Olfaction

'I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith

But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.'

T S Eliot, 'Four Quartets - East Coker'

Dorothy's feet throbbed after 7 hours standing at the checkout. Another hour and she'd be off work, then the two mile walk home on concrete sidewalks in her worn canvas sneakers before she could sit in her threadbare armchair to rest up for another day of the same. The line of shoppers stretched far into the aisle, audibly grumbling to one another that in a store with 24 checkout stations, only three were open. And many took it out on her when she was ringing them up. She knew she'd be fired if she explained to them that the long lines were a management decision - lay off cashiers, keeping only the ones who were desperate enough to work for minimum wage and forego legally mandated breaks. Her 'customer smile' grew fainter with each cutting remark about how long they'd been waiting. She'd learned to make as little eye contact as possible when the lines grew this long, to avoid giving them further opportunity for unwelcome interaction. The formula was now rote: greet them cheerily, tell them the amount due, announce the amount tendered, count the change aloud, and send them on their way with "Thank you for shopping with us, and thank you for your patience. Have a wonderful day." Most of the men merely grunted in reply, the women usually were more acidic in their rejoinder. She felt the burden of social interaction keenly.

With each customer her smile grew more wan, and her voice began to tremble with weariness and the throbbing of her feet. Days like this were the hardest, when the pain of being alive became a shrill scream rather than a soft ache at the edges of her consciousness. She rang up yet another customer's order and gave the rote response.

"And thank YOU for being here to take care of us, Dorothy!" came the cheerful reply, and her eyes jerked up to look at the unexpected acknowledgment. A tall, smiling young man stood across the counter from her, his eyes atwinkle as he looked at her name tag. His smile was captivating, and for the first time in recent memory she felt as though someone cared that she existed. Her own smile became genuine in response, showing deep dimples and straight white teeth. The lines at the corners of her mouth creased and her eyes sparkled.

"You're most welcome, young man!" she exclaimed, and as he picked up his bags at the carousel, she called after him, "Have a wonderful afternoon!" He nodded cheerily.

"You know, you're a very pretty girl when you smile," the next customer remarked as he approached the till. She glanced at him, and saw his gaze shift from her face to her full breasts. He ogled shamelessly, then leered at her, "Maybe we could get to know each other a little better."

She kept a smile but it grew plastic and hard, and she dropped her eyes to the counter as she scanned his beer and whiskey. "Thank you, sir, but I'm married."

"Doesn't matter to me if it doesn't matter to you, honey," he smirked, and as she cast about for some kind of shut-down that wouldn't get her in trouble with management, she heard a clear voice cut in.

"I think the lady is trying to tell you that she's trapped behind this counter and has no choice but to listen to inconsiderate jerks coming on to her when she's just trying to do her job." Dorothy's head swiveled to see the young man still standing at the end of the carousel. His eyes were no longer smiling but were hard and cold as he looked at the creep in front of her.

The jerk put up one hand with a semi-apologetic leer. His teeth were yellowed from cigarettes, and his eyes were flat. "No harm, no foul. I'm on my way." He grabbed his bag of booze and, skirting Dorothy's rescuer, scooted out the door, pausing only to look back at her with a scowl.

She cast a grateful glance at the young man, who was close on the heels of the jerk as though to make sure he left.

The last hour of the shift seemed to fly by, and her feet didn't feel quite so painful as she balanced the till for the next cashier to take her place. Dorothy handed her cash drawer in at the office, and headed home. Despite the emotional lift the encounter with her hero (she smiled as she realized that's how she now thought of him) had given her, her thin canvas sneakers were not the ideal shoes for walking two miles on concrete that was now baking in the late afternoon sun. She could feel the heat coming through the rubber soles, making her already sore feet scream with pain.

'One more mile to go,'

she thought grimly.

'I can make it one more mile. I only have to make it one more mile.'

