The first time she ever came near to questioning God’s wisdom was when she discovered that He had gifted cockroaches with flight. “Why? Why?” she remembered asking as she scrambled to get away —baseball bat in one hand, slipper in the other—from the proud, carefree roach. Such a waste, Lord, such utter pointlessness! Later, with the hateful insect safely squished in front of her, she felt troubled for two reasons: that roaches could fly, and that it was enough to shake her faith in God.
She felt herself in danger of doubting Him again after meeting Boyfriend 01.
She and Boyfriend 01 had one of those relationships that were popular in the late nineties. They started out as chatmates and ended up committed to each other heart and soul, future and all. Before they even met each other. No problem. Love would conquer all. She repeated this over and over in her mind as she waited for him on their first date. She repeated it so many times that it became Love! Conquer all! That was an order.
Yes, order. She wanted to do that very much—she was hungry. But soon he would be here and he would order for her—he knew what she liked—and insist on paying for everything. Of course. And of course she would let him. They would choose the table farthest from everybody. They would be nervous and unsure. She would pick at her food and he would be amused, and maybe even try to make her have some of that caramel sundae that he loved so much. They would sneak shy looks at each other and smile. She would be relieved.
He showed up in a beige shirt and beige pants, topped with a beige cap, dragging oversized leather slip-ons. He wasn’t lean; he was bony. He didn’t “amble carelessly by like life was good and the world’s all right,” like he said on one of their late-night chat conversations. Rather, he plodded uncertainly. And he wasn’t tanned. He was gray. Smudged. Her boyfriend was smudged.
When he finally reached her (so soon?) he looked her up and down with a smile and traced the back of a cold index finger along her cheek down to her chin. “My girlfriend…” She shivered.
In her mind she was already in a cab going home. When he asked if she was ready to order, she said to her purse no, she wasn’t hungry; maybe they should go check the movie screening schedules. She slid out of her chair without waiting for his answer, and vaguely heard him addressing her back, her profile, her back—telling her he thought it cute that she was being so conservative like this, darting off this way and that, not letting him hold her hand and sway it with his and such. How come she never told him she was this shy? And she was thinking shame on you self, shame on you, what have you done.
