"The Comfort in Being Sad"
by Michael Dell


CHAPTER NINE (Claire and Michael)

"You didn't have to come to the door, I was on my way out."

"I wasn't sure if you saw me pull in or not."

"Here's 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'."

Claire accepted the tape with glee.  "Cool.  I'll probably watch it tonight." 

"You look nice."

"Thanks."

"I almost didn't recognize you at first since, you know, you weren't swaying and slurring your
words."  The comment drew a smile and a swat in the arm.  "I don't know, how does it work? 
Do I still have to open your car door for you if you're the one driving?"

"I think I can manage," said Claire, gliding across to her side of the car.  They got in.  It 
was a Saturn.  Silver.  

Michael after secured his seatbelt.  "Is this like an actual date?"

Claire started the engine.  "Why?"

"I'd hate to think our first date would be you picking me up and going to the DMV and the
library.  That's kind of weak.  I mean, if this were a real date, I'd pick you up and we'd go 
to the DMV and the library.  It just feels a bit strange having you drive."

"Aren't you comfortable having a woman in charge?"  

"I guess it depends on the situation," grinned Michael.

"Well," said Claire as she looked over her shoulder and began backing out the driveway, "get
used to it."

Located in a renovated shopping plaza that used to hold a Montgomery Wards way back in the
day, the Department of Motor Vehicles was no more than two minutes from Michael's house.  It
was their first stop of the afternoon.  Claire had never been to the Hadleyville facility.  
She was impressed.  The DMV actually only occupied a rear portion of the complex.  Several 
stores, none of which Michael could name, still ran business as usual.  To get to the DMV 
offices, one had to enter through an old steel door, distinguished by a small sign, and walk 
down a long corridor to a facade of glass doors that held within all the glories of 
vehicular motion.  Driving is a privilege, not a right.

The room, with its grey carpeting and fresh white walls offering a variety of pamphlets on all
things transportation, was enormous.  A counter ran the front, with numerous partitioned
sections occupied by far fewer employees.  Along the far left wall were tables and monitors used
in taking the written driver's test.  There were two hopeful youths currently trying to find the
right A, B, or C.  Most of the area, though, was designated for waiting.  A series of velvet ropes
dissected the space, making one makeshift lobby for written exams, one for the actual driving
test, one for picture licenses, and finally one for license renewals.  Following signs was
important in driving, and in negotiating the DMV.  The waiting area for renewals was directly
in front of them when they entered the room.  Michael plucked a number from a shiny red
dispenser and led Claire to two chairs of choice.  There were two other people ahead of them,
and another already at the counter talking to the clerk.  

"At least it's not too crowded," commented Claire in a hushed voice.

"Yeah, it shouldn't take too long," agreed Michael.  "But what do ya think of the place?  Pretty
nice, huh?"

"Yeah, it's a big improvement over the old one I went to.  Do they give the driver's tests 
here too or are those still up at the State Police barracks?"

"I think they give 'em here in the back parking lot.  They take 'em through town now too."

"Really?  I'm glad I got through when I did."

"Yeah, no doubt.  You know, I haven't parallel parked once since I got my license."

"Really?"

"I'll just keep driving around until I find an easy spot to pull into."

"What if there aren't any?"

"I'm not scared to walk."

"Did you pass your test on the first try?"

"Of course.  You?"

"Second."

"Yeah, that seems about right."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothin'," smiled Michael.  "So what was the problem the first time?"

"I forgot to signal once."

"And that was it?"

"Well, I kind of made my three-point turn a five-pointer."

"Oh."

"I also hit the curb.  And I may have run over an orange cone or two."

"Maybe I'll just walk home."

"I got you here, didn't I?"

"Number 21," called the clerk from the front desk.  An attractive woman in a blue business suit
three seats down answered the bell. 

"She's pretty," said Claire.  "That's a nice suit."

"So you give her your style seal of approval?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"I read your article in today's paper."

"Which one was it?  Fashions for the new year?"

"Yeah.  How come you don't have a little picture of yourself in there like some of the other
writers."