She saw an empty bench in the next block, and hurried to it before it was claimed. She sat down, taking off her shoes one at a time to rub her aching feet through her cotton ankle socks. Her insteps burned with the pain of tendons stretched from lack of support. Putting her shoes back on, she rested a moment before getting back up. As she rose, a pickup pulled up to the curb, the passenger window rolled down, and a cheery voice called, "Hey, Dorothy, can I give you a lift?" Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she recognized her hero smiling at her from behind the wheel.

She walked slowly over to the truck. "Thank you so much. I wouldn't ordinarily accept a ride from someone I don't know, but for some reason I feel like I know you, and can trust you."

He chuckled. "I feel the same way, and you can. Hop in." He reached over, opened the door and she climbed in. He extended his hand. "I'm Jeff. Thanks for trusting me. You make me feel a bit better about humanity."

Dorothy gave him her address, but told him that he could just drop her at the intersection nearby so he wouldn't drive out of his way. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, said, "I think we can do a little better than that," and pulled into traffic.

She looked at him warmly. "Jeff. The name suits you."

He chuckled. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment, since I don't think you'd be insulting me in my own truck."

Dorothy laughed loudly and snorted, immediately blushing furiously and burying her head in her hands in embarrassment. Jeff burst into laughter and smacked the steering wheel with his hand. In the midst of his deep belly laugh, he snorted, and they both began laughing uncontrollably. Jeff had to stop the truck until he could open his eyes and focus. Horns began honking as traffic backed up. He looked at Dorothy and held up his hands. "Truce. No more jokes. I gotta drive and I don't want to get a ticket or get in an accident when I can't see the road."

"Truce," Dorothy agreed. Then she added, "We should think of dead puppies," and they both began howling with laughter. Jeff pulled to the curb and shifted into park. Each would occasionally snort, which would immediately send them both into another fit of unrestrained glee.

Eventually they got themselves under control, and Jeff was able to drive to Dorothy's address. Each was careful not to say anything else, for fear of causing another bout of laughter. He pulled the truck up to her apartment building, and left the engine running while he shifted into park and looked at her. "Well," he said somewhat lamely, "here we are."

They looked at each other awkwardly. It was obvious to both that neither wanted this encounter to end, but neither was brave enough to do what it took to extend it. Dorothy reached out her hand and gently touched his sleeve. "Thank you, Jeff. You made my day so much better, by speaking kindly to me, by standing up for me, and by giving me a lift home. You're a kind, considerate young man. Your mother must be so, so proud. Thanks so much for your kindness in helping a homely, worn-out old lady."

He looked at her incredulously. Then his lips quivered into a smirk as he joked, "You ain't so old." He gazed at her appreciatively as she got the joke and laughed along with him. Then his eyes grew serious. "Dorothy, do you really not see yourself as you truly are? You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. I chose the longest line at WalMart just so I could look at you while I waited. You've got unearthly eyes set off by your flawless skin and black hair, a pretty face that turns gorgeous when you smile, dimples a man could die for, an amazing figure, and the most beautiful, genuine smile I've ever seen. Your eyes radiate kindness and compassion. You are lovely. Your husband is a very lucky man."

Dorothy looked at him quizzically. "My husband?" Then comprehension dawned. "Oh! No, no, I'm not really married. Never been and never will be. I just said that to get him to leave me alone. See?" She held up her hand to show that there was no ring.

Jeff smiled. "Well, that makes me feel a lot better on two counts. One, I no longer think your husband is an asshole for making you walk home from work, and two, it gives me hope that I can see you again."

Dorothy flushed, and put her hand to her throat reflexively. "Oh, Jeff, that's so kind of you. But I'm so much older than you, and I really have nothing to offer anyone."

"I'm not looking for anyone to offer me anything," Jeff retorted instantly. He paused, then continued, "I didn't mean that to sound harsh. But if we only choose to be with people who have something to offer, pretty soon that turns into wanting to only be with people who can do something for us. And I'm not going to live my life that way. I want to live in such a way that I can offer who I am, and what I have, without worrying about whether I get anything in return." He turned in his seat to face her, and put his hand on Dorothy's shoulder. "I don't mean to be forward. We've known each other what, maybe a half hour at the most. But when I look at you, something inside me tells me that you live your life exactly the same way, like I've found a kindred spirit. And I want to get to know you better. Not for anything you have to offer. Just to find out who you are."

