Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

48 - Scintillating Dialogue

And now, I'd like to say a few words of praise about modern civilization. Yes, it is certainly true that it has been somewhat of a mixed blessing. On the downside: Pollution, overpopulation, materialism, pandemics, deforestation, alienation, war, nuclear bombs and mass extinctions. On the upside: Neil DeGrasse Tyson. But civilization's greatest feat? Insincerity. It is what makes people who loathe each other exchange disingenuous pleasantries in front of a glass display full of cured meats and macaroni salad at a Ralph's supermarket, when what they really want to do is bash each other over the head with a rock.

The reason I bring this is up is that early one lonely Saturday evening, I ran into The Destroyer at the deli counter of a Ralph's supermarket. And thanks to civilization, no blood was drawn.

Up until our "reset," now in its third week, Samantha had done all the grocery shopping. I had rarely set foot in Ralph's, except sometimes to grab some middling champagne for New Years Eve or some dessert to bring to a friend's house when Samantha and I were invited over. Now I went a couple times a week to purchase prepackaged and pre-made meals. They weren't particularly healthy, but what they lacked in nutrition they made up for in me not burning down the house while trying to cook. This was not an irrational fear, either. I had, on more than one occasion, set my sleeve on fire while making omelets.

Anyway, I was standing in line waiting to order the fried chicken that would constitute my dinner, and also breakfast and possibly lunch the next day. I had been there for a long time. The deli counter was ridiculously understaffed; only two people were working, one of whom was clearly a trainee — a white haired man with matching mustache — who seemed utterly bewildered by the customers' orders and utterly terrified of the meat slicing machine which seemed destined to claim at least one of his fingers. And while I wasn't rooting for him to lose a digit, the possibility that it might happen at any moment was the only thing that kept me from going out of my mind with boredom.

"Seventy-three!" the competent deli person shouted. "Seventy-three!" I looked at my ticket: Seventy-four! My wait was almost over!

And that's when I saw The Destroyer, which would have been OK had she not seen me at the same time. Having made eye contact, we now had no choice but to acknowledge each other's existence. I could see the dread on her face and feel the dread on mine, a tightness in my jaw. And yet, as she struggled to push her wobbly cart towards me, we smiled at each other. Why? Civilization, that's why.

It had been about four years since her split from Tom, and from Tammy's telling of it, things between them were better than ever. Of course, that had always been Tom's, and then Tammy's, telling of it, no matter how awful things really were. Eric Idle dying on the cross singing, "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life."

But this time there was reason to believe that their relationship had improved. They had worked out a one-week-on/one-week-off custody sharing schedule that seemed to be operating relatively smoothly. The Destroyer was still prone to spasms of blistering rage, but noticeably less so, and Tammy rarely sprinted out of the office to deal with her ex-wife's meltdowns. Instead, she walked at a moderate clip, which now that I think about it was probably as much a product of her wearing heels — now down to a manageable three inches — as emotional growth, but either way it was progress.

The Destroyer and I had barely spoken during that time. For a while, we tensely nodded at each other when she showed up at Tammy's house to pick up or drop off the kids.

How's it going?

Fine. You?

Fine.

Scintillating dialogue worthy of Arthur Miller, to be sure. In any case, The Destroyer eventually decided that it would be easier on everyone if she no longer came into Tammy's house while I was there; instead, they implemented the weekly child exchange on the front porch.