The Welder 1

I like to weld. I have to tell you, melting metal into a little puddle at 30,000 degrees is pretty cool. You put the tip down close to the metal, hit the foot pedal, grow that ball of plasma, and push the puddle where you want it to go, dipping the welding rod in on occasion to build up the joint. There's nothing cooler than that. But it took me a while to figure that out.

When I was growing up, my dad was friends with a neighbor who was a welder. My dad and I would drop by his shop sometimes, just to see what he was doing. He'd weld up all sorts of things, but it was mostly motorcycles and cars. He had all the metalworking tools I could think of, and a bunch I didn't know about. He explained all of it to me, showing me how to use a hammer and dolly for taking out dents, how to use the English wheel for curving metal, what a planishing hammer was for, all that stuff. But what really caught my attention was the welder. He had a stick welder, of course, and a MIG welder, but the TIG welder was the one I really liked. He would give me a helmet and some gloves and let me watch while he ran a bead, joining two pieces of metal together like they were meant to be. Maybe it was the incredible heat I liked, or turning metal into a liquid, or maybe it was the bright ball of light, but I really liked it. He even taught me a few things and let me run some beads myself. At first, they were pretty ghastly; they came out lumpy, jagged, and with poor penetration. I didn't really understand how much dexterity and fine motor control was needed to do good welding. After a while, though, I got the fillets to penetrate well, for a good, strong weld, and the weld itself looked like a stack of dimes, just like my dad's friend said it should look. The color was good, too. He told me about how the metal oxidizes and turns different colors, depending upon the temperature of the metal, when it's exposed to oxygen. That was pretty cool, too.

So I guess it wasn't a big surprise what I wrote for the high school yearbook in my senior year. All the graduating seniors were required to fill out a form saying what they planned to do after graduating. Whatever we put down was going into the yearbook as some sort of memento, something to look back on in future years and laugh about. What I wrote was that I was undecided about what I wanted to do when I graduated, but it was either engineering or welding. As with most of my proclamations, it drew a few chuckles. But it was true.

I decided to go to the university and study engineering. After some general courses, I gradually tended toward electrical engineering, although I was pretty good at software, too. I managed to graduate with decent grades, but nothing stellar. Even so, it was good enough to get a job with a relatively big company. As a new graduate, I wasn't given any jobs that were terribly important; the older engineers told me I didn't know anything yet and wouldn't for about a decade. I was insulted by this and protested that I knew a lot; they just laughed. But they taught me stuff and I slowly got more responsibility. After a while, I was in charge of my own little section of the system we were building. It was great. I got a set of requirements and they left me alone to do my thing. I worked really hard, not because I had to but because I wanted to. I couldn't believe they were paying me money to play with instruments I couldn't possibly have afforded to buy myself. It was a lot of fun and I worked late most nights, completely absorbed in what I was doing. I was so absorbed, in fact, that everyone was surprised I noticed Kelly.

Kelly was a new hire, like I used to be, but she was in mechanical engineering. She was pretty cute, in a nerdy sort of way, and I liked chatting with her. My circuit board was going into a card cage she was designing, so we initially talked about dimensions and thermal issues. One day, while we were trying to figure out how to dissipate the heat my board was creating, she noticed it was lunch time and suggested we continue the discussion over a burger. I said "sure," but it made me nervous. I hadn't had too many dates and wasn't sure if this was one, but it seemed like it. Still, over lunch, she was very professional and talked about board layout, thermal mass, and EMI shielding.

Over time, we got together for lunch more often and eventually went out to dinner. It was awkward at first, but I eventually got used to holding her hand while we stood in line for a movie and even became comfortable kissing her when I dropped her off at home. She was the first real girlfriend I had and I found out later I was her first real boyfriend.

We carried on like that for a while and it surprised nobody when we got married. We both had good jobs, so we could afford to buy a small house in a nice neighborhood. The house was right on the corner, with our bedroom looking out at the intersection. In the morning, we would throw back the curtains and see the houses slowly wake up and greet the new day. Kids would ride their bicycles and dads would drag out the lawnmowers.