Dorothy bowed her head as her eyes flooded with tears, and one trickled down her cheek. Jeff reached over and gently wiped it away. She looked at him, her eyes began to twinkle and she took his hand to look at his wet fingers. "What is this salty discharge?" she exclaimed. "I'm leaking!" They both again burst into gales of laughter mixed with occasional snorting which of course sent them even deeper into paroxysms of laughter. Soon they both had tears running down their cheeks and were bent over gasping for breath.

When they began to come down to earth, Jeff cut the engine, reached over and took her hand. "Dorothy," he said, "please look at me." She looked into his clear, gray eyes. He could feel her slender hand tremble in his. "You feel it too, don't you?" he asked. "I've never met anyone, ever, in my life, with whom I've felt such an instant and complete connection. Please tell me I can see you again. I'm begging you. If this is the last I ever see you, I will live the rest of my life in regret, with the fear that I may have missed the only opportunity I ever had to be with the one person in the world for whom I was intended."

She looked searchingly into his eyes and spoke slowly, haltingly. "I do feel it, Jeff. And I want to spend time with you. I want to know everything about you. Who you are, where you came from, what your hopes and dreams are. I look at you and I see a vibrantly handsome young man, full of life and beauty and promise and laughter, and I feel like I could be so happy being with you. But something inside me is telling me to be very careful. Maybe it's because I haven't been interested in anyone since... forever... and maybe it's because I'm so much older than you, but please promise me that you'll be patient with me. That we'll go slowly and not do anything we shouldn't. I feel your heart when I look into your eyes, and I know I don't really need to say this but at the same time I have to: please let's promise each other that each of us will put the needs of the other before our own. That way we can be sure we won't hurt each other. I've been hurt many times in my life, Jeff. I can live with that. I'm strong enough to be hurt. But I live my life remembering every day that I once hurt someone very badly. Perhaps they'll never get over that hurt. And I never want to make that mistake again. Please, Jeff, be careful with me."

They sat in silence for a while. Both were shocked by the depth and passion of Dorothy's plea, and unable to speak. His fingers ran tenderly across hers as her hand lay warm in his. Finally she looked at him again. "I know that sounded way overboard. All you were saying was that you want to see me again. And I want that. I've never talked this honestly with anyone, ever, before now. But when I look at you I feel like we're two pieces of the same soul, and I have to be honest with you before we go any farther. When I was very young I loved someone with all my being, more than life itself. And I betrayed him, and I lost him. I'm not worth taking that risk, Jeff. And, if I'm honest with myself, I don't even know if I'm strong enough to carry the guilt of that first betrayal much longer. I lose a piece of myself every day. Another disaster would kill me."

After another long silence, Jeff cleared his throat. His hand gripped hers a little more tightly. "I don't want to pry open something that's painful for you. But if you're willing to take a chance on me, and I promise to go slow and not fall in love with you too fast or too hard, could I take you to dinner tomorrow evening?"

She smiled at him happily. "I'd like that very much, Jeff. Thank you." They sat in silence a while, looking into each other's eyes and smiling shyly. Eventually Dorothy slapped his shoulder playfully, opened her door, and got out. She leaned back in for a moment, and said, "Pick me up here at 7 sharp. We'll go to Dilla's on Riverside. They're in the phone book, you should call tonight to make reservations for 7:30 tomorrow but there'll be tables available. No need to dress up."

Jeff grinned widely. "I already have their number in my phone contacts. Ethiopian's my favorite food in the world. You're on! See you at 7." Dorothy closed the door, and he watched appreciatively as her slender figure went up the steps of the seedy apartment block, and through the door. She turned at the door and smiled as she saw him watching. They waved, and she was gone.

