21

She was waiting forever. Forever and ever and oh, when would he come! She grew more impatient with each infinite tick of the watch on her wrist, with each infinite rush of the cars as they drove by. The sidewalk had absorbed the travels of all the feet that had walked on it, year after year. It stank, this thing that she was a part of.

It was poured in 1952, and stood grainy, grey, proud outside of a bank. The bank clock had been so large it had taken three men to carry it up and place it on the front of the bank. People had admired the clock for months and months after that, proudly telling strangers of its existence, naming it one of the seven wonders of Gautrie, checking their watches against it every time they walked by. The clock was long gone. The bank was long gone. She should know. She used to wait here every day at 5:00 for him to shuffle his papers into a neat pile, for him to put them in his briefcase, for him to shut his briefcase, for him to leave his mahogany desk, for him to flirt with the secretary, for him to solemnly tell his boss to Take care now, for him to walk slowly, all dignified in his sharp pointed shoes, his no-stray hair, towards the door, for him to open the door and take her arm and walk slowly towards the car for him to open the car door for her for him to get into the driver’s side for him to put the key in the ignition, for him to start the thumping engine, for him to drive away, for them to drive away together.

Later after the bank moved and the building became a drugstore, she would wait for him to fill his prescription and wonder if waiting was the right place for her, whether waiting was for someone else. Wondered about the prescription. Wondered what would be if it ran out. Wondered how long it would take for his blood pressure to reach atomic levels. Wondered about the mushroom cloud, wondered about the inevitable radiation. Could see herself crawling for the phone. Could see herself dripping. Could see him in the aftermath of the explosion straitjacketed to the floor, heart gone, heart in every piece of the room, in every piece of her.

Then he would come, older now. Angrier now. They would drive away together.

Oh when would he come! She could feel it squirming inside her, the impatience. Her kneecaps spoke to her, said they would buckle, said they were done with this waiting. It began to get dark.