noticed and flashed me a smile, one of those million-watt smiles that I’ve only ever seen in bad romantic comedies when the two leads fall in love at first sight. My grin was much more sheepish and almost embarrassed in return. At first I thought he was grinning at someone who had just walked in, and I turned my head, but his smile was directed at me.
Which was kind of weird. I mean, I know I’m attractive enough, but this guy was in a whole different league than me. No one this attractive has ever hit on me, ever. And I have bags under my eyes from getting up so early. And I just threw on the first thing I saw this morning because I was just planning on spending most of my day at my aunt and uncles. And I’m sitting with my aunt and grandma, who don’t qualify as anyone’s idea of great wingmen. And I have a boyfriend already.
For the rest of our wait for the food, my aunt was helping my grandma with various things, making small talk about and the cute geek and I kept clandestinely flirting. Well, he was unabashed at it, but I was trying to let him know I was interested without letting my aunt know that I was interested in the guy at the table next to us. My grandma’s too far gone to catch on, and my aunt has met Initials (we bumped into each other at a concert of the Rite of Spring a few weeks earlier, and my aunt and uncle know him as my ‘friend’ and I’m pretty sure they caught on, but never explicitly mentioned or explained). He would wink, I would blush a little. He would glance over, I would run my hand through my hair and scratch the top of my head. He would cock his eyebrow, I would dash my eyes coyly left to right. Occasionally I would help my aunt interpret my grandma, but mostly my attentions were on him.
The food came, and he became more engrossed in his laptop and less in me, so I ate. Old people eat slowly, and so once I finished I went up to grab more soda. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked, and so I added a little extra badonk to my step as I walked away, and on my return I sucked in my stomach taut and interacted with a small child who had stepped away from his mother and bumped into my legs.
I sat back at the table, and waited for my relatives to finish eating. I tried to think of what it was that did it for him. I mean, I know I’m a sucker for DILFs; watching an attractive guy interact with his kids just does it for me, how there’s a total different demeanor and care involved. Was there some sort of inverse relationship too? Did taking care of my obviously enfeebled grandma have a similar effect? Was it the strong family ties? Or was he just into guys with bags under their eyes with the balls to flirt in front of family members? Even though my aunt and I aren’t related by blood, there is a sort of resemblance, so maybe he thought I was flirting in front of my mom and grandma, which would take even more balls. Or was he just into guys who thought he was attractive? I mean, I always like being asked for sex online, even if most of the guys are in their forties and overweight. Was he just responding politely to my advances?
He made a point of looking the other way, moved his computer from his lap, and adjusted himself. He then looked back at me and smiled in the way a pornstar smiles when he realizes that the dialogue is cringeworthy: I sure miss my girlfriend. Let’s play a game of strip poker to pass the time.
Well, what was I waiting for? An invitation? A condom thrown in my general direction? I adjusted myself under the table so my erection wouldn’t be so noticeable as I walked, and announced to the table, loudly enough for him and half of the restaurant to hear, that I was going to go to the bathroom and wash my hands. I got up and made my way slowly towards the back.
And in the reflection of the windows I could see that he had gotten up and was following me. Shit, now what? I mean, I’m not going to have sex with the guy in the Atlanta Bread Company bathroom, especially not during the lunch rush and doubly especially not while my aunt and grandma wait. I don’t think Initials would like it if I gave out my phone number (unless I invited him along). Now that he was following me, what the hell was I supposed to do? Introduce myself and thank him for boosting my self-esteem? Give him a quick thank you bj in the stall? Ask what a nice guy like him was doing in a trashy joint like this? I’m not really one for cruising, or rather, having any success while cruising, and I was going to have to improvise.
I went inside the bathroom, which by some miracle, was empty. I washed my hands and dried them very slowly and carefully. No sign of the guy. I went to the urinal and tried to subside my semi, tucking it lower across my leg, and then washed my hands again. No sign. I played with my hair in the mirror. No sign. It was getting to be a substantial amount of time—where the hell was he? I didn’t know what I was planning to do when he arrived, but I was still apprehensive and nervous and excited for the moment that he did walk in.
Eventually I gave up, and dejectedly walked back to my table. As I turned the corner, I saw the guy at the coffee stand, ripping open a packet of sugar for his refill. I walked up and reached across for a napkin, and brushed against him. He didn’t notice. I apologized in a flirtatious way, but he didn’t move his head, just glanced his eyes up and kept stirring.
My aunt walked up to the counter where we were, and asked me to grab a take-home box from behind the coffee lids. I did, and walked back to the table, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Did he have second thoughts? Was I too forward with suggesting the bathroom? Did I imagine the whole thing? I have no idea.
I helped them gather their things as he walked back and sat back down. And despite my glances over to him, and bending over to pick things up, putting my ass on full display, he stayed glued to his computer.
He didn’t look my way until I was holding the door open for my grandma in her walker, and then he just winked, and went back to his mac.
