“It’s okay. I only wish I had a nickel for each time I’ve bumped my head.”
This was a no-nonsense place whose intent was to move customers in and move them out. Bruce and Ethel ordered Coney Islands and coffee.
They shared an awkward silence until the coffee was served. Both added cream and sugar to their coffee. Both slopped some coffee on the table. The spilled coffee mingled in the middle of the table. It seemed significant. Both blushed.
“Ethel, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I mean . . . well, this may be impolite. I’m not sure how to put this, but . . .well . . . are you married?” He stirred his coffee vigorously, spilling more of it.
“Why no, of course not. You don’t think I’d go out with you if I was a married woman, do you? What do you take me for?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to insult you. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, no, it’s okay. We don’t know each other at all. Or we don’t know very much about each other, at least. I guess questions are okay. Else we’ll never get to know each other. How about you? You married?”
“Me? Oh, no. No.”
“Not never?”
“No, oh, ha-ha, no. Never.”
“C’mon! A good-lookin’ guy like you? I’ll bet you’ve had your share of girls. Haven’t you?”
He knew he was blushing violently. “No, not really. Would you believe this is the first honest-to-glory date I’ve ever had.”
“Would I believe that? I’d have a hard time, I’ll tell you that.”
“Well, it is. Honest. How about you? I don’t want to embarrass you, but you’re pretty good-looking yourself. I’ll bet you’ve had lots of dates.”
“Well, you’d lose. Oh, I’ve had a few. But usually only one per fellow. I’m really not all that good-looking. And besides, I tend to be a little on the . . . uh . . . clumsy side.”
“You too! Did you notice the first time we met we ran into each other and spilled someone’s supper?”
“Yeah, I did notice that.” She couldn’t help being self-conscious.
Bruce felt a strong urge to be as honest as possible with this woman. “Actually, this is not exactly how I look. I don’t need these . . .” He removed his eyeglasses. “. . . and this hair is not mine.” He removed his toupee and stuffed it in his pocket. He felt naked, but relieved that at least part of the truth was known.
She seemed surprised but not shocked. “Well, you do look different, I must say. But . . . well, I mean ... I did know that wasn’t your real hair. But I had no idea what you might look like without it. Well, you look great. I think you look better without the hairpiece than you do with it. I really do.”
He was extremely pleased. He hoped they’d be able to strike up a real friendship. And that never would happen if he could not be honest with her.
“Now, there’s one question I’ve got to ask, and it’s very important.” He leaned across the small table. “You’ve got to be completely honest with me, Ethel.”
“Yes?”
“Now that you’ve seen me with and without a disguise, have you ever seen me before? Do you know me from anywhere?”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “Why, no, Bruce. I never set eyes on you before. Not never!”
“Good. Very good.”
“But why didja ask a question like that for?”
“No real good reason. Only that you seemed to be following me around. I mean, after we bumped into each other, then the next time I looked up—in the clinic—there you were, telling me my sleeve was in a solution.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “Well, I kinda likedja. You didn’t yell at me when we bumped into each other. And then you stayed and helped me clean up the mess. And all the time, you seemed so apologetic. Nobody ever treated me so swell before. I guess I kinda likedja at first bump. I was so hoping and praying that you’d come look me up today. I guess this is one time when my prayers really got answered. “
Bruce could scarcely be happier. There was only one more possible fly in his ointment; he’d better get that cleared up immediately. “Speaking of prayers getting answered . . . well, this is a delicate area, but, well, you work at a Catholic hospital, and I was wondering . . .”
“Am I a Catholic?”
“Well, yes.”
“Oh, yes, I’m a Catholic. That’s for sure. How about you?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, indeed.” Bruce realized he was still only halfway there. These days it was by no means enough merely to be Catholic. One was either a liberal or a conservative Catholic or, if one were neither but still claimed the designation, such a person hardly deserved to claim any religion. And if one were a liberal Catholic, he or she might just as well be a Protestant. That left only one acceptable category.
Which slot was Ethel in? The answer, Bruce knew, was crucial to their continued friendship. But how to discover . . .?
The waiter brought their Coney Islands, basically large hot dogs heaped with chili sauce. In lifting the chock- full bun from her plate, Ethel spilled some sauce into her coffee.
“Waiter!” Bruce found himself speaking more forcefully than was his custom. “There’s been an accident. Bring this lady another cup of coffee!”
The waiter, with a look and a gesture that said it’s easier doing it than arguing with this turkey, did as Bruce had commanded.
Ethel was most impressed.
“Ethel . . .”—Bruce tried very hard not to ruin his sandwich—“are you aware of what goes on in that hospital? In St. Vincent’s?”
Ethel considered that question, evidently for the first time. “Well . . . operations, treatments, therapy, uh . . . health care—was there something else?”
“I mean, in the clinic, for example.”
“The clinic?”
“Yes. Giving information, counseling, devices for the practice of artificial birth control. Like that!”
“Oh, policy! No, I never pay any attention to policy. I got enough problems with bedpans and the food trays and keeping the patients in water. Things like that.”
“But, now that I brought it up, Ethel, what do you think of that kind of thing?”
“What?”
“Artificial birth control.”
“It’s wrong, ain’t it? Ain’t it against the Church? I mean, there was a lot of talk about it some years ago. And didn’t the Church settle it? Didn’t they say it was a sin? Seems that’s how it came out. I guess I didn’t pay much attention. I mean,” she blushed, “it didn’t have much to do with me. If you know what I mean.”
“Sure. But that means that you accept the official teaching of the Church? The ordinary magisterium?”
“The ordinary what?”
“Never mind. If the Pope says it, you believe it?”
“You’d better believe that! Good heavens, if you can’t trust the Pope, who can you trust? I mean!”
“You don’t know how happy that makes me!”
“Really! I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Bruce was elated. In his excitement, he fumbled his Coney Island. He saved the sandwich, but his napkin fluttered off the table. Ethel dove to save it before it hit the floor. In doing so, she again banged her head against the table. She sat up a bit dazed. She rubbed her forehead. They both laughed.
Bruce was more and more convinced he had found a kindred klutz. Talk about relationships formed in heaven!
Contentedly, they finished their Coney Islands and coffee. The check the waiter had left was saturated with coffee and stained with chili sauce. Nevertheless, Bruce was able to make out the total. He left payment plus a small tip.
As the couple left, the owner breathed a silent prayer that they would forget his location and never return.
Ethel lived in a downtown apartment complex owned and operated by the League of Catholic Women. Bruce
