Clarie

Clarie Harvey Drumm didn’t see the girl on the bicycle until he backed his Ford Focus into her, sending her sprawling but unhurt onto the lawn of his neighbor’s house. Of course he was frantic, fearing she had been seriously injured, and he scrambled to assist, but she stood and brushed herself off and smiled at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I should be more careful. My mother tells me I should be more careful all the time. I’m always running into things.” “But I ran into you,” said Harvey, perfectly willing to assume the blame. “No, I saw you and I should have stopped, but I didn’t. My mother says I have a self destructive streak, so you shouldn’t blame yourself. I have to go now or I’ll be late. Goodbye.” She smiled and pedaled off, and he realized he didn’t even know her name. Harvey looked down the street for anyone who might have seen the accident but the neighborhood was empty. He watched his victim disappear around the corner and quickly got back into his car. He should follow her, in case she really was hurt. He backed out again and hurried after the girl his heart pounding in his chest. She couldn’t be older than fifteen. She must be on her way to the high school. He rounded the corner and saw her up ahead, her long blond ponytail whipping from side to side as she shifted her weight from one foot to the to the other, pedaling at a rapid clip. She certainly didn’t appear to be injured. He had been lucky. He slowed and watched as she pulled into the high school parking lot and disappeared among the cars. Harvey proceeded past the school and continued on to his downtown office. Although he was relieved, he felt disconnected: talking to the dim witted public was the last thing he wanted to do today. His mind wandered away from his real estate business to the swinging pony tail. He pulled up his e-mail and deleted all of his messages without reading them. He called a prospective client and told her the house she wanted was already sold. He begged off a listing appointment and left the office, telling secretary Amy that he had an appointment. His head just wasn’t in it today. It was that damn pony tail. Harvey was having a hard time concentrating on selling lately. The market was terrible, commissions were so meager it took a gigantic effort to stay afloat financially, and everybody wanted a ‘deal.’ His wife had divorced him two years ago, and he didn’t blame her, he couldn’t offer her much of a life. She had found a man of ‘substance’ she said, and he wished her well. He had trouble giving a damn anymore. He feared he was clinically depressed, but he was too depressed to make a doctor appointment. He was afraid of pills that sent him walking in his sleep or driving his car in the middle of the night and not remembering. He wasn’t sure what to do but he knew he had to do something. He had thought of killing himself but he didn’t have the guts. How miserable was that? Thirty seven years old and burnt out. But he knew a lot of people who felt the same way he did: at least they said they did. He doubted anyone could feel the way he did. He parked at the marina and sat in his car watching the boats come and go. He hated people who had boats; they were so cliquey—thought they were better than everyone else. It was just a place to sit and not look at real estate. Let’s face it, real estate was everywhere, but not on the water. He grabbed a hot dog from a street vendor and sat on the breakwater. The gulls spied him and flew close hoping for a handout. He tore pieces of bun and tossed them onto the dirty sand: a feeding frenzy, just like the foreclosure market. What was it ponytail had said? Her mother said she was self destructive? Odd for someone so young, he thought—or maybe not. Kids did crazy things to themselves all the time. Riding her bike into cars could get her into trouble, if she had really done it on purpose. He should be at the office; he could get himself into trouble. Mandrell, the broker, didn’t like it when they went AWOL without telling Amy where they were headed. He had left his cell phone in the middle of his desk—on purpose. He hoped Mandrell saw it and blew a gasket. Out of reach, Dumbo, flap your big ones over that. He watched the friggin boats for another hour and checked his watch. It was almost time for school to let out, he knew because he lived so close and the kids swarmed down his street at three o’clock every afternoon. Impulsively he fired up the Focus and headed back toward the school, hoping to run into ponytail. Not literally of course, unless she wanted to. Harvey was pro choice. Barbara, his ex was not, and they had argued about it ad nausem. But not anymore. He parked along the street and watched the kids pour from the exits. Maybe she had after school sports, and stayed late. His heart sank. What did he expect anyway? He just wanted to see her again, make sure she was not hurt. Sometimes an injury would not show itself for hours. Panic overtook him as an ambulance rolled through the chain link gates, its light bars flashing, then the siren clicked on and his heart fell to his belly. She had collapsed in the corridors and they were rushing her to the hospital. Her mother was right, she sought danger, and he had obliged her. The ambulance sped past and he was about to turn around to follow when he saw her pedaling toward him, pony tail flapping. His spirits soared. He watched her approach and wondered what to do. If he opened his door, she would slam into it—she might like that. But she might get hurt this time and he didn’t want to hurt her. What did he want? To talk to her was all. Harvey opened his door and stepped into the street in front of her. She recognized him and smiled, and then she slowed the bike and stopped. Harvey spoke. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried about you all day. Do you feel all right?” She smiled and leaned backward, fluffing her ponytail with her hands. “It’s so nice of you to worry, but really, I’m fine. These things happen to me all the time. Like I said, my mother thinks I’m self destructive.” She shrugged and tossed her head, “I don’t know, I think I just don’t pay attention sometimes. You know, to things around me. I mean, I don’t do things to hurt myself on purpose.” “I think I understand,” said Harvey, and he really did because he knew he didn’t pay attention a lot of the time. Like today for instance, he had left that office in a heartbeat—no attention paid at all. Except of course to leave his cell phone on his desk that took some attention, and some planning. They stood smiling at each other and he said, “What’s your name? I’d like to be your friend if it’s okay.” She rested her head on her shoulder, “It’s okay, and seeing as we met earlier, I think it’s only fitting, but you have to tell me yours. My name is Clarie, like fairy, so what’s yours?” He had never liked his name, equating it to the big white rabbit in the ‘Harvey’ movie. “You can call me Mike,” he said impulsively, having no idea why he had chosen the name. She cocked an eyebrow. “I can? But you don’t look like a Mike. Is that your real name? I have a feeling you’re not telling the truth.” She knew. “Well, sometimes they call me Harvey, but I prefer Mike.” How did she know he had made it up? “Look, Mike, there’s nothing wrong with the name Harvey. I don’t think we should lie to each other and get off on the wrong foot. I would prefer to call you Harvey if that’s who you are.” He shrugged. This was not going well; a salesman who couldn’t sell a phony name. “Call me Harvey then, it doesn’t matter,” he said nonchantly. She grinned and he noticed her beautiful white teeth. How anyone could maintain such beautiful white teeth had always amazed him. But Clarie was beautiful all over, with her big brown eyes, full pouty lips, firm breasts and the silky, golden pony tail. Her nose tilted upward making her look sassy, and she was: sassy, beautiful and extremely young. “How old are you C