The two-room apartment was dark as she entered. The few small windows in the kitchen/sitting room and the tiny bedroom faced the tall building across the alley, admitting little light on the brightest days. Dorothy's smile began to fade as she looked around the dark room. She sighed wearily as she switched on the single overhead light, and took a pack of chicken flavored Ramen noodle from the cupboard for dinner. As she set the saucepan on her hot plate to boil the water, she glanced around the room. It was tidy, but it didn't take much to organize a room with one threadbare upholstered chair, one tiny wooden bookcase, one small kitchen table with two chairs and a small countertop. Of the only two decorations she'd brought with her when she moved in, one was a framed verse by her favorite poet, Rilke. While waiting for the water to come to a boil, she walked to the wall where the verse hung and read it, as she'd read it every evening since she'd moved here:

Now you must go out into your heart

as onto a vast plain. Now

the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind

sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.

It is what you have.

Be earth now, and evensong.

Be the ground lying under that sky.

Be modest now, like a thing

ripened until it is real,

so that he who began it all

can feel you as he reaches for you.

The sound of water begin to boil interrupted her reading, and she felt the tears come, as they had every night since her heart had been ripped from her chest 25 years earlier. She let them flood her eyes as she took the saucepan off the hot plate. She'd learned not to try to stop them. Letting them flow lessened the pain of being alive. "Soon. please, dear God, some day soon, let the tears stop, bring me home and end this pain," she whispered.

She added the noodles and spice packet to the hot water and waited for the noodles to soften. She took a bag of frozen peas from the tiny freezer compartment, and took out a handful to add to the soup. She sat at the small table, ate slowly and silently, lost in reverie. Nights were the hardest hours for her to bear. Alone in her tiny apartment she didn't have the rude customers, or the mindless repetition of the barcode scanner, or the dull ache of her feet to occupy her mind and crowd out her own darker thoughts. At night, the memories of a life she'd once led, of a hope she'd once held, crept out of the crevasses where daily routine pushed them, and overwhelmed her. She washed the bowl, the spoon and the saucepan, dried them mechanically, put them away, and got ready for bed.

As she did every night, she turned down the worn sheet and light comforter, undressed, hand washed her cashier's uniform, cotton panties and brassiere in the tiny bathroom sink and hung them over the shower/bath curtain rod to dry overnight. As she brushed her long black hair she remembered the moments of the day she'd spent laughing with Jeff, when she'd actually felt joy in being alive. She'd been alone, unloved and unhappy for 25 years, and today, for the first time, for a few moments, it seemed as though those years had rolled away and she was once again the vivacious, happy, loving girl she'd foolishly thought, in the naïve innocence of youth, that she would always be.

Her eyes shone and her full lips curled as she remembered how she and Jeff had laughed as though they'd known each other all their lives. She remembered how his eyes had lit up when he looked at her, how he'd made her feel that it mattered to him that she existed. "Twenty-five years is too long to be alone," she whispered to the the face in the mirror over the sink. "I know it's foolish to hope. He's so young, so young, and yet he feels so right. Being with him is like being whole again."

She brushed her teeth harder and longer than usual, trying to make the pain of the hard bristles against her gums subdue the unwonted hope that had become so unfamiliar to her.

She knelt beside her bed, the wooden floor hard against her knees, and whispered her nightly prayer. "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever, Amen." She had omitted the phrases about forgiveness ever since the day in June of 1987 when her father had packed her meager belongings in a shabby suitcase, driven her in silence to the Cities from their farm near Blooming Prairie, and dropped her in front of a women's shelter with the words, "Maybe God can forgive you, but your mother and I never will. You have no family, and no home with us." Her knowledge that her mother felt the same way was all that kept her from throwing herself at his feet and begging him to love her as she'd once thought he had.

She rose, climbed onto the sagging mattress, pulled up the covers, and closed her eyes. She knew sleep would not come for hours, but strict adherence to her evening rituals was all that kept her from the booze, or the heroin, or the meth, that had cost her job after job through the years, until her only option for survival was standing at a checkout in a chain superstore, for less than subsistence pay, bearing the invective of hundreds of frustrated, angry shoppers.