"Too young I guess.  I think you have to be there a few years before they let you have a picture."

"Maybe I'll call and complain."

"You do that."

Another in need of a new photo took a number and sat farther down in the row of seats across
from them.  They halted their conversation long enough for him to pass and then resumed
quietly on a totally different subject.

"I had to get a new band for my watch this week," said Claire, displaying her left wrist.  

"Looks good."

"Thanks.  I had trouble finding one to fit."

"You do have slender wrists."

"I know."

"Don't feel bad, mine are just as thin."

"Let's see."  She pushed up her coat sleeve and held out her right wrist as invitation.  Michael
abided with his left.  "Mine's still thinner."

"Yeah, but I'm a man.  I don't think it's exactly a source of pride for me that your wrist is 
only a little bit thinner."
                 
"Good point."

Michael studied the underside of his wrist.  "Check it out, I can take my pulse just by looking at
it."  Sure enough, Claire could see a faint, rhythmic jump of flesh.

Claire immediately tried to duplicate the feat.  "I never noticed that."   

"Odd isn't it?"

"Somewhat."  She pushed her sleeve back down before she became hypnotized by her discovery. 

"Number 22," announced the clerk.

"Hey, you're next."

"Can't wait."

"So exactly how much do you weigh?" asked Claire.

Michael laughed.  "I'm not sure I want to tell you.  It's kind of embarrassing."

"C'mon.  I weigh a hundred pounds."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't even sure you hit triple digits."

"Do I look that thin?"

"No, you look lovely.  Just like Audrey.  You're fine, don't worry about that."

"So what are you, like 140?"

"Not quite," smiled Michael.  "I weighed 121 this morning."

"That's still twenty-one pounds more than me."

"Yeah, but you're like what, five-four?"

"Five-five."

"I'm like five-eleven.  A hundred pounds is great for a five-five woman.  A hundred and
twenty-one isn't so hot for a five-eleven man."

"But you look good."

"You're very kind, but I know I look sickly."

"You do not."

"I wasn't always this thin.  I'm actually quite the athlete when I want to be.  I used to weigh like
148 not too long ago."

"How long ago?"

"Like maybe six months."

"You lost twenty-seven pounds in six months?"

"Yeah, but don't worry.  It was all muscle.  I didn't lose any bone or internal organs."

"That's certainly comforting.  So why'd you lose so much weight?"

"I don't know.  I guess I quit eating.  I ate less and drank more."

"Why?"

"You don't want to get into all this, do ya?"

"Why not?"  

"This is really the sort of thing that should come out over time.  No need to scare you off so
soon."  It's a good thing he had such a disarming smile.  She let things drop.

"Number 23."

"Hey, wish me luck," said Michael.

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Michael stopped in his tracks.  "Tiger?"  Her laughter sent him back on his way.  It wasn't a far
walk.  This also meant that Claire would be able to hear the proceedings.  Might as well work
the comedy.  

"Number 23?" asked the clerk as Michael approached the desk.  

"Yes,"  he handed over his numbered slip of paper, "I'd like a pound of roast beef and half a
pound of Swiss."

The clerk, a heavy-set bespectacled woman in her fifties, found the juxtaposition of deli humor
to be amusing.  Michael wasn't sure if she would, but he gambled.  He turned to Claire and
tossed a thumb in the direction of the clerk, "Hey, she's laughin'."

"Twenty years and no one's ever said that before," shared the clerk, still smiling.  "Do you have
your photo card?"

"Yes."  Michael handed over the card from his pocket.  

"And your old license?"

Michael produced it from his wallet.

"Okay, that's fine, now if you would, answer the questions on that screen there."  She directed
Michael to a small computer terminal to his left.  It was raised to accommodate the standing. 
The first question was whether or not he wanted to register to vote.  The second asked if he
wanted to be an organ donor.  No all around.  Who would want his organs?  Although, his liver
could probably feed a family of four for a month.    

