Mind the Gap | ✔️

March 10 @ 9:40 A.M.: Evan

I stared at the city map on my tablet in utter disbelief. According to the information displayed, it showed about ten Dunkin Donut shops in downtown Boston alone.

Who was eating all these carbs and fatty acids?

Well, I knew at least one of these people. Or not. Knew was a wrong word to use, after all—I didn't know her, but I had seen her. Only a couple of times, such as a few minutes ago while she was digging into her pastry.

I knew nothing about her. Except that she liked donuts—from Dunkin.

My train lady could be shopping at any of these places on my map. Or perhaps at others, further down south, all the way where the Red Line started.

The speakers blared, announcing Park Street station as our next stop. With a sigh, I closed my tablet shut and got up, pushing past the two suits.

Why was I doing this anyway? Was I planning to hang out in all the Dunkin Donuts restaurants of Boston, stalking her all the while stuffing myself with calories and gaining weight? That would be as foolish as it was hopeless and unhealthy.

Statistics were my profession, and they told me—in no uncertain terms—that chances of meeting her that way were nil.

I let myself be hustled from the train and out onto the Park Street station platform.

Even though weak and inadequate, the feeble electric lights failed to hide the stained ceiling and matted walls of the sinister underground station. It smelled of concrete, pee, and stressed passengers on their way to work. Dreary colors reigned—black, brown, and dark blue.

Her gold and silver mane would light up this place.

I headed towards the stairs.

Outside, blue sky and fresh air came as a relief after having navigated the stinky caverns and tunnels below. With the greenery of the park itself on one side of the street and the red brick buildings on the other—both of them kissed by the bright morning sun—I exhaled. 

I used to come here with Janice often, while we still lived together, as a complete family. My daughter so loved the playground in the center of the park, as well as the duck pond next to it. She and I had a custom of sitting there for hours, just watching the waterborne birds and inventing all kinds of names for them.

Those days were long gone now.

Alewife had a park, too, but Janice insisted that it was not the proper one. Its waterborne birds had all the wrong names.

At the end of Park Street, I turned my back on the greenery and steeled myself, facing the concrete jungle of downtown. There would be no park-with-Janice time for me today.

Work was waiting.

But an unexpected sight made me stop dead in my tracks.

Dunkin Donuts? 

No way?!

They had a shop here!

The tiny shop had a single small window firmly set into a black facade. The golden letters above it looked obese.

Without thinking, I entered.

Warmth, and the smells of freshly baked goods, cinnamon, and coffee all crowded in on me.

I had never been in a place like this before. Never been inside a Dunkin Donuts. Ever.

What was I doing here?

The wares on display greatly confused me. I would have expected all their produce to be ring-shaped pastry. Yet the trays at the woman's back held many types of carby sustenance. Not only the classical donuts, but also croissants, buns, and many, many others I couldn't even name to begin with.

"Good morning, Sir!" The plump woman behind the counter greeted me with a welcoming smile. "How would you like to try out our brand new Blueberry Cobbler Croissant Donut?"

"I..." I paused, train of thoughts racing through my mind.

What the hell was a Blueberry Cobbler Croissant Donut?

And would I make a fool of myself if I asked her?

What had Braces been eating?

I formed a ring with my hands. "Do you have one of those, umm... Those with powdered sugar on them? The big ones?"

"Sugar Raised?" She pointed at a tray with golden brown rings sprinkled with white dust. "We sure do. They've got reduced sugar content."

Suppressing a strong impulse to ask how exactly the reduced sugar content matched their name, I just nodded.

"One?" She held up a single finger.

Was I buying a donut? Really?

"Yes, one," I said.

Helen would suffocate with laughter if she saw me now, teasing me for buying junk food.

The woman packed the Sugar Raised into a bag. "And how would you like to have a coffee with that?"

A coffee? 

I pondered the decision for a moment. Braces had also had a coffee, so why not go all the way?

"Yes, please! A latte."

While the woman was preparing the drink, I studied the shop.

America Runs on Dunkin, a gaudy colored advertisement said, pinned to the orange wall next to the mountain of pastries.

Well, the organic carrots in my bag might make you run longer than a donut. Years longer.

But maybe Dunkin' had a point—you needed calories for running, too.

I paid, thanked the plump woman, and left the place.

On the street outside, I stopped. Downtown and work were on my right side—the park with its greenery and sunshine to the left.

Grinning, I turned left. It took me a few steps to cross the street and enter the park.

A green bank invited me to sit. I obliged. The sun felt so warm on my skin. And the sweet smell of recently-purchased golden-brown donut emanated from the paper bag on my lap.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. A vision of her before my inner eye rewarded me.

In this vision, the two windows between us stubbornly stood in the way of communication, as always.

Or maybe not? There were means to send a phone number through glass!