text: Jeffery Meadow’s second hand Toyota pulled into the empty spot at First National bank shortly before eleven on that warm spring morning. His vehicle parked with impressive accuracy, leaving more or less perfectly equal distance between each door and adjacent white line. Jeffery shifted into park and clicked the key out of the ignition, causing the radio’s broadcast of NPR’s All Things Considered to fade into silence. Pulling down his visor, he checked his appearance in the small reflective rectangle. His balding scalp left little hair for him to adjust and his black framed spectacles didn’t need a buffing, so he flipped up the visor and popped in an Altoid mint. He immediately had two more just to be completely safe. As he stepped into the morning sun, he brushed off his khaki slacks and fixed the placement of his navy blue tie on his short sleeved white shirt. As pleased with his appearance as he could ever be (which was marginally), he started to stroll to the entrance of the small financial institution. He smiled when he noticed the blue Altima with the Hello Kitty plush in the rear window. Margaret was indeed here today. The thought empowered Jeff, it put a spring in his step, and before opening the door he heaved a deep sigh. Today was going to be the day, he thought. It was just drinks, maybe coffee. She’d say yes, he was positive. But as soon as he opened the tinted glass door and the cool bank air washed over him, his confidence began to erode. It was the sight of her blonde curls, shoulder length, bobbing up and down as she walked back to her teller desk. He stood in awe, admiring her subtle dimples and classy blue top which showed only the slightest inch of cleavage - professional albeit sexy - Jeff was flushed with adoration. Realizing he had been standing motionless for several seconds, he snapped back to reality and sheepishly shuffled his penny loafers over to the back of the four-person line. Margaret had yet to notice his presence in the bank, but he still remained patient, awaiting their encounter; his only possible obstacle was Ethel, the elderly teller set up next to Margaret who he might end up with for his simple withdrawal if luck chose not to be on his side. He’d been coming into the bank every Thursday for a year now to pull out his weekly stipend and make an effort to admire the adorable Margaret. In the span of a year, he’d only been helped by Ethel twice, allowing his rapport with the blonde teller to blossom into a friendly back and forth rather than its initial awkward and clumsily monosyllable interactions. He could have easily completed his weekly transaction at an ATM but chose to interject the five minutes of human interaction at into his Thursdays to help him escape the lonely office he inhabited as the local library’s sole accountant. In front of him in line were two middle aged women, each with at least 15 years on the young Jeffery and an impatient teenager in a hoodie who had both hands concealed in his jacket pockets. Ethel was helping a sharply dressed man who Jeffery guessed to be a used car salesman; his cheesy smile echoed such a career. Meanwhile, Margaret was counting out a large stack of hundreds to a man Jeffery assumed to be an octogenarian. He also surmised with a smile that the man probably kept a considerable sum of cash in a shoe box under his bed. Catching Margaret’s smile made Jeff’s heart sputter like his Toyota’s ignition when it occasionally failed to start. His knees quivered and his lip was immediately under pressure from his front teeth. “She hasn’t seen me yet,” he thought, “still time to leave.” As if she were clairvoyant, Margaret thumbed down the last hundred and looked up to see the nervous Jeffery for the first time. She beamed a flash of white teeth at him as he smiled and mouthed a silent, “Hi!” Jeffery gulped. It was too late. He felt trapped; his adrenaline began to pulse throughout his body. Resistance was futile, he had to see her. He mentally prayed to be helped by Ethel - his previous wishes were suddenly a thing of the past. His sweaty palms clumsily found their way into his slack’s pockets while he awaited his fate. If only he wasn’t so scared... Glancing up again to see Margaret place the stack of hundreds in an envelope, he saw the beginning of what would be the longest minute of his life. The small teenager heaved himself into the side of the old man, catching him completely off guard and causing him to hit the deck in one swift motion. The teenager removed his hands to reveal a black pistol, matte black in fact, not shiny like they sometimes were in the movies. He reached forward and grabbed the envelope with his left hand and stuffed it into his pocket, all the while the pistol remained trained squarely on Margaret whose hands were flung up in a futile effort of defense. Ethel on the other hand, remained calm for the most part, her many years behind the desk accounting for her nerves of steel. It was Ethel’s training too that stealthily tripped the silent