by Ed Hurst
from the flirts, without even the slightest hint of a smile until he turned to face Becky. Totally at ease as usual, he asked absently if she’d had a chance to read any of his stuff.
She found her voice and a measure of smile. Some shred of her professional demeanor rushed forward to save the moment, allowing her to carefully drawl, “Probably more than I should have, since I neglected some paperwork.” Some part of her wanted to gush, to cry for mercy and beg at his feet for some kind of release from the chaos of colliding galaxies in her head, and wondered if any of it were visible to him.
“I confess some of it was a horrendous struggle to write. Many sleepless nights pounding my mind, hoping for some way to put such things into words. It’s funny how writing like that brings both peace and serious doubts. It felt good to get the weight off my chest, yet sometimes it surprises me anyone can stand to read it.”
Her professional composure ran away screaming in terror. She put her hand over her mouth; the chewing of food slowed dramatically. Perhaps her eyes said more than even she knew.
“Most people don’t get it. Of those who do, most find it no more than mildly entertaining. I write because I can’t shut up. But for those few who seem to get it, who tell me they find something useful in it, I’m always very grateful. There’s nothing like offering someone -- anyone -- something that sets them free. For just a tiny few of us in this world, we sense that there has to be something more, something no one else can or will see.”
He paused for a moment, took a bite, chewed a bit, and then washed it down with coffee. She more or less copied his action. Then he continued, “If you read much at all, I’m really flattered.”
She managed to smile slowly and almost spoke when the flirty trio interrupted.
“Hey, Rod. Do you know anything about cars?”
She decided to take advantage of this noisome interference and regain some composure. Rob basically put them off, but it took awhile. Becky found amusement at herself for daring to believe he was trying to get rid of them so he could be alone with her. As they walked away, he leaned forward and spoke in a comical conspiratorial manner. “How many sexual predators like that will I have to deal with here?”
Becky almost wet herself laughing behind her fragile reserve and he didn’t seem to expect a serious answer.
“Most of them are too young for me. I would have almost nothing in common with them.” She didn’t tell him they were almost her age, deciding it didn’t matter. He continued, “It has nothing to do with actual chronological age, but they act like silly schoolgirls.”
7
Miss Community Coordinator peeped out from behind the corner of her mind. “I forgot to ask, Rod, just how old are you?”
“Well, my orders say I was born in 1960. So far as I know, that’s accurate.” Not a shred of smart-aleck, just gentle ribbing.
She doubted she was the only one who would have thought him much younger. She was almost back in control of herself again. “They definitely belong to a later generation than you, but I agree that’s really not the point.”
“Not at all like you, eh Becky?”
She paused, but decided it simply couldn’t be avoided forever. She had to say something or lose it completely. “I find myself watching almost everything in this community pass by me on a different track entirely. It’s part of my position to be all things to all people, at least within the bureaucratic limits, but I can’t afford to really get personally involved. I’m even more detached than the people in Finance.” It was a favorite speech she had rehearsed and used often enough.
He offered a half-smile. “Professionally, at least, my contract requires pretty much the same perspective. I couldn’t possibly muster the sort of external schizophrenia of a spy or anything, pretending with deep cover to be something else, but I also can’t simply come here and jump into the hot-tub and party with wild abandon. Besides, if that were my style, I’d never have gotten this job. I’m pretty sure I was hired because I’m nothing like the people I encounter.” Again, that pause. “That’s why I’m so delighted to find someone like you here. If nothing else, there is at least someone I can talk to.”
A part of her kept a claw’s grip on her normal public persona, hoping she wasn’t going to leave too much blood to clean up later. Forcing it to stand to the fore, she stabbed to death the words, “Glad I could help.” Instead, she said, “I hope I’m up to it. Your books leave my head spinning.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then you do understand, because that neatly describes what it’s like to write them. I won’t flatter myself by suggesting it takes some special courage to confront such ideas, but if you read much at all, you know I emphasize how important it is we become comfortable with that dissonance. I’m not offering answers, just suggesting we have been asking the wrong questions. At least, wrong for a few of us. What others take as chaos is my home.”
