Lemuel was a lot to take in. 

Buckley settled into the passenger seat fully understanding that this would be a day to listen, to nod, to daydream, and to just get through. Buckley never spoke up. That was just too hard with Lemuel.

Lemuel had already started in, from the moment he had arrived in front of Buckley’s house and honked his horn an excessive number of times to announce his arrival.

Now, in the drive through line, he began to lecture on the differences between the crullers he had grown up with versus the European variety. “Nowadays, they call them ‘sticks’… can you image that? I still say cruller though because that’s the right way, the only way. And let me tell you, it ain’t that folded over fried thing you get across the pond or in the backwater hell holes down south. No, a cruller has to be made the long way, outstretched. And here’s the best part: it’s the exact same price as a donut. But, you get like twice as much. For the same price! Always get the cruller. You’ll see. You’ll see.” Lemuel was well pleased with himself and it was only 6:46AM.

Buckley nodded and softly offered: “That’s good to know. Get the cruller. Right.”

After ordering two coffees and two plain crullers – Lemuel never asked Buckley what he wanted – picking them up and driving away, Lemuel reached into the bag and barked: “Oh no. Stupid idiots. It’s a plain donut. I wanted a cruller. It’s too late to go back now. What stupid jerks. I can’t believe it. You know, they only hire idiots at these places now. No body wants to work anymore. What a shame.” 

Buckley had already been elevating, feeling the tension rising in his chest. From the horn blasts to the donut lecture and now the tirade against the workers, his thoughts fluttered at the edge of speech. Silence was no longer his shelter, only a pause.

“Dammit, Lem. Maybe the lady at the place never heard of crullers before. Or maybe she couldn’t hear you. Or got confused. Whatever. It doesn’t mean she’s stupid. I mean, does it even matter? A cruller, a stick, a donut. Just eat the damn thing!”

A rare hush settled over Lemuel and silence clung to him in a way that felt unusual. Then quietly: “Ok, Buck. Ok. I get it. I was just making small talk. You never open your mouth. It’s always totally on me to carry every conversation with you.”

Lemuel and Buckley eased into a shared stillness and together they drifted into the kind of quiet that asks nothing but explains everything.