Helma. I had a strange day today.
Joss. Really?
Helma. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I’m still confused.
Joss. What happened?
Helma. I was eating lunch outside of this café.
Joss. Sounds normal enough, what did you have?
Helma. French bread and butter.
Joss. For lunch? That’s kind of strange.
Helma. Oh, but this French bread was fresh and steaming. I had nothing like it.
Joss. Interesting, but that was not the strange thing. So what happened?
Helma. This man came and sat at a chair by my table.
Joss. Really? He didn’t ask or anything?
Helma. No, he just sat down while I ate my bread. At first I thought maybe there weren’t anymore seats to take, but I looked around and there were like three tables open.
Joss. Weren’t you nervous?
Helma. Kind of, but I just stayed there, spreading butter on slices of French bread and eating them. I was actually prepared to have a conversation with him. You know, maybe he wanted to talk, but he didn’t. Well, not exactly.
Joss. What do you mean?
Helma. He did talk, but it was not to me.
Joss. He was talking to himself then?
Helma. I guess so. At first he looked at the black board with the specials written on it through the café’s window, then he mumbled something about it and laughed.
Joss. Something on the black board made him laugh?
Helma. I don’t know maybe, but most of his mumbling had this sarcastic edge to it. I felt like sarcastically mumbling in response.
Joss. Did you?
Helma. No, I’m not crazy.
Joss. Yes, that’s true.
Helma. Anyway, the guy kept on mumbling until I could finally make out what I think he said, “Paul Simon.”
Joss. Paul Simon?
Helma. At this point he looked up and our eyes met. I think he asked me, “Do you know Paul Simon?”
Joss. What did you say?
Helma. I didn’t say anything. I just nodded my head that I did. Then he went back into his mumbling. I think I could make out lyrics from one of his songs.
Joss. Which one? “I am a Rock?”
Helma. Yeah, that would make sense wouldn’t it? But I think I heard lyrics from “You Can Call Me Al.”
Joss. Maybe his name is Al.
Helma. I don’t know. Maybe his name was Paul Simon.
Joss. Did he look like Paul Simon?
Helma. No, this guy looked like Dennis Hopper, but much older.
Joss. Okay?
Helma. So, I thought he was a homeless guy, right? But then he pulls out this clear plastic container of fruit and starts to eat it.
Joss. Really? What kind of fruit?
Helma. They were cut strawberries, cantaloupe, melon, apples maybe, but get this it also had Kiwi.
Joss. Really? Kiwi? Kiwi’s expensive.
Helma. Yeah I know. I even looked at the price tag on the container. The fruit cost three dollars and eighty-six cents.
Joss. Do crazy people prefer kiwi?
Helma. I don’t know, but he finished the kiwi first before the other fruit. He never finished the fruit at the table. He closed the container and put it back in his brown paper bag and kept repeating, “amazing, amazing.” Then he got up and left. I watched him walk down the sidewalk until I couldn’t distinguish him from the crowds of people walking along side of him.
Joss. “Amazing?” So he must have enjoyed the kiwi.
Helma. I don’t know. The tone of his voice was sarcastic. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the fruit or me.
Joss. You? You think he thought you were amazing?
Helma. No no, the way he said, “amazing” made me think that he was sarcastically amazed at the way I ignored him.
Joss. What do you mean?
Helma. I mean. I didn’t talk to him. There he was and I didn’t make an effort to talk to him. Maybe that’s why he sat down at my table. Just to talk.
Joss. But you were nervous, and a little confused.
Helma. I wanted to talk to him, but yeah I guess I was a little confused.
Joss. What would you have said?
Helma. I don’t know. How was the Kiwi? Have you seen the Graduate? Do you like Chevy Chase? I should have talked to him.
End. Kiwi Preference