Bob and Flo
Bob always hated crossing the street at this particular intersection, because there was always some cop watching, and they were onto him. One step out of the lines of the crosswalk and they were on him like a Super Bowl referee. Do you know how much those dudes get paid for that game? It's obscene. Bob didn't know that, either, nor did he know why the local police seemed to have it in for him, but he was capable of learning from experience, and after a few dozens of having half an hour stolen from his life, showing his I.D. and other papers, and answering pointlessly pointed questions, he tried to avoid the area completely, and walk across the street like he was the absolute soul of law and order. It didn't seem to matter. He was stopped a few times a month at the minimum, more if he got the tiniest bit careless. Bob found this as tiresome as it was inexplicable. And, since he wasn't much of a 'plan ahead' kind of guy, he needed to cross that street to get something for dinner from the Mini-Mart on that corner. It seemed unnecessarily troublesome to have to walk three or four extra blocks just to avoid crossing at the closest intersection. There wasn't a proper grocery store within twenty blocks, and Bob didn't drive. Or even own a car, which always seemed to piss off Johnny Law when he couldn't produce any registration, insurance card, or even what they considered a proper driver's license. They were skeptical of his perfectly legitimate identification card, since they saw them so rarely. To Bob, it didn't seem as if there were just one or two cops who hated him, since he almost never recognized them. It seemed as if it was a different officer every time. But as if they all told each other about him, and passed off their attitude like a relay runner handing off the baton. The cops all had somethig like that baton on their batman-like utility belts, and much of the time they kept a hand on them, as if beating the crap out of a transgressor was the proper punishment for jaywalking. Or they were particularly fearful of middle-aged dough-faced milktoasts for some reason.
The day Bob's life turned around was the day he saw a woman, about his own age, cut the corner by a few steps, and immediately get accosted by one of the big burly policemen that always seemed to materialize out of nowhere. He continued to cross, very carefully in spite of the logical assumption that the cop was already busy and he might be safe, took up a leisurely stance in a nearby doorway, and tried to pretend he wasn't watching. There wasn't much to see, or learn. He'd seen it all before, many times. When the policeman finally finished his interrogation and the acompanying tirade, and the woman went on about her business, whatever it was, he fell into step next to her, and remarked, "Boy! The cops around here sure can be assholes, can't they?" Without even looking startled, the woman turned to him and exclaimed, "Oh my god! It's like every time I cross that street!" Looking startled, Bob replied, "You too? I thought it was just me." To this the woman replied, "You too?" After a long moment of mutual astonishment, Bob somehow gathered the presence of mind to suggest they get coffee, unless, of course, she was hurrying to somewhere she needed to be. She wasn't. They did. Which gave them the time for a detailed examination and commiseration of their somewhat shared experience with law enforcement, especially at that particular location.
Now, neither one of them had ever met a kindred spirit before. That was something out of stories and songs. Peas in a pod, birds of a feather, same kind of crazy as me. They hit it off, big time. It was more than either had ever imagined, much less dared to dream. They were ordinay people and this was the most extraordinary event in either of their lives. Whatever plans each of them had got set aside if not completely forgotten. Long after the coffee, they went to dinner at a little Italian place down the block that neither had ever visited before. They were so wrapped up in each other they can't tell you if it was any good. Somewhere in the middle of that, they found the wit to actually exchange names. Bob said, "Flo! That's a great name. It's a word that means something, like a river." Flo said, "And Bob's the same!" Bob looked puzzled. Flo continued, "Bob. Like you do with your head, or in a river." Bob was astonished. His mother had always called him Robert, and it was only later in his adult years, after she was gone, that he relaxed and adopted the diminutive. He had never considerd that it was a word with a meaning. He was delighted! "Bob and Flo!," he said. "The river couple! Names that mean something." "Right," said Flo, " Like, 'What do you name a woman lounging in a doorway? Eileen." Bob came back with," And what do you name the boy at her feet? Matt." After about an hour of that, Bob and Flo were smitten. She didn't go home with him that night, but only because he wasn't worldly enough to realize that he should ask. They did go to dinner again the next night, though, and it did lead to the bedroom, because Flo managed to drop enough subtle hints that Bob screwed up his courage. They both quickly got over being shy and got down to the much more serious business of being clumsy instead.
