🅈🄴🄻🄻🄾🅆 🄲🄰🄽🄰🅁🅈 🄱🄸🅁🄳 •Stanley Barber•

Beaver Valley Bowl

"Sorry," I said, the words vomiting out of my mouth.

This caught Stan off guard, and his smile wilted. Just as quickly, he put his charm back on, and gave a little tilt of his head.

"What for?" he asked.

So I was right; he had forgotten, and it pissed me off. How dare he pretend like everything was fine and that I wasn't a total wreck. How dare he use that stupid hyper-white smile on me and not remember who I was?

"Are you kidding?" I said. "How could you... Today, just by Grant Hughes Park. You were trying to help, and I just yelled at you. How could you not remember something that happened not even five hours ago!"

Stan fiddled with the button of his polo shirt nervously. His eyes just avoided mine, and he left the two of us in a long and awkward silence. I could hear my heavy breezing, and the sound of Stan unsticking his shoes off of the tile floor every time he rocked on his heels. I had royally fucked up.

"I was just hoping we wouldn't talk about that, actually." 

"Oh." My cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry. Again. I..."

"Well, would you want to talk about it?"

No. I wouldn't even talk about it to someone I was close with if given the offer. Us Forsmans didn't talk about their feelings – that was the thing. But I couldn't just say that to Stan. I owed him some sort of explanation, even if it was a terrible one.

"I was just having a bad day," I said. "I thought... I thought you were someone else, and I freaked out."

I could even hear the ceiling fan's slow drawl from the other side of the counter. This and Stan's lack of enthusiasm at my apology made my next move very clear to me.

"I'll resign." I dropped my polo shirt on the counter. "Sorry to waste your time."

With my head downcast, I began to walk down to the locker room. Stan grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back. I was stunned by the act, and it appeared Stanley was, too. He quickly dropped my hand, and I graciously took it back. I hated being touched.

"Sorry," said Stan. "I didn't mean to... Look, you really don't have to quit; it's fine! The past is the past and all that.... Stuff..."

This really wasn't working well for either of us. It made me realize that Stan wasn't the bad guy. He was just trying to get through life, make others feel a bit happier. I knew someone who could easily relate to that.

A small smile slipped on my face, mostly because it was the only thing I could manage at the moment. I placed my hands on my hips in what my old elementary school counselor liked to call the superhero pose. It was silly, but it brought back a bit of my confidence.

"Why don't we start over?" I asked, and held out my hand. "I'm Kara. Kara Forsman."

Stan relaxed, and shook my hand. "It's wonderful to meet you, Kara Forsman. I'm Stanley Barber, and I am the current manager here at Beaver Valley Bowl. Have we met before?"

"I don't think so," I said, "unless you're referring to English class last year?"

He pretended to remember, snapping his fingers. "You're right! And we had Chemistry and World History together, too."

We did? Last year?

"Right," I said, not quite sure. "So how do you run this fine establishment here?"

"Well, Miss Forsman, why don't I show you?" He hopped over the counter, and stretched out his hand for me to take. I waved him off, and climbed over myself. We made our way over to the Employee's Only door, and he kicked it open. "So, this is where we're technically supposed to go in every day."