Sarah Beckett - Installment 4

Sarah’s Wednesday morning was irritatingly average. As she took the subway north to work, she had a few minutes to lose herself in the recollection of the events of the previous evening. Her soul had danced and she had danced with it. Even though she knew it was illogical, she felt as if one of the big screens in Times Square should have a banner scrolling “Sarah Beckett Allegedly Dances with Soul”.  She didn’t truly expect her surroundings to be altered but did fully expect her outlook to be so changed that her surroundings would appear so. Yet, on this chilly March early morning, everything seemed to be as gray and cold as it ever had. Spring had been ineffective at wrestling winter’s claim off the city. The wind was still sharp and the sidewalks still bore the crowded, chalky patterns of salt that had been spread to counter both ice and lawsuits. The Sun, being on apparent vacation in the winter months, slept in, not rising until nearly 2 hours after her work shift began and then doing little in the way of providing heat or cheer before disappearing again in mid afternoon.   
    
      The sun was just beginning its sleepy-headed arrival when a young man came to the door of the Bakery. He grasped the handle in his gloved hand and pulled the door wide open sending a blast of icy wind into the building. He stood with his hand on the open door, stepping backward as far as his arm would allow without losing his grasp on the door handle and tried to crane his neck to read the sign above the entryway. Sarah shivered involuntarily as the usually cozy bakery filled with icy winter air. Feeling both inconvenienced by the chilled air and slightly worried that the young man might cause a disruption to the commuter traffic which was soon to arrive Sarah shouted out, “Can I help you?”.  The young man replied without making eye contact. “I don’t know, maybe.  This is Boulanger’s ?”  “Yes” shouted Sarah, “would you like to come in.. Please?”. The young man released his grip on the door handle as he crossed the threshold into the bakery. “Sorry about that,” he offered, “I’m new at this, first day, and didn’t know if I had the right place. I’m picking up the rolls for Oliver’s” Now that the door was closed and the danger of freezing to death had passed, Sarah had little reason to engage in conversation with this newcomer so she quickly grabbed the large bags for Oliver’s from the big cart and hoisted them around the end of the counter to the young man. “Thank you and have a nice day” she intoned as a formality. He took the bags but did not turn to leave. Instead he stood firm in his spot and began absentmindedly inspecting the bags and their contents. “Can I.. um.. ask you a question?”  Sarah shot a glance sideways at him. She was not fond of her routine being disrupted and routine at Boulanger’s in NYC included not having any conversation beyond “What can I get you” or “Thank you and have a nice day”. The young man took her silence as consent and asked “Is the Rachmann Deli on this block? I need to pick up an order there too and I guess I left my list of addresses at home this morning.” Sarah softened toward the young man, he was just scattered, just like her. It would be completely like her to forget her most vital piece of information and the worst possible moment. “No”, she said, “Rachmann’s is 2 blocks downtown” The young man appeared slightly confused and said “..and downtown is which direction?”  “To the right”, offered Sarah, “Stay on this avenue and go two blocks to the right. You’ll see it on the same side as us.” “Thanks for talking to me” the young man replied as he headed for the door. He stopped just before reaching the door, turned back to Sarah and said “and thanks for the information. It was… good”. He threw the large bag of rolls over his shoulder and went out the door far more quickly than he had entered. Sarah watched him briefly as he passed by the storefront windows. He appeared to be repeatedly hitting his own forehead with the palm of his free hand as he walked away. She realized he was almost an hour late picking up Oliver’s rolls and silently hoped that he might make good time at the rest of his stops and get to Oliver’s without being too late on his first day. She had barely managed to complete that thought when the door opened and the commuters began to file in for their daily bread.
 
     The day continued without incident or remark. She left the bakery at 2:30 and felt uniquely energetic for a late winter’s afternoon. The young man from that morning was still in her mind and his mention of a Deli had sparked a taste for Matzo ball soup. She headed slightly further south than normal and made her way to a deli on 2^nd street that was well known for the traditional Jewish soup. She got a bowl to go and headed back to her apartment.   After arriving at her apartment she sat down at her little table and prepared to enjoy her still warm soup. She raised the first spoonful to her lips and stopped short. Sitting at her table caused her to be facing her living room windows and she simply could not enjoy her soup if mind was going to be all in a tangle over what might or might not happen at 8 o’clock that evening when the dance club’s sign began to flash. She got up and moved her chair to the other side of the table so that her back was to the living room and its windows. She took a few sips of the delicious soup and realized that ignoring the windows was not proving effective in reducing her anxiety. She got up, crossed the room to the windows and pulled shut the room darkening shades, effectively blocking out all intrusions from the outside world.