Strangers in the Wind

Strangers in the Wind - Cut Copy (listen in new tab)

In the half empty church parking lot, K scrapes the windshield of his car. A thin layer of dusty particulate ice had crawled across the glass during the service and his stay at the reception.

The car rumbles and clatters under the layer of snow on the hood. The exhaust hangs low in grey white clouds by the muffler.

Since Jenny died, it had snapped cold, turned to blizzards, and this is the first clear day. The sky is a crystal blue glacial lake spilt across it. The old woman would be interred in the spring. The graveyard is frozen.

K stops, ponders up at the spires of St. Jerome’s Cathedral. The gargoyles, high up, look out sternly, obscured for a moment by the thin fog of his breath. The rose window is a Byzantine eye of tenebrous glass. He thinks: people will never build them like this again.

Maura comes out to him. She’s bundled into a dark grey wool parka. It hugs her curves. “You’re leaving?”

K: “Yeah. Well, I don’t want to impose on your family or anything.”

She casually knocks some snow off the roof; it falls in light streams, sliding down to the wipers. She watches it fall. “You’re not imposing.” Her face is ashen against the black scarf knotted around her neck. Her eyes look at him from far inside her. White breath escapes her mouth, her lips red in the cold.

K: “Well. I mean I don’t know my footing at these kinds of things.”

Maura shrugs off his words: “I don’t think anyone does. Half the people in there acted like I didn’t exist until three days ago. So awkward. Like all the time”

K opens the drivers side door, throws the scraper in. A little music escapes. He shrugs and smiles consolations. “Families are weird. You look exhausted.”

Maura: “I am.” She looks back at the Cathedral. It reaches up. Her feet feel fastened to the snow, locked in ice. She thinks for a moment. She wants to move. “Can you take me home?”

K: “Now?”

Maura: “Now.”

K: “No problem.” He slides into the driver’s seat, reaches across and unlocks the other door. Maura yanks, breaking the weak ice that had sealed it.

A little later, K is pulling his car on to the 401. Jenny’s cathedral is in a neighbourhood near the edge of the city. The expressway is the fastest way back home. The Cavalier resents having to speed up, and rattles in protest.

Maura had been quiet for a while. “I don’t think your car likes that.”

K: “It’ll be fine.” He pets the faded and stained dashboard lovingly. “You’re a satisfying machine, and you know it.”

She smiles, lets out a little laugh. It floats on the currents of warm air that push out from the vents. It twists and falls and rises into his ears. Settling there it rings loud in his head.

Maura: “I’m surprised there weren’t more people from the library.”

K: “There were some there. Jenny was well known. I mean, she had been there about as long as anyone. She had a real impact on the place. But, I think a lot of them are on the picket line today.”

Maura: “Right. How is that thing going?”

K changes lanes, moving out of the way of a speeding SUV. “The strike? Hah. No one in the city cares. The branches are all open and us contract workers get to cross the picket lines. Listen menopausal women can be scary. And, when they’re fighting for their pensions. Oh man. Jenny would have loved it. She was such a– Oh. Hey. I’m sorry.”

Maura is crying. Tears fall in rivulets from the corner of her eyes. She rubs her nose with her sleeve. “No. Sorry. I just. Well, you know?”

K is silent for a moment. “Yeah. Jenny was special. Hands down. A real dame.”

Maura sniffles a Yes. She puts her hand on his thigh. He puts his atop hers. The car jerks suddenly, skidding on some black ice, forcing him to grab the wheel tightly with both hands.

K: “Hah. Always turn into the skid, right?”

Her hand is still there when he pulls into the plowed clearing in front of Maura’s building. The entrance has the same yellow-white sheen it had months ago.

Maura: “Do you want to come up?”

The car rumbles as it idles. She squeezes his leg. “I’ll make tea. You can park down there.”

K: “Ok.”

She will put the faded white electric kettle on. And while he looks at her bookshelf, she’ll touch his back lightly, not with her full hand. It will make him turn around. And their eyes will meet and push into each other’s head with unrestrained, abandoned force.

The world spins on their axis as his hand finds the side of her face and her arms reach around his neck. The planet crashes to a halt, throwing them together, so that when they kiss it feels like the inertia of their isolate world is on them.

And as they kiss: the kettle rumbles and whistles, and they ignore the click.