Right at
the time I'm least emotionally able to respond."
"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I never
should have dumped my problem on you."
"We're out of tacos."
"The truck is still there. How many more do
you want?"
"No more. I just said it to try and change
the subject. But it's a subject we need to finish."
"I've been praying to God for an answer to my
life," he said. "And this morning, when I least expected it, I
turned around ... and there you were. And something inside me said,
This is it!"
His words landed inside her like tiny
explosions. "What do you mean, This is it?"
He looked helplessly around, nonplused, as
though hoping for some source of rescue, and finding none, resorted
to the primal comfort and security of sipping his root beer. The
straw hit air and there was a loud slurping sound.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't change the subject," she said. "You
just said you saw me and a voice told you This is it. I want you to
explain."
He looked at her. "I'm making a total fool of
myself," he said. "So why don't we drop it."
"No!"
He swallowed and said, in a raspy voice,
"Something inside me told me when I saw you, you were for me. And I
felt ... way deep down ... it was true. I can't shake the feeling,
and it's killing me, because the whole thing is so impossible. I'm
probably supposed to be making tracks to seminary, and now here you
are, and my whole insides are turned upside down. There! I've told
you! Satisfied?"
"No. What exactly is it about me you think is
so great?"
"Your eyes. Your hair. Your mouth. The sound
of your voice. The way you carry yourself. And the fact I feel like
there's a little history, since I knew your father, however
briefly. The way your father believed we would be good together. I
don't know how to explain it. I feel connected to you. And the
arranged marriage thing, I think I was just playing along with the
idea, you know, to please your dad, and my parents. I really didn't
think you'd go for it."
"But it was planned for this Saturday."
"That was a fleece. Setting the date like
that. I knew there was no guarantee God would honor that date. I
figured it highly likely you'd think the idea was ridiculous. Or
that we'd hate each other the minute we met. I never dared believe
fully it was real. I think I might have been living out a fantasy.
But now that I've met you, and there's the merest whisper of chance
it might be coming true, the whole thing is so huge I can't even
breathe when I think about it."
She sat there without speaking for what
seemed a very long time. Images came and went. Images of Stretch
and her father playing chess. Images of General Kremsky, like a
movie-star grandfather, with his dentist-perfect teeth and crown of
silver white hair, laughing at a joke she told. Images of her
former boss Bob Archer, on her first day of work, humiliating her
in front of the entire office by sending her downstairs for coffee.
Making her add the sugar and cream. Images of herself redecorating
her new office where Bob Archer used to hold court. Images of Phil,
returning to a smoke-filled AA room, a hangdog look on his face.
Images of herself and Stretch Murphy at a Wednesday night service,
singing their hearts out and praising God in loud, joyful voices.
Images of wedding rings on their fingers. Images of herself in her
first maternity dress.
"I'm just like you, Stretch," she said. "I'm
very lonely inside. Do you know how I met General Kremsky? It was
because one Sunday afternoon, shortly after I'd moved to Pacific
Heights, I was so lonely I was crawling the walls, so I took the
Muni over to Golden Gate Park. I saw this old man with white hair
sitting by himself with a chess board over near the rose garden. He
reminded me of my dad, so I said hello. He invited me to sit down,
and we began to talk. We played a game of chess. We began meeting
regularly after that. I used to take him a nice home-cooked lunch.
Later, unbeknownst to me, he looked into my background and launched
my
the time I'm least emotionally able to respond."
"You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I never
should have dumped my problem on you."
"We're out of tacos."
"The truck is still there. How many more do
you want?"
"No more. I just said it to try and change
the subject. But it's a subject we need to finish."
"I've been praying to God for an answer to my
life," he said. "And this morning, when I least expected it, I
turned around ... and there you were. And something inside me said,
This is it!"
His words landed inside her like tiny
explosions. "What do you mean, This is it?"
He looked helplessly around, nonplused, as
though hoping for some source of rescue, and finding none, resorted
to the primal comfort and security of sipping his root beer. The
straw hit air and there was a loud slurping sound.
"Sorry," he said.
"Don't change the subject," she said. "You
just said you saw me and a voice told you This is it. I want you to
explain."
He looked at her. "I'm making a total fool of
myself," he said. "So why don't we drop it."
"No!"
He swallowed and said, in a raspy voice,
"Something inside me told me when I saw you, you were for me. And I
felt ... way deep down ... it was true. I can't shake the feeling,
and it's killing me, because the whole thing is so impossible. I'm
probably supposed to be making tracks to seminary, and now here you
are, and my whole insides are turned upside down. There! I've told
you! Satisfied?"
"No. What exactly is it about me you think is
so great?"
"Your eyes. Your hair. Your mouth. The sound
of your voice. The way you carry yourself. And the fact I feel like
there's a little history, since I knew your father, however
briefly. The way your father believed we would be good together. I
don't know how to explain it. I feel connected to you. And the
arranged marriage thing, I think I was just playing along with the
idea, you know, to please your dad, and my parents. I really didn't
think you'd go for it."
"But it was planned for this Saturday."
"That was a fleece. Setting the date like
that. I knew there was no guarantee God would honor that date. I
figured it highly likely you'd think the idea was ridiculous. Or
that we'd hate each other the minute we met. I never dared believe
fully it was real. I think I might have been living out a fantasy.
But now that I've met you, and there's the merest whisper of chance
it might be coming true, the whole thing is so huge I can't even
breathe when I think about it."
She sat there without speaking for what
seemed a very long time. Images came and went. Images of Stretch
and her father playing chess. Images of General Kremsky, like a
movie-star grandfather, with his dentist-perfect teeth and crown of
silver white hair, laughing at a joke she told. Images of her
former boss Bob Archer, on her first day of work, humiliating her
in front of the entire office by sending her downstairs for coffee.
Making her add the sugar and cream. Images of herself redecorating
her new office where Bob Archer used to hold court. Images of Phil,
returning to a smoke-filled AA room, a hangdog look on his face.
Images of herself and Stretch Murphy at a Wednesday night service,
singing their hearts out and praising God in loud, joyful voices.
Images of wedding rings on their fingers. Images of herself in her
first maternity dress.
"I'm just like you, Stretch," she said. "I'm
very lonely inside. Do you know how I met General Kremsky? It was
because one Sunday afternoon, shortly after I'd moved to Pacific
Heights, I was so lonely I was crawling the walls, so I took the
Muni over to Golden Gate Park. I saw this old man with white hair
sitting by himself with a chess board over near the rose garden. He
reminded me of my dad, so I said hello. He invited me to sit down,
and we began to talk. We played a game of chess. We began meeting
regularly after that. I used to take him a nice home-cooked lunch.
Later, unbeknownst to me, he looked into my background and launched
my
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