"Okay, Michael," said the clerk when she saw he was ready, "now I'm going to need you to sign
your name here."  She handed him an electronic pen and pointed to a small black strip of surface
imbedded in the counter.  "That's how your signature will look on your license," said the clerk,
swinging the monitor of her computer around for him to see.  "Is that okay?"  Even though it was
an illegible squiggly line that in no way resembled his real signature Michael granted consent. 
"Now if you'll please go sit over there, we'll take the picture."  Michael did as he was told. 
"Could you move a little to the left?  Perfect.  Now look at the red light.  Smile."  There was a
burst of light.  "Okay."  Michael returned to the desk.  "In a second the picture will appear 
on the screen.  If you don't like it, we can do it again."  It was a wait of about five 
seconds.  "What do you think?"

Michael regarded the screen thoughtfully, rubbing his chin for effect.  "Hmmm, I don't know." 
He paused.  "Do you have anything in an elderly Mexican gentleman?"  More laughter from the
clerk.  She must have lived a very dull life.  "Yeah, that's fine."  

"Okay," she was still laughing.  "Go have a seat and I'll call you when it's ready."   

Michael returned a conquering hero.  

"I can't believe you," said Claire.

"It's no big thing."

"But what if she wouldn't have laughed?"

"That's the risk you take.  Nobody ever said comedy was easy."

"That's true," agreed Claire.  She delayed a moment before adding, "And I bet good comedy is
even harder."  

Michael looked at her with stunned appreciation.  "Hey, that wasn't bad.  Nice timing on the
delivery."

"Thanks."

A couple minutes later Michael was called back to the front desk.  "Okay, Michael, here is your
old license."  The clerk clipped one of the corners off.  "It can still be used as ID.  And 
here is your new license."

"Thank you very much," said Michael, accepting both cards.

"Okay, you have a nice day now."

"You too."  He gave her a big smile.  He then gathered Claire and they made their way through
the velvet ropes and out into the corridor.  "See, that wasn't so bad."

"It went a lot faster than I thought it would.  Let me see your picture?"  Michael handed it over. 
"Aw, that's a nice picture.  Look, you even got that strand of hair falling just right.  Let 
me see your old one?"  They switched cards.  "Well, you couldn't have done much worse."

The next stop was the library.  The plan was that each would pick a book for the other to read. 
Michael, a veteran of the Hadleyville library, also promised to walk Claire through the process
of getting her own card.  Not having a library card was a great source of embarrassment.  Her
shame was tempered by Michael confiding that he had only gotten one himself about three
months prior.  In that time he had read forty-six books.  He knew the exact number because he
kept notes on each one.   

"You sure they won't laugh at me for not having a card already?" asked Claire as Michael filled
the parking meter with quarters.  "Because I feel pretty stupid asking for one at my age."

"Don't sweat it.  I won't let anyone laugh at you.  Much."

"Gee, thanks."  They headed up the street to their goal.  She made the bold move of hooking her
arm through his as they went.  He didn't seem to mind.  "I can't wait until you see the book I'm
going to pick for you.  I hope they have it."

"Given it a lot of thought, have ya?"

"Oh yes.  And you have to read it, right?  No matter what I pick, you have to read it."

"Yeah.  Just don't make it like 'War and Peace' or something.  Because I don't read books that
weigh more than I do."

"Agreed."

They took the steps to the library together.  He opened the door of the vestibule for her.  He was
a little upset when she didn't wait for him to open the second door for her, as well.  The library
was one of two cultural centers in Hadleyville; the other being the museum.  Located across the
street from the post office and in walking distance from the Court House, the library had
been given an influx of cash in recent years.  While it would never be confused with the book
repository of a major metropolis, Hadleyville's pride and joy now had a brand new bank of
computers hooked up to the internet to go along with its nineteen rows of varying degrees of
literature.  A display of the nation's top ten best sellers greeted them when Michael and Claire
entered.  She had read three of the ten.  Michael barely heard of any of them.  He was into
proven texts that stood the test of time, not passing fancy.   The check-out desk was directly to
the right of the entrance.  There were two ladies of advanced years sorting through new returns.  

"Should I get my card now?"

