July 2, 2008
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�I haven�t seen her all week,� he said. �I�ve been busy.�
�Doing what?� my wife asked.
�Well, you know, cleaning up around the house, going to church, things like that.�
�Really? You sure you haven�t gotten cold feet? I know it can be scary, possibly starting a new relationship after all these years. Not counting the movie, have you gone out with her at least once on an actual, pre-arranged date?�
He didn�t say anything.
�Look, Dad, why don�t we go out to dinner, just the four of us? Help you ease back into the dating pool.�
�I don�t know.�
�I�ll pay,� I said.
�We�ll pay,� my wife said.
A few nights later, the four of us were at Tolsen�s, my father-in-law�s favorite restaurant, a place that served comfort food without any irony: meatloaf sandwiches on white bread, chicken chunks in gravy, tuna casserole topped with corn flakes, et cetera. He had met his future wife there his first visit in 1957, when they were both nineteen and she was his waitress. Decades later, he still told the story that he�d wanted to order a cherry float, but �her incredible beauty� had made him so nervous that he�d ordered a �sherry float� instead. �Well, I blushed all the way down to my argyle socks,� he would say. �Later, she told me that that was the first thing she liked about me, my modesty. And she said the second thing she liked about me was my argyle socks.� He had worn argyle socks ever since.
I didn�t know if he had told Carla that story. He didn�t tell it to her in the restaurant. He didn�t say much at all, in fact. She did most of the talking, with very little prodding from my wife and me. She said she�d married her husband Doyle Fincher in 1969, when they were both twenty-one and �unapologetic non-hippies.� She said that �opposites really do attract,� that she had always been �a book person,� and he had always been �a computer person.� He was one of the first computer programmers, and �one of the first to get into the financial-planning software business in the early Eighties, when floppy disks were literally floppy.� He died in 1998, when he was fifty, from pancreatic cancer; she hadn�t remarried. She�d also stopped eating red meat, because �Doyle�s carnivorous diet might have contributed to his awful disease.� And she�d �become born again� to find some comfort in her grief. Oh, and the Finchers had had only one child, Kurt, born in 1977 and �a computer maestro like his father.� Kurt was �a head honcho� at New Circuit Systems, a local computer development company. He got married nine years ago to Kris Fincher, no relation, a client support supervisor where he worked. �She�s a lovely woman and the mother of my lovely grandchildren.�
�And how are you grandchildren doing?� I asked.
�Oh, they�re doing well,� Carla said. �I spent the day with them yesterday and�oh, you have to hear this. We were watching a TV news show about the presidential race. I asked the girls whom they wanted to win in November, and they both said, at the same time, �Barack Obama!� I asked them why they wanted him to win, and Emily said �Because he�s black like us!� And Emma said �Yay, blacks!� Great political analysis, right?�
Everyone in our booth laughed. Everyone except for my father-in-law.
�What�s wrong, Dad?� my wife asked during the drive back to his house. �You�ve barely said a word all night.�
�I just don�t feel like talking,� he said.
�You always feel like talking. If something�s wrong, you should tell us, so maybe we can help.�
�Well�� he began.
�Yes, Dad?�
�It�s that anecdote Carla told, about her granddaughters? About how her granddaughters like Barack Obama because they think he�s black like them? First, Barack Obama isn�t black, he�s mulatto, and so are her granddaughters.�
�He calls himself black,� I said.
�So what? He�s lying. He wants to make whites feel guilty so they�ll vote for him. As for the granddaughters, I know they�re just eight years old, but they�re either lying or misinformed about their race. In any event, Carla really shouldn�t encourage them to make false statements about themselves. And, well, isn�t it supposed to be racist to support a candidate because of his skin color? Isn�t Carla worried those girls will grow up to be black radicals, or should I say mulatto radicals?�
No one in the car said anything for a few seconds.
�And I get the feeling Carla supports Barack Obama. How can any Christian support a Muslim sleeper agent like him?�
�You�ve been reading The Trumpet too much,� I said. �Everyone knows Obama actually worships Loony Lou the Hypoglycemic Clown.�
No one in the car said anything for a few seconds.
�You�re joking, right?� my wife asked.
�Maybe we shouldn�t have expected him to start a new romance there, at Tolsen�s,� she said later that night in our bedroom, as she started taking off her jewelry, and I started unbuttoning my shirt. �I mean, that place has sentimental value to him, and I don�t think he�s entirely gotten over Mom yet.�
�Well, where else could we have taken him? He doesn�t seem like a Hooters type of guy,� I said as I removed my shirt and tossed it onto that hardback chair.
�I wouldn�t say that. I think he likes owls.�
I embraced her from behind, my hands around her waist. She moved closer to me.
�Let�s have a child,� I said.
�A child,� she said.
�Sure. The twins have convinced me. We should bring some joy into the world.�
�Okay, how about you wear those leather shorts with the zipper?�
�I�m serious.�
�Of course you are. I�ve thought about having a kid myself, but I don�t know if I�m ready to get pregnant. And if I were ready, it really wouldn�t matter for the next four days, if you know what I mean.� She slowly started rubbing her behind up and down against my crotch. �But we can do a certain other activity.�
She wanted to change the subject, to distract me from my desire to reproduce. To belittle, in a way, my desire to reproduce. However, after four years of marriage, I still liked her high, firm, shapely behind to an infinite degree, so�
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� 2008 David V. Matthews