Tobacco Smokes and Ember Hopes [Tags: Josh]

Josh was very fond of his parents, as difficult as they could be, and he was willing to do a great deal for them, including moving. This did not change the fact that visits were stressful affairs that forced him to face the reality that they were deteriorating. His mother insisted on dragging him to the store with her so that he could help carry packages -- and read labels -- but as she was the one with the driver's license she was the one who drove. Her failing eyesight did not prevent her from driving as if she were a New York cabbie, fast and with little regard for the rules. And even his father's rarer and rarer lucid moments were sad; how did one comfort someone when they expressed awareness that they were confused and going senile? This was why visits inevitably ended with him outside in the parking lot, smoking.

This was a very typical state of affairs, and he had no idea that today he and his cigarette were the object of close scrutiny until suddenly the sun was blocked by a looming shadow. He glanced up. and up. and up. Wow, talk about giant, this guy had to be as tall as Sean! Maybe taller; it was difficult to do a comparison without his friend there. He removed his cigarette in order to better gape, both at the stranger's height and at the request. His flowers. He wanted a smoke-free zone because of his flowers. Was he actually hearing that?

"Sorry," He apologized, deciding to ignore the inclusion of the flowers in this request and instead to pretend like he'd been asked for the other man's sake. "I didn't realize anyone else was here." While this was a bit sad, considering that the landscapers weren't exactly silent, this was also true: he barely noticed the people who performed such menial tasks unless they were directly in his way. However, as this one had approached him and (more or less) politely requested he stop smoking he would honor this request rather than stubbornly make a scene like he would have had he been asked to stop in a more brusque manner.

He pinched out his cigarette, looking around for someplace to toss it. "So," He began at last, since it seemed in rather poor form to simply cease smoking and then ignore the guy, "You're ummm you're the gardener here?" Plants were, much like cheap labor, something Josh rarely noticed. He had once, in his youth, thought that perhaps he ought to try a plant or two in his apartment and had decided upon a nice, tiny cactus as something that wouldn't take much work. The cactus had unfortunately not survived having Josh as a caretaker; apparently even cacti needed to be watered. In general, however, he much preferred cities with their skyscrapers and noise to the relative quiet of the unsullied woodlands; his environmentalism was purely theoretical. "I don't believe I've seen you before." He added, finally spying the trashcan and heading toward it.

"I suppose the residents appreciate having you give them flowers to look at." He added doubtfully, certain that most of them stayed cooped up in their rooms if they even cared about flowers more than he did.

"Ahhhh. I...I see." Only, he didn't. Wasn't that sort of the same as gardening? They at least both involved tending plants; any ideas as to what else a landscaper performed that differed from gardening currently eluded him. In any event, both jobs existed for the uneducated, the people who couldn't cut it in more intellectual fields. He thought it sad that anyone would be trapped in such a horrible, low-end job, but unfortunately those jobs were needed -- or at least wanted. At least this guy seemed relatively content, as if he wasn't simply resigned to his work but perhaps even enjoyed it. Ah, well. He may have been an uneducated landscaper but he was at least friendly and willing to speak his mind. Both of those counted for a lot.

Three weeks? And he hadn't noticed at all....his parents had been there for close to three months now. Surely their paths should have crossed before now considering how frequently he visited. But then, what reason did he have for conversing with the landscapers when he hadn't even noticed them before now? "Oh. Apparently not. I'm Joshua Bernstein. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adams." He accepted the hand with a brusque, brief shake. "I assume the business is your family's?" Adams was a common enough name, but it would be an odd coincidence to be employed by a company that shared your name. It certainly wasn't impossible, of course, but it seemed more likely that this landscaping business was started by Riley's father or grandfather -- this Patch person, who may or may not still be involved. Probably not, though; Riley looked close to his own age, which would put his father at least at seventy, possibly older if he'd started late like Josh's parents had. Even at seventy surely retirement was justified, particularly with such a labor intense job.

"Indeed, I'm visiting my parents. Or rather, I was but I'm leaving now." He explained, toying at his glasses now that his hands weren't occupied with his cigarette. "Who knew that an 83 year old woman could be so exhausting? Hair appointments, grocery shopping, I don't know why she even needs me to go with her. She's drives." Poorly. One day her license was going to get revoked, if she didn't kill herself with her reckless driving first. "But such is the price of filial duty. At least she doesn't insist I eat with them. There seems to be some sort of rule that the cafeteria fix the blandest food possible. She claims its good, but I disagree. It isn't terrible, but if I'm going to take in calories I damn well want to taste them."

He cleared his throat. "Ah, anyway. I was just going to get lunch." He assumed that landscape artists didn't make much money, perhaps he should invite Mr. Adams along? It wasn't as if he would have much chance to eat out ordinarily; he surely couldn't afford it on a regular basis. Of course, he was also currently working, but he had to be allowed a lunch break, right? Josh knew that he could afford lunch for himself and the other man, so asking him would be altruistic. "You're welcome to come if you want. If you're allowed."

"You know my parents?" Josh asked, shocked. He certainly hadn't expected this landscaper to know any of the residents on a personal level, let alone his parents. Then again, his mother would make a point to know everyone, if only to boss them around. "I mean, yes, those would in fact be my parents. And Riley." He repeated, to cement in his mind that a more casual form of address was requested. Not Mr. Adams. Riley. If he ever saw the landscaper about again then he would remember to call him Riley.

He could feel his face heat up at the mention of that horrible name his mother still insisted on calling him. Every attempt he'd made at explaining to her that he was an adult and could be called by his proper name had failed miserably. It was bad enough that she called him that in public, but the realization that she was telling stories about him to people he didn't even know did not please him. "Yes, my mother is quite a character." He ground out, knowing that no amount of arguing was going to make her see just why he hated the general public knowing stories about his childhood. It was one thing for him to endure her pet names and stories while in her presence; it was quite another to realize that she went and told everyone she talked to.

"I don't want to take your food!" He declined, horrified at the thought of mooching off a stranger. A stranger who was clearly in a lower socioeconomic status and couldn't afford to share anything. "I'm sure you only brought enough for yourself." Very few of his coworkers bothered bringing their own food, and those that did rarely had enough to share. The only exception he could think of was the one woman who had a mini-fridge in her office and kept bags of candy in the filing cabinet, but a landscaper didn't have those options. Granted, Riley didn't behave as if sharing were a problem for him, but he was surely only offering out of politeness.

"And to be honest, I had my heart set on that Mexican place down the street, El Frontera or something? I can never remember the name but they have the best cheese dip. So you can keep your lunch."