Somewhere along the line, in that first flush of rambling conversations, Flo asked, perhaps just teasingly, perhaps a bit tentatively, maybe both, if she should come back again tomorrow. Bob, without a thought, or a pause, said, "Oh, gosh. I'd like you to believe you're welcome here anytime." From the light that sparked in Flo's eyes, Bob realized that it might have been the smartest thing he had ever said in his life. Flo began transfering her things the next day, and was all moved in by the end of the week. The piano was a bit of an issue, but they talked about selling it and trading up to a high quality electronic keyboard, which would be more convenient, and more versatile, and much smaller. They decided to live in Bob's apartment, because it was a smidge larger and just a tiny bit nicer, and Flo had no lease to worry about. Her landlady, who she'd always found a bit standoffish, thanked her for being a good tenant, gave her a bottle of decent champagne, and assured her the place would rent again in no time. There were, of course, numerous minor inconveniences and adjustments to be made, in both of Bob and Flo's lives, but they were so overwhelmed to be happy, to have a mate, that none of it bothered them.
After a couple months of this new-found and completely unexpected bliss, Bob got to thinking that perhaps he should inquire about Flo's thoughts about marriage. "Have you ever thought about marriage," he asked, one evening. "Oh, yes!" Flo quickly replied. A tad flustered, Bob went on, "Um, I sort of meant about you and me, I guess." "Oh, yes!" Flo replied, even more quickly and even more chipper. Bob muddled on, "Maybe something romantic, like on Valentine's Day?" Flo looked crestfallen. Bob knew the word, from books, but he had never seen an example of it in real life. It was just as if some supporting member for her face had given way. Flo said, very quietly, "That's so far away." Bob said, "Well, I just thought, plenty of time to plan, I don't have any idea what kind of ceremony, or if you have any plans or wishes..." He tapered off, not at all sure what ground he was standing on or even what he was trying to say. After a moment, he managed, "Did you have any ideas?" Flo perked up. "What about June?" she asked. Bob replied, "That's less than two months. Will there be time to set everything up?" Flo replied cheerfully, "We'll manage!" And they did. Now, you realize, there are millions of engagement stories that are far more romantic than this, but if you'd been in that room that day you'd have seen two of the happiest people on this earth. They were married on a warm sunny June day in a local park by a man who had a minister license but was also a folk musician and a juggler, with a keg of beer, catered by Joe's Chili Emporium, which was right around the corner from their apartment. It was a small event. Almost everyone they knew was there. Including her old landlady, Mrs. Patchert, who she had run into at the grocery store one day, got to talking to, and has been playing pinochle with once a week ever since.
An unexpected consequence of their meeting, or, at least, they didn't have any idea what else to blame it on, was that they seemed to be able to cross that intersection without attracting any sort of police presence. Bob even talked Flo into the two of them jaywalking across in the middle of the street one time, with no repercussions, but they both agreed that it made them too uncomfortable to turn it into a habit. Of course, with two cooks, and two planners, they didn't go to the Mini-Mart anywhere near as much for a hasty meal, but that didn't really seem to explain the change. It was as if the world was just different now. And for them, it was.
Flo surprised Bob one day by appearing after work on a hot pink Vespa motor scooter she had decided to purchase from a colleague. "Now," she said, "We can shop at a REAL grocery store any time we want!" They bought matching helmets the color of the sun, and enjoyed waving at the sidewalk-dwellers who gawked at them as they puttered by.
Close to a year after meeting, when Valentine's Day rolled around, Bob surprised Flo with a handmade Valentine's Day card. It was as crudely and haphazardly pasted together from cut colored construction paper as that of any grade school child, perhaps or perhaps not intentionally. It read...
Roses are red
Policemen's uniforms are blue
I never liked them much, but
They did lead me to you.
by Don Taco
copyright 2025
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