17 August 2000 ~ The table by the bowling machine that talks...

"Helena, your friend is here..."

"My friend?" I asked incredulously of the waitress at Sharkey's, who had come into the kitchen as I was stuffing my face with fries and hot sauce. I don't have a friend! Is it Aaron?"

"No, it's a girl. She told me to come into the kitchen and get you, but she wouldn't tell me what her name was. She said it was a surprise."

"SHE? I don't have any female friends! Well, like, three, but I'm related to two of them..."

"Well, *I* don't know... But she's sitting at table number twenty-four... Do you know which one that is?" (The kitchen people don't have to know which table is which, and so, being your favorite underacheiver, I don't know a damn thing about which table is which...)

"Not a clue..."

"Twenty-four is the one over by the bowling machine that talks?"

My heart moved in a strange direction. I knew EXACTLY who was sitting at table number 24. How the fuck she FOUND me at Sharkey's was beyond me, but I knew who was out there.

"Hi, Meg," I greeted her, sort of non-chalantly, although I couldn't have been happier to see anybody in the world. And of course, it was her, sitting by the talking bowling machine and digging around for quarters for the jukebox. I'd been thinking about her earlier in the day. "Captain Jack" had been playing on the radio. That was one of the songs on Meg's and my "we-hate-men-and-are-getting-drunk" mix tape.

And so we talked. Not about anything in particular. We talked about The Cubbyhole in her old apartment, and about Peter being a weasel, and Bobbie the bitch, and Java's, and our favorite lawyers, and David's never-ending habit of collecting mail in little piles all over the place, and me getting fired from Record Town, and small claims court, and her new apartment... Of course, I only had about ten seconds to talk, being at work and all, but I kind of extended the ten-second-rule.

Meg is one of exactly three people alive who can say something like, "you did, didn't you?" and I know exactly what she's talking about. Meg is also the only person alive who could have gained my respect by throwing a tomato at me in a long-ago moment of anger.

Reluctantly, I went back to work, making kielbasa and pizza and buffalo wings and things. Woo-fucking-hoo. I would much rather have stayed and spent the evening catching up with Meg, whom I haven't seen since... well, the last time there was a fire... I guess that would have been New Year's...

I made her promise to come in to Java's sometime, or at least to be a bitch and call us and have us deliver something to her apartment. She promised. I told her about my latest SuperSecret Mission. She smiled.

I love Meg. I really, really do. I have missed her so much. Seeing her made my day so much brighter.

~H.T.*

"And then I fired two warning shots... into his head..." --"Chicago"; or Meg, take your pick...