Wilson showed up at the house early Saturday morning, eager to go. A little too early for my liking as I was only half a cup in on my coffee.
I opened the door just in the nick of time before he could get another ring of the doorbell off and wake everyone. Butch looked on indifferently from his little dog bed up on the landing at the top of the stairs.
Wilson was barely inside when he started jabbering.
“Do you like my pants?” he asked. “They’re new. They have a zipper, see,” he said, pointing to his pants.
“That’s nice,” I said, reconsidering if I really wanted to spend a day with the man.
“It’s a big deal,” Wilson said. “The zipper.”
“I’m sure it is, in some parts of the world,” I said.
“It’s the first pair of pants I bought in more than year that didn’t have a drawstring, or elastic waistband. It’s a zipper,” he said, again pointing to his, well, zipper area.
“It is indeed,” I said. “And I’m beyond thrilled for you. Now maybe you could give me a few minutes while I brush my teeth.”
“And did you notice my shoes?” he asked. “I mean, they’re not really shoes, more like clog sandal things.”
He was pointing to quite possibly the ugliest footwear I had ever seen. And I had noticed them when he stepped in, but didn’t want to say anything in case he had put them on by mistake this morning. Maybe he didn’t realize it in his zeal to get to my house and annoy me.
“Yes, they’re…they’re, um, catchy,” I said.
Wilson nodded and said, “I know, right? Okay, let’s go. The stores open in a half hour. I want to get a close parking spot at Dick’s. I’m thinking of getting a kayak. What about you?”
This from a man who was afraid to go near water as far as I knew. So it was a puzzling proclamation to say the least.
“No, I’m good on the kayaks, at least for now,” I said, and left the room.
I hustled upstairs to wash up and a few minutes later was back down in the foyer to find Wilson with his hand on the doorknob, waiting to go. His eagerness shouldn’t have been surprising. In fact, I should have seen this coming, all the signs were there after all.
The constant talk of wanting to go in-person shopping again. The talk of being flush with cash from not traveling for more than a year. The fatigue of online shopping. Nothing like the good old, honest to God, standing in a check-out line experience, he said just the other day.
So here we were, heading back out to the stores. Wilson insisted on driving, probably so he could run the red light that he just did. We rolled into the parking lot of the mall only to find no spots within a half mile of an entrance.
“Darn, I was afraid of this,” he said, as he slowed, rolled down the window and yelled to a white-haired woman slowly making her way to the mall like she was on a pilgrimage.
“Long walk, huh? Thinking about leaving, honey?” he asked.
“Buzz off,” she said, not breaking stride.
We found a spot across the street in parking lot of a paint store. Wilson pulled in next to a sign threatening towing and possible destruction of any car not belonging to a customer. It didn’t matter. A second later we crossed six lanes of Saturday morning shopping traffic, stopping and starting and darting about like panicked squirrels at the Indy 500. It took some doing but we arrived safely at the mall.
I wiped the layer of sweat from my brow and put my hand over my heart to keep it in my chest. Wilson seemed unfazed.
“Okay, kayak, bike, and possibly golf clubs,” Wilson said, reciting his list.
“These are all new pursuits of yours, correct?” I asked.
“They are. I’ve been wanting to take up all three for years now,” he said. “And this is the perfect time. You only survive a pandemic once, you know.”
“If you’re lucky,” I said.
We went inside and were greeted by a line that snaked the length of the mall, past the food court, and right toward the entrance to…
“Oh, no,” Wilson said, “Look at the crowd for Dick’s.”
A sharp looking young associate was going back and forth with a bullhorn.
“Wait time is currently just over a day, folks. Remember you can shop online too, right on your phones.”
“Get back inside and get behind a register and help,” some guy yelled. “And put a set of the new Callaway clubs aside for me.”
Wilson was antsy and amped up and eager to wait it out, hoping the kid was wrong. I tried to talk him out of it, with no luck.
“What a day already,” he said. “Exciting, no?”
“No,” I said.
“Feels great to have pants with a zipper,” he said.
The woman in front of us shot him a glance over her shoulder, then looked at me. I shrugged. Now I knew what Tom Cruise felt like in Rain Man.
We stood there while the shoppers heckled the associate, who finally retreated to the safety of the store. The crowds were back, Americans were consuming again. I got a whiff of something from the food court and my stomach growled.
“Know what I want?” Wilson asked.
“Lunch?” I said.
“A big screen TV. Like a seventy-inch one. I’m not sure where I’d put it, but I saw Best Buy had some on sale. Let’s go,” he said, tapping the woman in front of us on the shoulder.
“Would you hold our spot?” he asked. “We’ll be back by dinnertime.”