"No, we can get it when we check out," assured Michael.  "Do you want to look for any other
books or do you just want to get right to it?"

"Let me see what you want me to read first, then maybe I'll get some other stuff too."

Michael confidently took her by the hand and led her to the main shelves of books, which
occupied the back half of the building.  The front of the library housed two small rows of new
releases, several desks with computerized card catalogues, the new internet section, and a work
area with a string of tables and chairs.  There really wasn't much of a crowd.  Wednesday
afternoon was not its peak time.  There were four people on the internet and a couple of old guys
perusing newspapers at the tables.  That was pretty much it.  Reading never really was
considered Hadleyville's hallmark.                        

Michael knew exactly where he was going.  Nonfiction.  The 820s.  He was already reaching for
the book before they stopped walking.  He handed her a short, yet thick, book with a yellow and
orange cover.  Claire should have guessed.

"The Portable Dorothy Parker," she read aloud.

"It's a collection of her short stories and poetry.  I don't expect you to read all of 
the stories, but there are a few must reads."  He opened the book to the table of contents and 
ran a finger down the list.  "Like 'The Lovely Leave', 'Arrangement in Black and White', 
'A Telephone Call', 'You Were Perfectly Fine', 'Big Blonde', 'Just a Little One', 'Clothe 
the Naked'..."  Claire was making mental notes.  "'You Were Perfectly Fine' might be my 
favorite.  It's a great example of comedy of escalation.  This guy drinks so much that he 
can't remember anything from the night before and his wife keeps telling him not to worry, he 
was perfectly fine.  Yet the more she tells about the night, the worse it gets.  It's 
really, really good.  It's tough to find such literate comedy." 

"Are all her stories funny?"

"Not all of them.  There are some serious pieces in there, too.  I have no doubt that 'Clothe the
Naked' will probably make you cry.  And Mrs. Parker was also very vocal about racial equality. 
'Arrangement in Black and White' is great social commentary."

"You call her Mrs. Parker?"

"Have to show respect."

"What about her poetry?"

"It's exceptional.  It's really easy to read, all her stuff has a wonderful flow to it.  Most of it deals
with depression, love, and loss, but even the most heart-wrenching ones usually have a punch
line to 'em.  Her wit always rings through.  I think you'll like it."

"Okay."  She turned attention from the book to Michael.  "Where's the fiction section?"

He once again led by the hand, escorting her to the other end of the library via the back wall. 
"What letter?"

"A."

"A, huh?"  They swung into the proper row.  "I should warn you that if it's Anderson I've already
read 'Winesburg, Ohio', and 'Poor White'."

"It's not Anderson."  Claire released his hand and skipped ahead in search of her prey.  

"Oh boy..."

"What?" asked Claire, still searching for her prize among the crowded shelves.
  
"I think I know where this is going."

She snatched a book free and happily spun around to present it to Michael, a beatific smile
animating her face.  

"I knew it." 

"I hope you haven't read it."

"I've never read any Jane Austen."

"'Pride and Prejudice' is one of my favorite books.  I know you probably think it's real girly,
being Jane Austen and all, but give it a chance.  I think you'll like it."

"Are you saying I'm girly?"

"It's just a real romantic love story kind of deal.  Some people find the language difficult, 
but I don't think you should have much trouble.  You seem like a bright boy."  

"Thanks."

"And she actually has some wit and sarcasm to her, so you should like that." 

"I have to admit, I doubt if I'd ever read this on my own."

"So you'll read it?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I wasn't sure you would."

"Why not?"

"I don't know.  I guess I just don't think a lot of guys would like to read Jane Austen."

"I'm not like a lot of guys.  Besides," he tilted his head to one side and spoke in a somewhat
sarcastic tone, "how could I say no to you?"

"Exactly.  Remember that."

