June 3
We talked some more, switching to our respective lives, and for the first time since I'd met her, Sarah spoke of her life outside work. She lived alone in an apartment with a cat, read voraciously, and volunteered as a reader for the blind. She'd dated a few times after her divorce, but said her ex-husband had a knack for showing up at just the wrong moment. After a couple of disastrous beginnings, she'd given up dating entirely.
"Do you like living alone?" I asked her.
"Sure," she said. Then added, "More or less. It's something I've gotten used to."
"That's a pretty big price to pay for making a mistake in choosing your first husband," I suggested.
"Well, I guess that's why God invented batteries," she said, daring me to reply.
As Sarah told me her secrets, it seemed to me that something in her blossomed. I found her beautiful beyond description—not merely in a physical sense, for she was small and slender and not a classic beauty, but in her whole being. Something in her glowed. Like a grail, I thought. The dregs of our coffees had long gone cold when we finally rose to leave. “How about dinner?” I asked. “Thanks, Joel, really,” she said. “But I just want to get my car and go home.” “Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked. “Yes, of course,” she replied, dismissively. “He’ll cool off, and then he won’t bother me for a while.” I drove her back to the plant. The parking lot had only a dozen cars at this hour, the swing shift was on duty. At the offices, all the managers and administrators had left, and Sarah’s car sat alone next to the building. I pulled around to the side parking lot the accounting office used and parked next to Sarah’s blue sedan. “Thanks,” she said, and put her hand on the door handle. “Aw, crap,” I said, looking past her. Sarah looked at me, then turned and looked at her car. All the windows had been broken. “Oh,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. Then, anger took hold of her. “That son of a bitch!” she spat. A stream of expletives followed. When she ran out of steam, I said, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you to dinner, and we can figure out what to do next.” “Fine,” she said.
"Do you like living alone?" I asked her.
"Sure," she said. Then added, "More or less. It's something I've gotten used to."
"That's a pretty big price to pay for making a mistake in choosing your first husband," I suggested.
"Well, I guess that's why God invented batteries," she said, daring me to reply.
As Sarah told me her secrets, it seemed to me that something in her blossomed. I found her beautiful beyond description—not merely in a physical sense, for she was small and slender and not a classic beauty, but in her whole being. Something in her glowed. Like a grail, I thought. The dregs of our coffees had long gone cold when we finally rose to leave. “How about dinner?” I asked. “Thanks, Joel, really,” she said. “But I just want to get my car and go home.” “Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked. “Yes, of course,” she replied, dismissively. “He’ll cool off, and then he won’t bother me for a while.” I drove her back to the plant. The parking lot had only a dozen cars at this hour, the swing shift was on duty. At the offices, all the managers and administrators had left, and Sarah’s car sat alone next to the building. I pulled around to the side parking lot the accounting office used and parked next to Sarah’s blue sedan. “Thanks,” she said, and put her hand on the door handle. “Aw, crap,” I said, looking past her. Sarah looked at me, then turned and looked at her car. All the windows had been broken. “Oh,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. Then, anger took hold of her. “That son of a bitch!” she spat. A stream of expletives followed. When she ran out of steam, I said, “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you to dinner, and we can figure out what to do next.” “Fine,” she said.
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