Part 2 (1/2)
The DMV office was alarmingly busy, but for some strange reason, Jez looked pleased.
”Good. It's pretty light today. We should be done in a couple of hours,” he declared.
”Light? This? And what do you mean, 'a couple of hours'?” I sputtered.
”You're not from around here, are you?” He smirked at me.
”You don't have to wait with me. I can find my way back,” I said, scanning the crowd.
”Shut up and take a number.”
So I took a number, and we sat down on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. I glanced around and saw a wide variety of people, even a few interesting characters among them. I pulled out my pocket sketchbook and a small pencil I kept in my pocket for just these occasions. Trying to appear inconspicuous, I started to draw the likeness of a Hispanic youth in comically oversize clothes. I did a quick sketch, then turned the page and drew him as a cartoon character, all exaggerated.
”You're good,” Jez said, peeking over my shoulder.
”I'm decent,” I corrected him.
”Look slowly toward the entrance,” he said, nudging my elbow.
I casually lifted my gaze and s.h.i.+fted it toward the door. A beauty, indeed: a man with the world's worst comb-over had just walked in. I took him in and started to draw, looking up and taking a few ”disinterested” glances in his general direction a few more times till I got him right.
We whittled the waiting time away in this manner for a good while, Jez scoping out my next subject while I sketched. I finally put the sketch pad away when a middle-aged woman with inches-long purple fingernails gave us the evil eye. As the countdown got closer to my number, I dug up my old driver's license. Jez took it from my hand and inspected it curiously. I expected a comment on the picture, but he handed it back without a word.
”You went to school for this drawing stuff, right?” he asked.
”Yeah, I got a BFA.”
”So if you have a college degree, why are you waiting tables?”
It was a fair question and easy to answer.
”I picked an art major because that was the only thing I was any good at. At first I had a naive idea of becoming a great artist, but then realized I wasn't that special. I could probably get a job as a designer in an Internet company or some other nine-to-five place, but it's not my thing. I tried it once, had an interns.h.i.+p one summer. I quit after three weeks and went back to roofing.”
”Roofing?”
”Yeah. My stepuncle has a roofing business. Back in Indiana. I used to work for him during summer breaks. It's hard work, and you sweat like a monkey's a.s.s, but I'd rather do that than sit in a cubicle all day. It pays pretty well too.”
Jez nodded in agreement. He clearly wasn't the office type either.
”Waiting tables is fine,” I went on. ”I get to see a lot of different people, and I like to observe. The tips are pretty good too where I work now, much better than at that Mexican place in the Valley from before. I also like working part-time and having extra time to do stuff.”
”But there must be something creative out there that you'd enjoy more.”
I thought about that myself now and then, but not very fruitfully. I shrugged.
”Maybe. If there is, I haven't figured out what.”
At last my number was called. In the end, we got out of the DMV office in a little over an hour with my temporary license. It seemed less with Jez there.
I'm not exactly a morning person. Jez was. The scent of freshly brewed coffee nudging me awake with the gentleness of a lover meant Jez was home. Quiet, odorless mornings usually signified that he was gone, and there'd be a yellow sticky note stuck to the fridge letting me know when to expect him back and giving instructions regarding Arthur. I preferred coffee-scented mornings. There was something very comforting about knowing he was about.
I found him in the kitchen, mixing batter.
”Good morning,” I said politely.
”Mornin'. You got mail.”
I picked up the official-looking envelope from the table and opened it.
”Oh look, my driver's license! And it only took three weeks.”
”Perfect timing for your birthday.”
”That's not till tomorrow... Wait, how did you know?”
”It was on your driver's license. The old one.”
”Oh.”
It took me by surprise that he'd paid attention in the first place and then remembered. Like it mattered to him.
”When's your birthday?” I asked.
”April twenty-second. Long way off. Anyway, I'm making banana pancakes. What do you want on top? Maple syrup, jam, or whipped cream?”
”How about all three?”
”Now you're talking!”
Mondays were to me like Sundays to other people since the restaurant was closed. That Monday, we ate our breakfast in the dining room on account of the ”special occasion.” When I stood to clear the empty plates away, Jez stopped me.
”Sit down. Stay put. I got something for you.”
He left and came back a few seconds later with a flat, rectangular box.
”Happy birthday! I figure I might as well give it to you a day early.” He put the box in front of me.
Judging from the size, it was probably a large sketchbook. Oversize even. Just in time-the old one was getting full. I opened the box, and my jaw dropped at the sight of the sleek brushed-aluminum case of a laptop.
”You're crazy!” was my first, uncensored reaction.
”You're welcome,” Jez said, unruffled.
”I can't accept it. It's too much.”
”You won't last a day in LA with that att.i.tude.” He harrumphed. ”It was an impulse buy, if it makes you feel any better. I was walking down Colorado Avenue in Pasadena, and this beauty was sitting in a window. I couldn't come up with any good excuse to buy it, since I don't need it for much else than to check the surf reports, but then I remembered your birthday and your struggles the other day.”