After a while, we met a few people in the neighborhood, but became closest to Hank and Harriet, the people next door. They were a young couple like us. Hank was an accountant and Harriet stayed at home. Hank would get real busy during tax season, but mostly his job was pretty easy. Boring, if you ask me, but Hank didn't mind. He said his hours were flexible, so he could work when it suited him. And a lot of times, it didn't suit him.

All in all, it was a nice place to be. It would have been nicer if we had a few kids ourselves, but it wasn't to be. We had been trying for a long time, but nothing happened. Kelly eventually went to the doctor and he told her the tests showed she couldn't have children. I was pretty disappointed, but figured there wasn't much we could do about it. At least we could keep on trying; I liked that part. However, once Kelly found out she was sterile, her interest in sex dropped off. I tried to learn new techniques and tried a few games, like role playing, but she never got into it. Maybe it was the problem with her body, but I was guessing it was me. I tried to be the best lover I could be, but it just didn't work. I guess engineers weren't high on the list of sex gods. Who knew?

Kelly switched jobs after a while. She said she found a good place that would give her more responsibility and more money. I could understand why she wanted to leave, but it was nice having her work at the same company as I. The extra money helped out, allowing us to save more for retirement. My plan was to retire early and do all the things I had put off while I was working. Without any kids and having two jobs, we had tons of money; I like kids, but they are really expensive. So the money we would have spent on the kids we socked away in investments.

One day, while I was at work, I got a phone call from Harriet. When she said my name, I could tell something was really wrong. Her voice was shaking and it was clear she could barely talk.

"Robert?" she said. "There's been an accident, a terrible accident. You need to come home." I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Just come home," she said.

I told my boss I had to leave, that there was some sort of problem I had to deal with. He didn't ask any questions, probably figuring out from the look on my face that it was serious. I drove home as quickly as I could.

When I got there, I found I couldn't pull into the driveway because there were emergency vehicles in the way. And I saw why. There was a car buried in my house, right on the corner where the bedroom is. The roof was caved in on that one corner. I couldn't see anyone in the car, but that was just as well; I was never fond of seeing dead bodies.

I saw Harriet outside her house, talking to a policeman. I pulled over to the curb and walked over to them.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Do you live here? the policeman asked, pointing at my house.

"Yes," I said. "What happened?"

"It appears that car," he explained, pointing at the one sticking out of my bedroom, "was going too fast when a car turned in front of him. He tried to avoid a collision, according to the witnesses, and ran off the road, right into your house." He hesitated, then looked at me with a sad face. "I'm afraid there were no survivors."

I was puzzled. "How many were in the car?" I asked. "Just the driver," he said, "but the airbag saved him. He just has some minor injuries. They already took him to the hospital."

"But you said there were no survivors, right?" I couldn't figure out what he was talking about. "Who died?"

Then he told me what somehow I had known without realizing it. "Your wife," he said. "I'm very sorry."

The shock spread throughout my body. My legs started to collapse and it was difficult to stand up. My throat tightened, stifling the scream that wanted to come out. I couldn't take it all in. My mind whirled in a dozen different directions and went nowhere. I couldn't think straight. Kelly was dead. How could that be? She was at work. My brain tried to make sense of all of this, but it just couldn't. Kelly, gone? No, it can't be.

My brain was so nonfunctional that at first I didn't realize he said "survivors," plural. Then it dawned on me. "Survivors?" I asked. The policeman looked at me and Harriet, then said "You two should maybe discuss some things."

I called after him as he walked away, but Harriet pulled my arm and said "No, Robert, he's right. We need to talk."

Harriet and I walked to her house and sat on the couch in the living room. "Robert," she said, "I'm afraid I have to tell you something that's going to hurt. Lord knows it's hurt me."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When the car hit your house," she started, "Kelly was not alone." She hesitated, maybe giving me time to absorb what she was saying.

"She wasn't?" I asked.

She swallowed, then said "Kelly was with Hank."

"What were they doing in the..." I stopped, the pieces falling together, and my life falling apart.

"Kelly and Hank?" I asked. Harriet simply nodded her head.

"How long?" I asked.

