Of Man and Animals. Thomas R. Hauff

respective homes. As Turly sat at his kitchen table watching Oprah and eating hot dogs that afternoon, he wondered how he was going to ask Marty to go out with him so that she’d get it the way it was intended. He usually just said, “Hey, let’s go have dinner,” and they would go. But this was going to be a different thing. A date. He hadn’t dated in years and years. He never found the right woman. And after meeting Marty, he didn’t really look. Even though she was married and happy.

      It was a hard time for her when her husband died. It was hard for Turly too. He liked Mitch a lot. But way down, his spirit betrayed him and felt a pang of joy at the prospect of Marty being single—available. He was deeply ashamed of that feeling and couldn’t look her in the eyes when it came to him. In time he realized it was just his loneliness speaking. But still, he liked Mitch and never wanted him dead. And he especially didn’t like the pain in Marty’s life. Things had cooled now. Mitch had been dead for years and both of them had learned to live again. Marty with her missing him, and Turly with his guilt at desiring Marty.

      Turly finished Oprah. (It was about makeovers this time. He was amazed at how pretty she could make people with just clothes and makeup!) He then read a little and settled into his easy chair for some math. Most people probably thought Turly Breidablick was a good cook and a decent man. And that he was not very smart. After all, he was a grill cook in a diner for twenty-six years. But Turly was not near as dumb people might have thought. He just loved the job he’d taken years ago, and didn’t see why he should leave it for something just ‘cause he’d make more money. And he didn’t need the mental stimulation of another job; he had his math. At night, when most busy business men and professionals were relaxing from a day’s work, Turly Breidablick would do math. He loved multi-variable calculus, topography, number theory and many other topics. He would spend hours manipulating numbers and proofs; all self-taught. He had spent a year working on proofs for Fermat’s last theorem without success. Even when it had been proven by use of high speed computers, he had still pursued it. If Fermat himself could find a proof that fit into a few pages of his journals without high speed computers, then there was still something to find! And Turly dreamed of finding that elegant proof that would amaze the world. Besides the math also helped him think. And he needed to ponder how to ask Marty out.

      Tuesday morning was different from Monday. Less regulars. People just seem to want to start the week off with the comfort of a habit. So Mondays had lots of regulars with regular orders. Get the week off on the right foot perhaps. Tuesday was different. More once-in-awhilers. Writer came in though. She always came in Tuesday through Friday at about eight o’clock. She would take the corner table by the Coke clock (OverMedium’s table on Monday) and spread her notebooks out. She would order a muffin and coffee and spend the whole morning writing and watching. Turly thought Writer would probably publish someday if effort were any indicator. She always had lots of stuff with her. And she always showed up. Even on the worst mornings when no one else was out and about. She was there, nibbling at a muffin, drinking coffee and writing.

      This particular Tuesday did hold one surprise for Turly. Around seven ToastandJuice and Poet came in. She never came in for breakfast except on Mondays. She’d have lunch sometimes later in the week. But Mondays were dependable. And here it was Tuesday, and she was back! And with Poet again. They took a table off to the side too; not ToastandJuice’s regular table this time. They ordered two Omelets, no potatoes, juice and coffee. Turly grinned when he saw the order. Poet was having an impact on ToastandJuice! Turly again envied ToastandJuice and Poet. He wondered how they met, what they had said. He needed something to break the ice with Marty and ask her out. Something that would signal more than another dinner. It was going to take some thought. It would be easiest to just say what he felt. How he loved her, and wanted to go out with her. But for all Turly’s intelligence with numbers and food, he was not able to express himself with people that way. This was going to take some effort.