It was dawn and Anthony was gone.
The radio did not deter her thoughts.
Streisand, Crystal Gale, Catherine Grimshaws CD I Tried Too Hard neither.
It was late Saturday night, early Sunday morning
and she would not be with people until Monday morning at work.
Somehow, some way she would have to expunge the memories of him
on her own for all the interim time,
Him.
He was like the man in the Gershwin song Someone to Watch Over Me,
Not what other girls would call handsome.
Not tall, not stubby, but hardly athletically built. with a decidedly crooked nose,
slightly to the right side of his face,
but those eyes!
They bore into her,
they had for eight and a half months,
on very late Friday nights and early Saturday and Sunday mornings--
until this one when he left to catch his flight to California, to Culver City where he too would go to work, like her at his new position, three hours later than her.
But not like her.
He would have the large distraction of a new job, new things to distract, new things anxiously to master, to prove.
She would be blotted from his brilliant brain,
the reason they had hounded him, courted him until he had succumbed, joined their firm,
not been hired, but joined.
Other women, pretty women, would not be of interest, not for awhile.
Work would master him, like he would master it. Easily.
She would have to go on without, with little hope of anything, empty like the gauge of her
Honda, when the needle was low.
In the morning she would go to Mass, for the first time in nine months and sit there, try to listen to Father Carey's sermon, not hearing a word of his too-long homily.
And after Mass, Dory would come over to ask where she had been all this time,
tell her how much she had missed her and invite her to coffee, breakfast if she wanted at
the Mayflower, where she would hear about Richard's cancer, out of remission and returned in full hunger, taking him away, quickly away,
too with little hope,
but with a resolve to go on,
faith,
faith in little things,,
as she would have to go on,
but with no hope,
no hope at all.
She looked at the restaurant's counter where a stubby, middle-aged man, nondescript, read the Sunday Times, a real paper like the old days, the book review supplement, like those
of older days.
He was engrossed, in a review on the inside,
thoroughly,
not happy, outwardly anyway,
but with causal distraction in the literary matter he read,
on his second cup of coffee, the fill-up from Gwen behind the counter, divorced but
engaged in her tasks, plying her trade of twelve years at the Mayflower, her craft.
She would have to do the same.
Suddenly, inexplicably, Dory's handsome face, two years younger than hers, came into focus, her conversation, monologue about the new coat she had bought at Durray''s,
broke into her reverie, her brokenness,
and then into Dory's jabbering
and she asked what was Dory doing that day,
when was the last time she had been to the zoo, yes the zoo,
Dory lit up and laughed, she could not remember.
Yes, that sounds like it would be fun!
Let's!
She herself picked up the tab in the small plastic tray, detail,
left a five dollar tip, of Lincoln, more detail,
more distance from Anthony in Culver City unpacking his bags.
Let's, let's go see the monkeys, she said with lost schoolgirl joyousness,
let's see how funny they think things are in the world,
how funny they think we look, the both of us,
soon each without men,
Dory without Richard,
her without Anthony starting today, at the zoo,
detail in matters,
in life,
funny as all get-out to the monkeys, serious but happier than they should ever be,
locked behind bars on a glorious Sunday afternoon!
She stopped at the counter at the man with the Times,
to ask what he was reading.
A retrospective of Eudora Welty's work,
her beautiful craft,
at a typewriter,
an old Royal probably,
non-electric.
Dory joined in,
yes, Eudora was great,
Richard to be gone,
maybe next month,
maybe next week,
but all three smiling,
this man would probably go with them to the zoo, but no, that was for the two of them,
just for them,
and they were now all laughing at something or another,
and so was Gwen, divorced Gwen, who likely had never heard of Eudora Welty,
but they would all survive because all was right with God's world,
Father Carey's God whose world was good and to be embraced,
of all things,
for her,
for Dory and her,
this day at the zoo,
with the monkeys behind their bars-- on Sunday afternoon in summertime!--
laughing,
laughing away,
so glad to see them,
funny,
funny as can be dammit,
dammit Anthony at his damn new job in Culver,
rest in peace,
'cause I got Dory,
I got Gwen,
and whoever this guy was with his Tines and Eudora.
come on,
let's go, Dory, I've got to stop for gas to fill up for gas, see you next Sunday, Gwen,
I've got things to do,
places to go,
with a song in my damn heart!
