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Wow. I expected a cattle rancher to get up in arms about food documentaries. But he’s surprisingly passive about the subject. “What do you get for protein then?”
I tell him I mostly eat beans and tofu along with veggies and lots of rice. I tell him about my favorite meal at the high end vegan place in town, which I have to save up for. “Split pea soup with cashew cream, and avocado chocolate pudding for dessert. It sounds disgusting, but it’s wonderful.”
He seems like he’s taking it all in, and I feel like I’m talking too much.
“So why aren’t you married?” I ask, point blank, taking my turn in the game again.
Sam eyes me over the slowly growing tower of Jenga tiles, pursing his lips under his thick, silver mustache. “I almost was. Once.”
My heart begins to race a little bit. He’s opening up.
Maybe I can get him to open up a little further.
“What happened?”
He adds another tile and sits back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He doesn’t look happy that I asked. “I was an asshole. It was a long time ago.”
The words sound so cold and mean, it’s almost like he’s talking about his worst enemy.
I try to convey all the compassion I feel for him when I say, “Sam, I’m sure whatever happened was not all your fault.”
“No,” he says. “I got cold feet. About a week before the wedding, I called it off. I was a young chicken shit who didn’t know what I wanted. And now I’m paying for it by being old and alone. Is that what you wanted to know?”
Sam’s forehead shows deep grooves when he asks me that. The way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was punishing him. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this. But if you want to talk, I’m a good friend and a good listener, and I like talking to you...”
Sam abruptly stands.
“Listen. This ain’t gonna work. You need to go to your room, and I need to go to bed.”
Disappointed, I go to pick up the Jenga pieces but he’s already cleaning up. I hear him utter something about the two of us getting into trouble if we don't go to our rooms sooner rather than later.
He continues to stew all the way back up in the elevator to our shared hallway. I have to laugh when I wonder what he thinks we’re going to get into trouble about. When the elevator doors open, Officer Max is there to see us back to our rooms, but Sam still follows me, which is weird because he looks as mad as a wet hornet.
“Well, if you’re mad, then why are you walking me back to my room?” I ask.
“Because it’s the right thing to do. A woman shouldn’t walk back to her room alone at night.”
I could point out that we have guards watching over us 24/7, including Officer Max who has got legs like tree trunks, but I let the point lie.
It’s cute that Sam is protective of me. In fact it gives me a thrill.
“Should we try again tomorrow night?”
“No. No, we should not. I’m sorry you never had a good example of how a man should treat a woman. I’m sorry you had terrible parents. But I ain’t your daddy and I never will be. So just get me out of your head because I ain’t here for that.”
What in the world is he talking about? And then I realize as we reach my door, he thinks I’m being friendly because I see him as some kind of father figure I never had, which could not be further from the truth.
I stand in my doorway and hold it open to stare at him, utterly bemused. “That’s the most words you’ve said to me yet, Sam. Have a good night!”
He’s off to his own room before I can say anything else.
Slam.
Huh. I guess he doesn’t like me.
The next morning’s testimonies are pretty interesting, with an exam and cross-exam of one key witness for the prosecution.
“She told me she was at her wit’s end with him.” The statement comes from the defendant’s neighbor lady and supposed friend.
