or at least twisting the truth to look prettier than it is.” I
felt the blues start to seep back in and sighed.
“You can’t like that. I know we’re barely
acquainted, but you are a scientist, are you not? So your natural bent must be
the search for truth. And, to the extent I do know you, you do not seem as if you are comfortable dissembling.”
“No, I’m not. Thank you for noticing.” I smiled
ruefully at him. “I truly regret accepting the job in marketing instead of
searching harder for work in chemistry and now I’ve spent years doing this and
getting rusty on science…” I trailed off, missing the relaxed feeling.
“And the company is insisting that you dress up
in costume and act out a play wherein you behave foolishly?” I nodded. “That’s
dreadful! Surely that’s not acceptable!”
“Well, I don’t like it, but I don’t have much
choice right now, since they have a perfect excuse to fire me after my public
outburst the evening I met you and I can’t afford to be unemployed.”
“Haven’t you an income?”
“Yes, as long as I work. If I lose my job, they
stop paying me.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Pardon me—that was an
impertinent question. Shall we stroll along the stream and see what the ducks
are up to?”
Weird again, but perfect manners
again. It was confusing, but I thought I liked him. And it was nice to have
someone to talk to about just how bad the situation at work was. When you talk
to co-workers, you just never know who they’ll mention it to, or at what point
they’ll stop sympathizing and start thinking you’ll ruin their jobs if you
aren’t stopped. Plus, I really didn’t enjoy finding out that people I thought
of as normal, smart, and reasonably honest didn’t have any problem with some of TAPI’s worst excesses. It was often
better not to talk than to find out.
He pointed out the ducks fishing for their
suppers and then he started telling me about the building of the Forest Park
canal system for the 1904 World’s Fair and I relaxed again.
The ducks weren’t the only ones looking for
supper. Evening was coming on, keepers were delivering food to their various
charges, and the crowds of humans were beginning to thin. We went to the snack
bar and paid much too much for hamburgers and bottled water, which we ate at a
grubby picnic table.
As we left the picnic area, he took my hand. I
tried not to react. I thought he might stop if I called any attention to it at
all and it was nice to have my hand held. You don’t get much handholding in a
grownup life, and it’s a shame. It’s a gesture that seems so remote from a
pass, but still so physically close, that it seems to show more affection than
a kiss or a hug.
Finally, we had revisited all of our favorite
animals and viewed the ones the crowds had kept us from and the place was
nearly empty. It was time to call it a day.
On the way back to my car, Bert asked if I
would go bicycling with him Tuesday afternoon, that is, if he could arrange to
borrow a bicycle for me.
“I have a bike of my own, Bert. But I can’t go.
I work on Tuesdays.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I just can’t get used to the
idea that a lady such as you must work.”
There were so many things in that short
sentence that I should object to, but I was tired and I really believed that he
meant well. People always claim, “I didn’t mean anything by it,” when they say
something derogatory, and it’s usually crap, but I thought Bert probably didn’t
mean anything unpleasant, so I let it go.
“I could do a bike ride tomorrow, if you like.
I don’t have anything planned.” Too late I realized that this was awfully
spontaneous for him, but the heck with it. Whatever this was—dating,
friendship, falling in love—it wasn’t going to work if I couldn’t be myself.
He blinked a little, but mastered himself and
said Sunday afternoon would be fine. He would drive his estate wagon—whatever
that
felt the blues start to seep back in and sighed.
“You can’t like that. I know we’re barely
acquainted, but you are a scientist, are you not? So your natural bent must be
the search for truth. And, to the extent I do know you, you do not seem as if you are comfortable dissembling.”
“No, I’m not. Thank you for noticing.” I smiled
ruefully at him. “I truly regret accepting the job in marketing instead of
searching harder for work in chemistry and now I’ve spent years doing this and
getting rusty on science…” I trailed off, missing the relaxed feeling.
“And the company is insisting that you dress up
in costume and act out a play wherein you behave foolishly?” I nodded. “That’s
dreadful! Surely that’s not acceptable!”
“Well, I don’t like it, but I don’t have much
choice right now, since they have a perfect excuse to fire me after my public
outburst the evening I met you and I can’t afford to be unemployed.”
“Haven’t you an income?”
“Yes, as long as I work. If I lose my job, they
stop paying me.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. Pardon me—that was an
impertinent question. Shall we stroll along the stream and see what the ducks
are up to?”
Weird again, but perfect manners
again. It was confusing, but I thought I liked him. And it was nice to have
someone to talk to about just how bad the situation at work was. When you talk
to co-workers, you just never know who they’ll mention it to, or at what point
they’ll stop sympathizing and start thinking you’ll ruin their jobs if you
aren’t stopped. Plus, I really didn’t enjoy finding out that people I thought
of as normal, smart, and reasonably honest didn’t have any problem with some of TAPI’s worst excesses. It was often
better not to talk than to find out.
He pointed out the ducks fishing for their
suppers and then he started telling me about the building of the Forest Park
canal system for the 1904 World’s Fair and I relaxed again.
The ducks weren’t the only ones looking for
supper. Evening was coming on, keepers were delivering food to their various
charges, and the crowds of humans were beginning to thin. We went to the snack
bar and paid much too much for hamburgers and bottled water, which we ate at a
grubby picnic table.
As we left the picnic area, he took my hand. I
tried not to react. I thought he might stop if I called any attention to it at
all and it was nice to have my hand held. You don’t get much handholding in a
grownup life, and it’s a shame. It’s a gesture that seems so remote from a
pass, but still so physically close, that it seems to show more affection than
a kiss or a hug.
Finally, we had revisited all of our favorite
animals and viewed the ones the crowds had kept us from and the place was
nearly empty. It was time to call it a day.
On the way back to my car, Bert asked if I
would go bicycling with him Tuesday afternoon, that is, if he could arrange to
borrow a bicycle for me.
“I have a bike of my own, Bert. But I can’t go.
I work on Tuesdays.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I just can’t get used to the
idea that a lady such as you must work.”
There were so many things in that short
sentence that I should object to, but I was tired and I really believed that he
meant well. People always claim, “I didn’t mean anything by it,” when they say
something derogatory, and it’s usually crap, but I thought Bert probably didn’t
mean anything unpleasant, so I let it go.
“I could do a bike ride tomorrow, if you like.
I don’t have anything planned.” Too late I realized that this was awfully
spontaneous for him, but the heck with it. Whatever this was—dating,
friendship, falling in love—it wasn’t going to work if I couldn’t be myself.
He blinked a little, but mastered himself and
said Sunday afternoon would be fine. He would drive his estate wagon—whatever
that
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