I'm grading papers at the Rodin museum when he comes into the courtyard. He sits on a wooden bench nearby and takes off his shirt. He has a plastic bag stuffed with clothes -- not a garbage bag but a shopping one. He takes out a new bag of Jax and opens it. I look back down at my papers. Somehow I know he'll come talk to me, even though nobody's ever bothered me here before. He sits down at the end of my bench and offers me some Jax. I smile and refuse. We lie to each other for a while.
"You a student?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"Where at?"
"Drexel."
"Over at University City?"
"Yeah."
"I used to go there. Over to University City. Penn, Drexel. Did a year at community college."
I nod.
"You a junior?"
"Senior."
'Doing homework?"
"Yeah."
"What's your field?" He has to ask it three times before I can hear the word correctly. He's wearing a blue plastic wristband that says "Stop Prostate Cancer." His eyes are brown, ringed with blue.
"English," I say. Then, because it seems impolite not to add anything, "What do you do?"
"Career man. Retired."
"That's the way to be."
His hair is tight gray curls, clean-looking, and he's wearing new-ish work boots. His jeans are too big, rolled down at the waist. The museum closes in half an hour. If he gets weird, I can leave while the security guard is locking the gates. Plus all his stuff is over at the other bench. He wouldn't want to leave that behind.
He leans back and hums, just a long, tuneless mmmmmm. His stomach is round, his dark skin hairless and unwrinkled, as if for all of his life he's been this exact same size.
I go back to my work, making notes on a bad Freshman paper on euthanasia.
"Got a drink?" he says.
"Just water."
"Mmm."
"Want some?"
"Maybe in a minute." He gestures with the Jax bag, "These are dry."
"You write book reports?" he says.
"Uh...sure."
"What's your book report on?"
"Which one? The last one? The Great Gatsby." (It's my stock answer to "What's your favorite book?")
"Oh yeah. The Great Gatsby."
"You read it?"
"It's about a butler, right?"
"Yeah."
He looks pleased with himself, like he thinks he's tricking me.
We sit for a while longer, then I pack up.
"You want that water?" I say.
"Yeah, I'll have a sip."
"You can have it."
"The whole thing? Thanks."
"Sure."
"What's your name?"
I tell him. "What's yours?"
He thinks. "Ralph."
"You going back to school?" Ralph says.
"Yeah."
"Maybe I'll see you over there sometime."