"All I know," Harriet said, "is it was for at least a year. I don't know how long before that, but that's when I figured it out."

I was stunned beyond words. My brain was flooded with questions and no answers.

"Hank had a strong...drive," Harriet continued, "and Kelly was one of his interests. I found out about him some time ago but, as wives do, I pretended I didn't know, or it didn't matter, or it was good for the marriage." She shrugged and winced. "It was none of those things."

I was shocked when I heard Kelly was dead, and my shock turned to profound sadness. Now I was angry.

"How could she have done this to me?" I asked, knowing I wouldn't receive an answer. "Was it something I did, or was it something I didn't do?"

Harriet looked at me, held my hand, and said "It had nothing to do with you. Just as it had nothing to do with me."

Intellectually, I knew she was right, but emotionally I knew I was to blame.

It took me several weeks to sort everything out in my mind. I couldn't believe Kelly would do this to me, but it's hard to argue with the evidence. I had tried so hard to make her happy. I was clearly unsuccessful. I don't know what more I could have done. Now, of course, there was nothing left to do; she was gone. I stayed in a hotel until I could figure out what to do next. I needed change. Real change.

The people at work, especially my boss, were very understanding, as if anyone could understand this without actually experiencing it. I accepted their condolences and good wishes with grace, but inside I was seething. I was wronged, I decided. I didn't deserve any of this. I didn't deserve a wife who was unhappy but said nothing about it, and I sure as hell didn't deserve to lose her. But as I thought about it, I decided that maybe losing her was the best thing to happen to me. After all, if she had lived, I would have found out about her infidelity and would have been stuck with a situation that was unpleasant. Living with a spouse who has betrayed you cannot be good. As it was, my problem was over. I wouldn't wish death on anyone but, in this case, it certainly solved my problem.

It also forced me to evaluate my situation. I liked what I was doing, but I had to get away. Kelly used to work here. Kelly used to live in that house. Kelly and I used to dream of staying in this town until we died. Everywhere I looked, I saw something that reminded me of Kelly. And I didn't want to be reminded of my failure as a husband.

So I moved. I walked away from the house. We were upside down on it, having bought during the peak, so I let the bank take it. I quit my job, saying tearful goodbyes to the people I worked with, people who thought they understood why I was leaving. I packed up the little I had and left for a town hundreds of miles from where I used to live, a world away from the life I had before.

It was a pleasant town, small and cozy. And it didn't have a welder. I contacted a commercial real estate agent and told him what I was looking for. I needed a warehouse that had quarters for living. He found a place, just outside of town, that would do nicely. It had plenty of electricity, 220 volt and 600 amps, and it had a corner that was converted to living quarters, after a fashion. It was perfect. I set up shop there.

I bought my welders, a MIG machine and a TIG machine, and got some tanks of C25 and argon. There was a local gas supplier, so I didn't think I would have any problems with consumables. I could get the rest of the stuff on-line. Where there's a FedEx, there's a store. I stocked up on all I would need, almost. What I needed most was jobs.

I advertised locally, in the throwaway that drops on people's porches every Tuesday, and put myself out on Yelp. I let people know what I could do and hoped that what I could do was what people wanted. Then I waited.

For a long time, nothing happened. I wasn't particularly worried, since I had plenty of money to tide me over and I expected a lull before things got started. But I had to keep busy, if only to keep my mind away from what I had left. I welded up a table to work on, then made some jigs for working on bigger projects. I started practicing on smaller things, like sheet metal. Sheet metal is hard to weld. You have to get the pieces right on top of each other, no gaps, and you have to weld without filler metal. You hold the arc just a millimeter off the metal and cut into the top piece of the sheet metal, flowing it down onto the bottom sheet. And you have to move fast enough to avoid burning a hole in your work. It's delicate work, a real challenge, and a lot of fun, at least when you do it right.

I was working on some sheet metal when the knock came. "Hello?" she called out. I took my helmet off and walked around the screen.

"Hi," I said. "Can I help you?"

She looked at me and said, "I hope so. I need something welded."

"You're in luck," I said. "That's what we do here."

"We?" she asked.

