Whoever Would Have Guessed?
The most charming man you’ll ever meet
August 2021
Last evening, in the final pond-side stretch of my sweat-drenched two-mile crawl, I spied a man rummaging amidst a turquoise Igloo cooler in the bed of a red pick-up truck.
As I proceeded to pass, he rose abruptly and leapt into my path — gallantly proffering a bottle of chilled water.
Though startled by his greeting me by name, I recognized John on sight. Once upon a time, I knew John very well.
Scratch the “very well” — its irony is wince-worthy. To rephrase: I met John twelve years ago at my volunteer job at a food pantry. He often drove me home and stayed for supper. We’d stop on the way to scoop his “wife,” Diane. (They weren’t married; John referred to her thus, he said, “out of respect.”)
Two years into our acquaintance, I chanced upon Diane downtown. She thrust forth her right hand, which was encased in a plaster cast. John had broken it. On purpose.
She proceeded to tell me John had spent nine years in prison — one year per year of age of the child he’d raped.
After the dual revelation, I gave John a wide berth.
Yesterday, when John offered the icy bottle, I accepted with a smile. It was sweltering, and I was grateful for it.
Besides, I didn’t want to piss him off by refusing — he knows where I live.