alarm before the unruly teenager even had a chance to warn them otherwise. “Money now! All of it! You too grandma! And no funny business, one alarm goes off and you’re all dead!” He slapped a pair of reusable shopping bags on the counter with a loud, “Now!” The used car salesman shrunk to his haunches and flung his hands up, the two women in front of Jeffery hit the ground so fast he thought they might have fainted. Then, as quickly as the women fell, something inside Jeffery suddenly clicked. The adrenaline of embarrassment and lack of confidence surged into something he had never once had to summon before, raw bravery. Unsureness flashed into rage and uncertainty instantly became purpose. He was ready to strike; he was going to do whatever it took to save Margaret. This was finally his chance to be a hero. His brain didn’t have time to formulate a plan so his actions were the result of pure instinct. He lunged forward at the sound of Margaret’s scream, a loud shriek worthy of a 1950s B-movie. He knocked over the deposit and withdrawal cart in an effort to close the 15 feet between him and the youth. Unfortunately, despite the cart having wheels, it moved too slowly and gave the robber the two seconds he needed to react. The dark gun swung from Margaret and its aim became concentrated firmly on Jeffery’s chest. The pistol discharged three times into Jeffery’s moving body before the momentum of their collision knocked the teen off his feet. All three shots hit their target and it took a few seconds for Jeffery to feel the searing pain which he thought had to be temporarily masked by his surging adrenaline. During his fall the teenager dropped his gun which had slid to the feet of the clumsy salesman. He wasted no time in brandishing the weapon against its former owner. Still trying to get away, seeming not to care about the weapon trained on him, the teen stumbled to his feet and made a mad dash for the door. His short journey was interrupted when one of the middle aged ladies sprung up and clotheslined him hard, leaving him in an unconscious lump on the tiled floor. The salesman undid his tie and tossed it to the clotheslining mother who promptly began to tie up the teen’s hands while he was still out as the salesman held the weapon aiming careful for the perp’s head. Jeffery was still on the floor, lost in a daze. The old man had returned to his feet, relatively unharmed and Margaret and Ethel rushed to Jeffery’s aid. “Jeff! Oh my God! Are you okay? Jeff, he shot you! Oh Jeff!” Still not feeling the pain of what he thought three bullets to the chest would inflict on him, Jeff was extremely thankful for his thyroid’s ability to produce pain numbing chemicals in times of need. Just as he gingerly touched a wound and brought his only slightly bloody fingers to his eye level, Margaret fell down next to him, cradling his head in her lap. “Jeff, oh God, someone call 911! He’s been shot! Are you okay? Jeff, are you okay!?” “Coffee.” “Jeff... What? You want...coffee?” “Have coffee with me? Friday?” At this point Jeff wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, shock, or Margaret’s presence, but he never felt the full force of the bullets. “Jeff, we need to call an ambulance!” “Coffee? Yes? No? Maybe?” “Jeff, yes, I’ll get coffee with you, but you’re bleeding!" It was true, three crimson blossoms erupted in bloom on his white shirt, each less than an inch in diameter, nothing at all Jeff noted, like in the movies. Stirring from her answer, a rush of positive emotions rode through his body propelling him to his feet. He looked down at Margaret and offered his hand. “Jeff, I don’t understand, you were shot...” He walked over to the salesman and asked to see the gun; amazed that Jeff was on his feet he immediately handed over the weapon and stepped back in amazement. “Jeff, how... What’s going on? I...don’t understand,” implored Margaret. Jeffery walked over to the counter and pointed the gun muzzle down onto the teller counter and pulled the trigger. The report was surprisingly quiet. No one had noticed how silent the gun was in light of all the confusion. The light foosh rang throughout the bank but startled no one, Jeff was in charge. No one dared question the man who walked after being shot thrice. After he shot the quiet weapon, he put down the gun and picked up a small brass sphere, only a few millimeters in diameter. “BBs,” Jeff said with a smile. With that solemn declaration, Margaret beamed a smile through her tears and embraced Jeff wholly, surprising him at first, his hands at his sides, until he finally returned the embrace and felt the soft curves of his secret love pressed against his body. “Coffee...” Jeff said incredulously. “Yes, coffee, I’d love to get some coffee... I thought you’d never ask!” Jeff, lost in contemplation, held onto the embrace, slowly identifying with his new persona, the new Jeff Meadows who now had a date with Margaret. “Starbucks or Seattle’s Best?” he inquired. She answered with a kiss. Starbucks it was.