Goodwill

"That's an ugly shirt, " I said, shaking my head at Jules.

"Nothing makes friends like a funny shirt," he insisted, holding it up to me for sizing purposes. The shirt was a neon green, and proudly proclaimed 'Ding Dong Days' across the front. As if that wasn't bad enough, there was the silhouette of a guy in what looked like lederhosen on the back. "It's a conversation starter."

"If I wore that shirt, the conversation would go something like 'Ahhh... what is this? Get it away from me!'." I picked through the rack to find a plain back one, and offered that up for his inspection. "How's this?"

"Great, if you want a shirt that says 'Hello. I'm boring as hell. Hm, how do you feel about the Chinese?"

"They're from China?"

"Great! How about this one, then?" Jules held up a brown shirt with 'Wong's Take Out and Delivery' in yellow, vaguely oriental font.

"Isn't that slang for, um...."

"No, that's wang." Jules laughed. "Man, what the hell happened to you in California?"

I stiffened and took the shirts from him.

"Michael. Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to---"

"I'm alright. Really, I'm--I'm fine, okay?" That was a lie, but I didn't want to talk about California, especially in the middle of the Goodwill. Ever since I'd come back from California, he'd been edgy around me. A lot of things changed there, sure. I'd taken off shortly after high school graduation, and hadn't been back till now. I think part of him resented me for leaving him to go off to college by himself, too. Jules was already graduated and working by the time I'd come back.

"It's okay,"  I repeated, and started walking.

Jules bit his bottom lip, and we fell into an uncomfortable silence as made our way towards the cashier. On the way there, he stopped suddenly and turned to eye someone in the distance. "Well, shit. Look at that."

I turned to see what had caught his attention - the toy department. There were games and dolls and stuffed animals, all of which had seen better days and were in various states of still-useable, and not-useable, and just plain sad. "What about it?"

"That guy over there - I work with him."

Some guy with long hair was staring at a Sit-and-Spin . He looked a little well-dressed to be in Goodwill, with his plaid scarf and wool jacket, and kind of indecisive about the purchase. He sighed, put it back on the shelf, walked a short distance away, then went right back for it. He picked it up, spun it around a little, set it down. Picked it up again, set it down... it was kinda nerve wracking to watch after a while.

"Did you want to go say hi?" I asked. I'm not much for being social, but Jules is pretty good at it. "What's his name?"

"His name's Ian Mac-something," Jules replied, tapping a finger to his chin. "He's kind of weird though. I don't know if I should."

"Weird how? Like serial killer weird, or wears boots in the summer weird?"

"He reads Shakespeare in the break room."

"So?"

"So? That's weird. He doesn't go to college or anything- he's not even a manager. He works in shipping."

"Man's got a right to read the classics if he's a mind to."

"Yeah, yeah -- but it's strange. Maybe we shouldn't---"

Ian Mac-something dropped the Sit-and-Spin, startling us both. As it hit the floor, he kicked it - sending it flying into an unsuspecting playpen.

"Shit...." I started to make for the door, shirts forgotten. He was a pretty big guy, and if he started freaking out, there wasn't much I could do about it.

Jules stopped me with a tug on my jacket. "C'mon, Mike. let's go talk to him."

"Talk? The guy looks like he's ready to kill something."

But Jules, being Jules, wasn't listening. He was leading me down the aisle and towards the big uncertainty of the likely angry stranger. "Hey, Mac!"

Ian Mac-something looked less angry, and more sheepish. "Oh. Hey. Julian, right? From the office."

Julian nodded, and offered a hand to shake. I marveled at the ease with which he managed to make small talk. I was pretty intrigued by the process, lurking quietly in the background until Jules gestured towards me " ... my friend, Michael Malone."

"Hey," I said, brushing the hair out of my face to glance up and try out my best please-don't-hurt-me smile.

"Hey yourself. I'm Ian Mackenzie - but friends just call me Mac."

We shook hands, and I was surprised by the warmth of his grip and his smile. He didn't look like a guy who was just freaking out on a plastic toy moments earlier. I couldn't help it, though - I stared over at the Sit-and-Spin which was hanging precariously from the edge of the playpen's mesh.

Mac lost the smile. "Oh. You guys saw that, did you?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, you alright, man?" Jules asked. He picked up the Sit-and-Spin and set it back onto the shelf.

"I'm fine. I didn't mean to--- I've just. Well, I was thinking. I'd like to give this to my daughter for her birthday."

"You have a daughter?" Jules apparently hadn't heard that bit of office gossip.

"She'll be turning five," Mac said a bit wistfully. He took out his wallet, and showed us a picture of an angel-faced child with blonde curls, in a bright red and green dress. "From her preschool's Christmas pageant. She was 'elf number four'. She had a speaking part, though. She said 'Santa, where are the cookies?' - or well, she was supposed to. She wound up saying 'Santa, give me cookies!' Cutest thing ever. Her mother told me all about it."

I smiled. "That's sweet."

"I played a tree once in Kindergarten - I kept dropping my leaves," Jules said, then grinned.

"Was it fall?" I asked.

"No, they were just sewn on bad. You know my mom - she's not the best with a machine."

Mac had gone back to checking out the toy in question. It had apparently survived the kick. He spun it around, then shook his head. "I think she may be too old for it. She might be outgrowing things like this."

"Well what does she like to play with?" Jules asked.

"I don't really know anymore," Mac confessed with a sigh. "I haven't seen her for three years."

The pain in that simple statement made any reply I might have once had catch in my throat. There was nothing I could say to that, and Jules was equally speechless.

"Do I take the chance and send it to her?" he asked, more to himself than to either of us. "If it's a cruddy present, she might grow up hating me. Someday she'll be in therapy, and telling the psychiatrist 'My lousy father sent me this goddamn Sit-and-Spin for my fifth birthday. The bastard.' Bad enough I screwed things up with my ex I don't want our daughter to hate me, too."

"Hey Mac," Jules said, touching his shoulder lightly. Mac looked up, eyes watery. "Mike and I were about to go get something to eat. Do you want to come with us?"

"I wouldn't want to impose," he protested half-heartedly.

I could tell he really wanted to, so I nodded and gave an encouraging smile.

"Okay," he said. "That'd be nice. That'd be real nice."