Andy and the Graying Beards

by Gavin Miller

The note on the flower shop door read: Taking a lunch break. Be back in twenty minutes.

Andy checked his watch. It was twenty minutes till one. It was over. After fifteen years of a dissolving marriage, this would be the final straw; he would show up flowerless to the Valentine's Day lunch date, she would mumble that he didn’t care enough, he would insist he does more than anything, she would scoff, he would yell at her, and that would be that. A ring off the finger, some paperwork, and a sad third grade daughter.

The only solution Andy could muster was sprinting toward a grocery store ten minutes out…in the opposite direction of the restaurant. Consumed by a lazy dread, Andy instead sighed, put his head to his palms, and collapsed his ass to the curb. A hell with the missus would surely ensue. 

A voice appeared overhead. “No, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Just above Andy stood a man who bore a striking resemblance to him. The stranger had Andy’s graying beard, sharp widow’s peak, dark drooping eye-circles, tad bit of pudge, and matching pair of slightly wrinkled khaki pants. Andy smirked. The man smirked back. 

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said to Andy.

“Truly ridiculous, it’s like no one wants to work anymore,” Andy said back. 

“Exactly! Like, hey lady, it’s Valentine’s Day, what about you pack a darn lunch!”

“Truly ridiculous,” Andy grumbled. “Truly, truly ridiculous.”

The man plopped down beside Andy. The two sighed at the exact same time, then turned and had a good chuckle. The man pulled out a Blackberry phone.

“Ah, you still rocking with the Blackberry after all these years?” Andy asked.

“Guess you could say I’m an old soul,” the man said.

Andy pulled out his own suave Blackberry cellphone. “Likewise. The name’s Andy.”

The man gave Andy’s hand a hearty, warm shake. “Ah, nice to meet you. I’m Arty!”

The pair chuckled; their legs nearly pressed together on the concrete sidewalk. It was a windy February day, so Andy was happy he had company to bear the cold with. 

“...so I’m at the office today and for Valentine’s Day they’re all like ‘Let’s keep things professional this year, as always’ and it’s like…can you just calm down lady? Like, no need to cancel anyone, we’re all respectful,” Arty said with a deep chortle.

“Truly, truly, that’s how it is now,” Andy said. “It’s ridiculous and-”

A shadow passed over the two men. A voice came from above.

“No, are you freakin’ kidding me? Gone for lunch on Valentine’s Day?”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Arty and Andy sputtered in unison. 

The fresh advancer looked at the two men. His encircled brown eyes gazed down. Andy and Arty looked up at the encroaching neckline of his graying beard. 

“I’m gonna do something about this! I’m going to call Mary’s! They have better flowers anyways,” the new stranger barked. He pulled out his Blackberry to make a call, but was quickly halted by Arty.

“It’s no use.” 

“They’re closed all day today,” Andy laughed. 

“All day! On Valentine’s Day? I forgot we lived among the excuse generation!” the new stranger cried. “Well, fellas, we may as well get comfortable here. My name’s Anthony.”

“Agreed, amigo. I’m Arty, and this is-”

“Away from the shop on Valentine’s Day? With Mary’s closed? Remember when we considered these kids essential workers?” said a passing stranger into his Blackberry phone. His thinning hair was gelled into a slick comb over. 

“It’s ridiculo-” Andy began to murmur, not trying to distract the oncoming stranger from his call.

“Who the effing eff would step away on Valentine’s Day? I’m trying to do a little something for my wife, in this economy, and-”

“What the heck? What Gen-Z nutjob steps away on Valentine’s Day when-”

The group grew into a crowd, as a cacophony of complaints opened like a blooming snowdrop. It was a chorus of whines, a symphony of wails, a week’s worth of whinges. The sound was so mighty, it echoed down every perpendicular avenue. 

“Inflation is destroying my…did you hear about what…and then my wife has the audacity to…and the government can’t keep a flower shop open past…everyone hates the guy trying to do a favor for his…my Blackberry charger broke, Amazon said it can’t come for another week, and…my marriage is cooked after this, completely gone…do you want to come over for the game this Sunday…am I the only one who can get anything done around here…oh, my receptionist makes me question everything…no, I get it, she just doesn’t understand…God, you’re so right, the liberal elite think they can just take over and, you put it so well, no one’s talking about this, I could kiss you right now!”

Between the bumbling mob, Andy and Arty, locking eyes, came to a mutual realization.

“Do you, uh, have any friends outside of work?” Arty asked.

“No, you?”

“Nope.”

“What do you say we, uh, ditch this thing and go grab a beer. Would that be ridiculous?”

“Arty…truly, not at all.”

The two men, their graying beards windswept, traveled off, passing the stunned shopkeeper as she made her return. As they trekked down the sidewalk, Andy and Arty looked like a perfect pair: peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk, salt and pepper. Their sighing wives sat waiting, two tables apart, at a restaurant a few blocks down. 

Gavin Miller is a man without a graying beard. His fiction, nonfiction, and poetry has been published form the Pacific Northwest to the Netherlands. When he's not reading or writing, he's on a long walk.