The radio did not deter her thoughts.
Streisand, Crystal Gale, Catherine Grimshaws CD I Tried Too Hard neither.
It was late Saturday night, early Sunday morning
and she would not be with people until Monday morning at work.
Somehow, some way she would have to expunge the memories of him
on her own for all the interim time,
Him.
He was like the man in the Gershwin song Someone to Watch Over Me,
Not what other girls would call handsome.
Not tall, not stubby, but hardly athletically built. with a decidedly crooked nose,
slightly to the right side of his face,
but those eyes!
They bore into her,
they had for eight and a half months,
on very late Friday nights and early Saturday and Sunday mornings--
until this one when he left to catch his flight to California, to Culver City where he too would go to work, like her at his new position, three hours later than her.
But not like her.
He would have the large distraction of a new job, new things to distract, new things anxiously to master, to prove.
She would be blotted from his brilliant brain,
the reason they had hounded him, courted him until he had succumbed, joined their firm,
not been hired, but joined.
Other women, pretty women, would not be of interest, not for awhile.
Work would master him, like he would master it. Easily.
She would have to go on without, with little hope of anything, empty like the gauge of her
Honda, when the needle was low.
In the morning she would go to Mass, for the first time in nine months and sit there, try to listen to Father Carey's sermon, not hearing a word of his too-long homily.
And after Mass, Dory would come over to ask where she had been all this time,
tell her how much she had missed her and invite her to coffee, breakfast if she wanted at
the Mayflower, where she would hear about Richard's cancer, out of remission and returned in full hunger, taking him away, quickly away,
too with little hope,
but with a resolve to go on,
faith,
faith in little things,,
as she would have to go on,
but with no hope,
no hope at all.
She looked at the restaurant's counter where a stubby, middle-aged man, nondescript, read the Sunday Times, a real paper like the old days, the book review supplement, like those
of older days.
He was engrossed, in a review on the inside,
thoroughly,
not happy, outwardly anyway,
but with causal distraction in the literary matter he read,
on his second cup of coffee, the fill-up from Gwen behind the counter, divorced but
engaged in her tasks, plying her trade of twelve years at the Mayflower, her craft.
She would have to do the same.
Suddenly, inexplicably, Dory's handsome face, two years younger than hers, came into focus, her conversation, monologue about the new coat she had bought at Durray''s,
broke into her reverie, her brokenness,
and then into Dory's jabbering
and she asked what was Dory doing that day,
when was the last time she had been to the zoo, yes the zoo,
Dory lit up and laughed, she could not remember.
Yes, that sounds like it would be fun!
Let's!
She herself picked up the tab in the small plastic tray, detail,
left a five dollar tip, of Lincoln, more detail,
more distance from Anthony in Culver City unpacking his bags.
Let's, let's go see the monkeys, she said with lost schoolgirl joyousness,
let's see how funny they think things are in the world,
how funny they think we look, the both of us,
soon each without men,
Dory without Richard,
her without Anthony starting today, at the zoo,
detail in matters,
in life,
funny as all get-out to the monkeys, serious but happier than they should ever be,
locked behind bars on a glorious Sunday afternoon!
She stopped at the counter at the man with the Times,
to ask what he was reading.
A retrospective of Eudora Welty's work,
her beautiful craft,
at a typewriter,
an old Royal probably,
non-electric.
Dory joined in,
yes, Eudora was great,
Richard to be gone,
maybe next month,
maybe next week,
but all three smiling,
this man would probably go with them to the zoo, but no, that was for the two of them,
just for them,
and they were now all laughing at something or another,
and so was Gwen, divorced Gwen, who likely had never heard of Eudora Welty,
but they would all survive because all was right with God's world,
Father Carey's God whose world was good and to be embraced,
of all things,
for her,
for Dory and her,
this day at the zoo,
with the monkeys behind their bars-- on Sunday afternoon in summertime!--
laughing,
laughing away,
so glad to see them,
funny,
funny as can be dammit,
dammit Anthony at his damn new job in Culver,
rest in peace,
'cause I got Dory,
I got Gwen,
and whoever this guy was with his Tines and Eudora.
come on,
let's go, Dory, I've got to stop for gas to fill up for gas, see you next Sunday, Gwen,
I've got things to do,
places to go,
with a song in my damn heart!
