Edna and Herbert

           Herbert Berger, my acquaintance from the library, arrived promptly at six dressed in his usual thick brown cords and scuffed leather loafers.  This surprised me.  He was wearing a very nice white cable-knit turtleneck that,despite a tiny splotch of pink on one shoulder, I had not seen before.  Funny though, I had pictured him dressing in a suit, with the idea that we might be headed somewhere special for dinner, which is why I wore my turquoise brocade sheath with the matching satin flats that so brutally pinch my toes.
           “Oh my, don’t you look lovely,” said Herbert.  “Is that the same…?”  Herbert’s eyes shifted between my dress and the window treatment at the far side of the living room.  “The fabric looks very much like -”
           “I know.  The draperies.  Thank you for noticing,” I told him.
           Herbert is a practical man so I thought he might appreciate knowing I had made a dress from leftover curtain material, even though my son has said numerous times that the dress would be better served as upholstery on one of the side chairs.  So what.  What does he know about fashion?  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

           Romance is my first love so, at the library, you’ll usually find me somewhere between Aarsen and Zimlich, that’s Carolyn and Jan, respectively.   Herbert prefers books of instruction.  As I said, everything is practical with Herbert.
           However, we both enjoy flipping through the dailies at the reading table - The Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail, The National Post - not The Sun as neither of us is sports-minded and anyway don’t care for the display of the Sunshine boys and girls.
           Here is a partial list of books that I’ve watched Herbert browse:  How to Win Friends and Influence People; How to Grow Orchids; How to Draw; How to Drywall; How to Die with Dignity; as you can see, how to this, how to that.
           Our relationship began at the reading tables.  The first sound I heard from Herbert was, “Whoo!”  Naturally, I glanced up from my papers to see what that was about.  Apparently, nothing, because he quickly turned the page.  Still, I thought I’d check that section later; figure out what, exactly, had caused such an exclamation.  It might have been “Brace yourself… the city wants a 3% increase in property taxes” (that got a ‘whoo’ out of me!), or the ad for Hanley Hardware’s blowout sale.  It could’ve been a number of things.
           Three weeks passed before Herbert noticed me.  I’d let out a “Ha!” (followed by a snort, which was ever so embarrassing).  A young woman with a head of bowl-shaped hot pink hair and silver bangle bracelets lined halfway up one arm had entered the library and tai chi’d her way to the magazine racks.
           Next thing you know that bowl-head sat herself down at the table next to ours and proceeded to rip out pages from a Cosmopolitan.  Herbert and I rolled our eyes and one after the other voiced disapproval over the wanton lawlessness, not to mention the clinking silver bangles.
           “Tch.”
           “Tsss.”  That was the beginning of our friendship.

©Linda Parker 2006