In the Dark - Anne Wright

In the dark, Gary could see a man and a woman inside the house through the undraped picture window: the man, paunchy and balding, up on a ladder, and the woman, squat and with a full head of bushy grey hair, pointing at the ceiling. He stopped walking and clicked the button on the retractable leash so the dogs could wander while he stood there, watching. The man stood on the top rung and reached for the light fixture. He removed a bulb, and as he handed it to the woman, he lost his balance and fell off the ladder. Gary saw her fluffy head disappear from the window, then reappear along with the man’s shiny pate as she pulled him up from the floor. To Gary’s astonishment, the man then grabbed her by her shoulders and kissed her, unbuttoning her loose dress, and then they fell out of sight, leaving the bright rectangle of the picture window empty.

Gary turned his back on the house, his shoulders slumped. The dogs were criss-crossing their leashes in a search for that special smell along the weeds next to the sidewalk. It wasn’t the first time he had felt empty inside, but here in the dark, without the distractions of his cluttered living room or bleak workspace, he realized how much he wanted to touch a the linen dress on a woman’s shoulders, and put his fingers through the soft curly hair on the back of a woman’s head, and smell the rich warmness of her skin.

He continued walking around the block to his house, wondering where he could meet someone. Church would not be the right place; people who joined a church for the social aspects were hypocrites, and besides, he was an agnostic. He thought about the women he worked with. They were married or involved with someone. Of course there was the receptionist, but she had an inflamed nose piercing, and she smelled of pot when she came in from her breaks. In his neighborhood, he was the only single person. He had been living with his mother since he’d graduated from the university, and after she died he stayed on in the house that he’d grown up in. His old neighborhood had changed. All the other houses were filled with young couples with herds of children, or very old people like the ones he had just seen through the window.

When he arrived home, he took off his shoes and went into the kitchen looking for something sweet, or cold. He opened the refrigerator and saw the slice of chocolate cake in its clear plastic coffin, the cake that the grocery checker had recommended. She was friendly, and Gary usually searched for her checkout line, even if he had to wait, because she’d smile at him. He liked to look at her apron, stretched over the roundness of her breasts, and peek at the shadowed curves below the buttons of her polo shirt. Her name tag said Sheila. As he stood in the kitchen and ate the cake from its box, he thought that tomorrow when he shopped for dinner, he’d find out if Sheila wanted to meet him on her break. He poured some milk into a glass and drank it, then went into the bedroom to get ready for bed. The dogs had positioned themselves on his bed, one with her head on the pillow, and the other at the foot, their eyes closed and legs outstretched, leaving just enough room for him to squeeze under the covers.

Gary couldn’t sleep. Over and over he practiced what to do at the grocery store. Should he wait until nobody was at Sheila’s station? That probably wouldn’t happen, because most people shopped after work. How could he compose his words so that she would be likely to say yes? He remembered a sales course that he took one summer vacation, but could not think of how they phrased those convincing words. What if she didn’t have a break? She might have already had a break. Maybe he should write her a note and slip it to her with his money. No, that felt creepy. The sky filled with a violet dawn when he finally drifted off.