Claire wanted to browse a bit more to see all the library had to offer.  Michael followed a few
steps behind to see all that she had to offer.  Both were impressed.  They compared personal
reading accomplishments and found that Michael seemed to always hold the edge.  He had read
six Steinbecks to her four, five Faulkners to her two, five Fitzgeralds to her three, two Huxleys
to her one 'Brave New World'; no matter what the author, he always held the advantage.  Except
for Austen.  She had him with Jane Austen.  She was disappointed to discover his dominance
stretched to other female writers such as Carson McCullers, Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, and
Willa Cather.  She held strong to Austen.

When it came time to check out, Michael led Claire - again by the hand - to the front desk. 
There was one librarian on duty.  It was a woman Michael had seen many times before.  She was
a friendly sort, always ready with a smile, and easily pushing seventy.  The library had
apparently cornered the market on old ladies seeking employment.  

"Hello," greeted Michael merrily as he placed their two books on the counter.  He put his hand
on Claire's back as if to present her for consideration.  "This young lady would like to get a
library card."  Claire smiled an embarrassed smile.  "We're all very proud of her."  Claire's
embarrassment grew.
    
"All right," creaked the librarian, "I'll just need you to fill out this card," she pushed forth 
a small yellow piece of paper with the usual questions: name, address, date of birth, etc.  
"And I'll need to see two forms of ID."  As Claire opened her purse in search of the 
requested material, Michael asked a question of the librarian.

"There's still no drug test, right?"  The woman just looked at him blankly.  Claire stopped
rummaging through her wallet to do the same.  Michael smiled and looked to Claire.  "Then you
should be okay."  

"Don't mind him," said Claire as she produced her needed ID, "he's an idiot."  
                      
The librarian smiled to play along even though she didn't quite understand.  Claire made quick
work of the questionnaire.  Michael made her show him her license photo before she returned it
to her wallet.  "Keep in mind, it's a couple years old."  He was planning to make some sort of
joke about it but all he could do was say it was "cute."  The librarian then bestowed upon
Claire her very own library card made of maroon plastic with a white outline of the very edifice
on front.  Claire felt empowered.  Well, maybe not empowered, but her wallet did get an ounce
heavier.  She was then informed that the books had to be back in three weeks.  They smiled and
said farewell and were on their way.  

"You're so bad," said Claire once outside.

"Aw, you loved it."

"Now that nice old lady thinks I'm on drugs."

"Yeah, like that dizzy old bat's gonna remember anything."  

She went to give him one of her already trademark smacks in the arm, but her hand struck
something very hard on the inside of his coat.  "Ow!"

Michael knew immediately what it was.  "Oh, I'm sorry!"  He gently grabbed her injured hand in
his and kissed her aching fingertips.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."  The open show of affection caught her off guard.  It was the first time he had
kissed her.  Sure, it was only her fingers, but she was counting it.  "What was that?"

"It's nothing, forget about it."  He started walking to the car again, still holding her hand. 
Curiosity wouldn't let it rest.  She felt his coat with her free hand and made out a very hard
rectangular shape.  

"Is that what I think it is?"  He didn't answer her.  "You carry a flask?"

"Don't be silly," smiled Michael.  "The flask carries me."  They reached her car.  Doors and seat
belts locked.  "I'm sorry.  I'm so used to its weight that I completely forgot it was in there. 
Honest.  I would have never dreamed of bringing it along if I had known it was in there."

"It's okay, it's no big deal," said Claire, touched by his sincerity.  Something was telling 
her not to turn the key yet.  
    
"I realize it looks bad.  And I don't want you to think I'm an alcoholic or anything."

"I've just never known anyone who carried a flask."

"See that, I'm opening up whole new worlds for ya."  He smiled.  "But seriously, I don't want you
to think I'm a drunk.  I mean, I've only been around you twice and both times alcohol has played
a role."

"I don't think you're a drunk."

"I could quit anytime I want.  I know every drunk says that, but I can.  I can do stuff like 
that.  If there's a choice to be made, I can make it."

"I believe you."  He found comfort in her eyes.  She did believe him.  They sat in silence for
another moment, but neither seemed to notice.  "So where do you want to go for lunch?"

"It's your call," said Michael.

"How about that new Chinese buffet place out the highway?  I heard it's really good."

"Yeah, that's fine."