He pushed back from the table a bit. “I have to go. I do hope I’m not reading too much into your response to my work. Whatever you do, don’t let me bore you like some overeager boy telling his wild fantasies to the first listening ear.”
Holding her gaze just for a moment, he gave her a full gentle smile, then walked away, shouldering his laptop bag as he headed for the exit. His bicycle helmet swung merrily off one side.
“As if,” she said out loud with her eyes following him. She smiled and turned back to the remains of her breakfast. Her appetite for his company was even bigger.
8
Back at her office, she dug into her paperwork. Perhaps it was some element of desperation, but that was fine, because whatever it was had given her the energy to catch up and even get ahead prepping some other bureaucratic junk. In the back of her mind, she had tried at least a dozen times to balance out the most obvious two warring halves of her and write Rod an email.
Finally, something new reared its head. She called it “resolve” and simply wrote what should have been obvious:
Rod, I appreciate the time you take helping me to understand your writing. As you suggest, it really is helping me understand myself. For that reason, you need not fear I am faking any interest in our conversations. Don’t stop now.
Whether her resolve was simply the backside of desperation, it no longer mattered. Whatever it was, it was worth making a fool of herself. She would take whatever Rod was pleased to offer of himself. At her age, it was wholly unlikely she would permanently lose her grip. Some part of her would eventually snap back to reality as it had in the past. Or, she’d go off the deep end and it really didn’t matter any more.
Digging into the storage closet, she pulled opened a few of the game boxes supplied by the system for community holiday gatherings. From one game she grabbed a single standard die, and from a trivia game she got a pair of calendar dice. She brought these back to her desk.
She found an inactive blog Rod had left standing. Six years of posting at least once daily. The volume was massive and she wanted a feel for his less formal writing. Using the collection of dice, she selected random dates and read however many posts he made that day. She got lost until lunch time, but somehow seemed in better control of herself. At least, it seemed so. She got up and caught Sam on the way down to the cafeteria.
It was too late to pretend she was going to return to her self. If this was madness, it was fine. She discussed with Sam some of the oddball mix of stuff Rod revealed in the less focused writing for which most people kept a blog. It had become more apparent to her how Rod got his job. He knew how to state some issues with frightening clarity. The thread of logic was obviously self-consistent, but the underlying pattern was as alien as Sam had suggested. Still, while Rod’s books were focused on thinking itself, his blog posts addressed a full range of social commentary. She knew Rod would be gone all day and chatted comfortably with Sam.
Her primary question had to do with Rod’s comments about romantic mythology. Lacking Sam’s background, she was at a loss to make sense of it. Becky had never felt she was any part of fe
minism, but found Rod castigating things she had always thought were common sense. Some times it could be pretty harsh, almost offensive to her eyes. She wasn’t put off by it, just wholly surprised by it. He clearly cared about people and was rather gentle with human weakness, never seeming to deny his own.
Sam shook his head sagely. “I take it you’ve heard of the various forms of Men’s Rights movements, fighting to regain what they claim is an unjust bias in the family courts against them.”
No, it was not news to Becky. She figured there must have been some truth to it, but was cynical about the courts in the first place. She figured kids were getting the worst of it either way, but most people had no clue about marriage and family in the first place.
Sam half-smiled. “We agree on that much. The Men’s Rights bunch often says the same sort of thing. An extension of the same men thinking about things in general gave birth to a more deeply philosophical consideration of the social structure of romantic relationships. They convinced themselves, with some validity perhaps, women were mostly self-deceived about their own wiring. Further, women have projected this self-deception into society in general. The whole study goes in depth into human sexual response, some of it written at a genuine scholarly level. All too much of it is drivel on how to pick up