Maggie Terry by Sarah Schulman

Author:Sarah Schulman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781936932405
Publisher: The Feminist Press at CUNY
Published: 2018-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

9:10 AM

Craig was waiting for her outside the church, just as he had promised. Now that they were out on the street together, his lack of height and the girth around his middle were both a lot more prominent. Apparently, he was reliable, despite his constant displays of irritation. He paced, mumbled, showing in all possible ways his desperation to get every show on the road. He was the kind of person who walked up the stairs deciding exactly what he was going to do when he got to the top. I will turn left, then check my phone, straighten my tie, and then turn right. It made it all make sense. He needed to understand what came next, and when the road was clear, only then could he advance. Maggie saw that as hurried and overburdened as he seemed to always be, Craig was never, ever late. This contributed to his general state of annoyance, which scampered before him, like a puppy. People who are always on time consider it a sign of decency, based on the principle of keeping their word. Saying “I will meet you at nine” is a promise, something the promised can rely on, and in turn they are then free to make and keep promises to others predicated on everyone being predictable. I can meet you at 9:10, because Craig is meeting me at 9:00 was the imagined domino effect he craved and was so proud to be a part of.

“It’s ten after nine,” he spat.

He was hurt, she could see it. Her lateness told him that she had not taken him into account, while he had fully considered her.

“Sorry.”

He was insulted, put-upon already, and it was not even 9:15. “You should have texted.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry that I am ten minutes late, and I am sorry that I didn’t think to text you, and I am sorry that even it if had crossed my mind I wouldn’t have been able to, because I still don’t have a cell phone, and I haven’t even checked to see if the landline is working because, I am sorry, I forgot about it.” Was she sincere? Did it matter right now? Better to get in the habit, and maybe taking responsibility would become part of her new life.

He stared at her.

“I am very, very sorry, Craig, and this is all entirely my fault.”

Maybe the Program was working. She didn’t have to hide in a bottle. She could just say it.

“Here.”

He handed her a bunched-up plastic bag, the kind that ecologists know kill birds, but that people use anyway for some unquantifiable reason.

“Is this trash?”

“Open it.”

“Now?”

“YES, NOW!” He hit his palm on his forehead and looked to the sky. She could see him mouth the words Praise Jesus.

Inside the bag was a little red flip phone, the kind that an eleven-year-old might carry, or maybe some kind of burner. In fact, since it had no packaging, it probably had belonged to one of his children who now were in possession of a far more sophisticated piece of technology.

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