"Just a figure of speech," I said. "There's only me, at the moment. What can I help you with?"

She came in out of the bright sunlight and I got a better look at her. Mid-thirties, I guessed, and pretty casual, which is what I would expect for someone looking for a welder. Pretty brown hair, hanging down to her shoulders. Legs that filled out the jeans very nicely, and breasts that filled out the shirt even better. Once I finally looked up at her face, I realized that was the best of all. Particularly her eyes.

"I have a chest I need welded." I must have gotten a look on my face, because she said "It's a metal chest, part of some artwork I'm doing."

"Is it here?" I asked.

"I have it in the truck. Can you take a look?"

"Sure," I said. "Lead me to it."

She walked out to her truck, an old Ford that had seen better days but was clearly still functional. "It's in the back," she said.

In the back of the truck was a metal chest, similar to a pirate's chest, with the lid open and some figures sticking out of it. "What is that?" I asked, not quite sure what I was looking at.

"It's Pandora's box," she said. "See the devils and bad things coming out of it?"

"Ah," I said, "I can see them now." Like most art, it became clearer when you knew what to look for. "What needs to be done to it?"

"I need a hasp welded onto it. I have the hasp here, but I don't have the equipment to weld it on and I was hoping you would be able to do it for me."

"I sure can," I said. "It shouldn't take much. Can I see the hasp?"

She showed it to me. It was brass. The chest was stainless steel, from what I could tell. "Hmm," I hesitated, "this could be a problem. This hasp is made out of brass. I can braze it onto the chest, but I can't really weld it. If you can get a stainless steel hasp, that would work a lot better."

"I think I can," she said. "If I can, can you weld it?"

"Sure, it'll be pretty easy to do. It's a bit thin, but I can work with it," I said.

"Okay, I'll come back tomorrow." With that, she left. I couldn't help noticing her ass swaying back and forth; it was one of the nicest I had ever seen.

I had been through this before and really didn't expect to see her again, but sure enough, early the next morning, she was back. I watched her walk from her truck, a smile on her face. "I got what you needed," she said.

"Let's take a look and see what we can do," I said. We folded down the tailgate of the truck and moved the chest to one of the tables I had. I took the hasp from her and looked at it carefully. I noticed her hand was shaking a bit when she gave it to me.

"This should be pretty easy," I said. "I can take care of this right now, if you want."

"Could you?" she asked, clearly happy the job could be done quickly. She had a nice smile, one that reached all the way to her pretty eyes.

"I would be happy to," I said, still looking at eyes that were bigger and prettier than I had ever seen. "Would you like to watch?"

"Yes," she said. "I always like to learn new things."

"You've come to the right place; I like to teach new things." I smiled at her and said "Let's get started."

She was a bit hesitant at first, but I showed her what we would be doing and explained the process. "Do you want color on the hasp?" I asked. "Color?" she said. "Yeah, I can make some colors in the metal, if you want. It won't last forever, but it'll look nice for a while. Normally, when you weld with a TIG welder, you shroud the arc with argon. The argon protects the joint from oxidation. When you turn the gas off, the metal gets exposed to the oxygen in the air and a thin oxide layer develops on the metal. The thickness of the layer depends on temperature, so you get different colors. You can get yellows, browns, purple, or blues, depending on how hot the metal is when it's exposed to oxygen. Here, let me show you."

I gave her a welding jacket and some gloves. "I'm not going to get burned, am I?" she asked. "Not if we do this right," I said. "The arc puts out a lot of heat and a lot of UV radiation. If we don't cover you up, you can get a sunburn. And the helmet will darken automatically so you can see the arc and the molten metal without burning your eyes."

As I put the gloves on her, I felt her hands, warm and soft. I had forgotten what a woman's hands felt like, had forgotten how nice it was. I started to think about other things I had forgotten.

"Okay, watch this. I'm going to strike an arc, melt a line of metal, then shut off the arc. A few seconds after the arc shuts off, the argon gas will stop flowing and you'll see the color of the metal suddenly change." She leaned in closer to see what I was doing, resting her hand on my back for support. I missed having a woman touch me like that.