Threats

 Herself speaks.

Yesterday, I took my car to the dealer for the 60,000-mile service. I thoroughly dislike attending to Car Things, but sometimes, things just must be done. 

Kudos to the dealer, for their health and safety precautions. And to the patrons, too, with the exception of the one slothlike woman who strolled into the establishment unmasked, and languidly applied her mask inside the door so that everyone else was obligated to be within her unmasked airspace for an unduly long time as she carelessly looped the mask over one ear, and then the other, leaving her nose exposed. I would say, a pox upon her, but she had a child with her -- an unmasked child, well of an age when wearing a mask should have been simple -- and I do not want to wish ill upon an innocent child's mother. 

Sigh.

I knew I would be there for a couple of hours, so I brought my camp chair and book and parked myself in the shade on the front patio while I waited. Occasionally car-shoppers would walk by to look into the vehicles strategically displayed there; everyone kept a respectful, masked distance. 

There was one man whose goal there was temporarily unclear: was he shopping? Waiting for service on his vehicle? What quickly became obvious, though, was that he was... a jerk. 

He had several telephone conversations with a woman who was clearly his wife, and each one was angry, and loud, and contained veiled threats about the nature and duration of their relationship. It appeared that he was waiting for her to provide either credit card information, or money, regarding their vehicle. He chastised her for not "pulling her weight" financially; scolded her for allowing her sister to help her because it was only her responsibility; reminded her that he not only helped pay her health insurance premium, but also that of m'hija; and questioned, what was even the reason "for all this" (the marriage) if she couldn't do her share? He would berate her, and then tell her he "had to go" and hang up; and then would repeat the cycle a few minutes later. It was... terrible. 

He could see I was within earshot. Did he derive some kind of pleasure from verbally accosting his wife while I could not help but hear? I ignored him and read my book. What else could I do? 

Would I have done something differently if she had physically been there? 

I wanted to somehow reach through the ether to this woman. Her life is hard, this much was clear. 

I wonder if she is a Crane Wife. Shrinking herself, under his gaze and his voice (and perhaps his hands), trying to be small and needless and therefore somehow worthy. 

It doesn't work, I want her to know.

You are worthy of support and love, I want to tell her.  

Would she understand? Would she defend him? He's right, I need to get a second or third job, it is my fault that he is angry, I just need to try harder. He doesn't abuse me -- he doesn't hit me. He is just trying to.... 

It doesn't matter what he is "just trying to" do. 

He will eventually leave her, as he threatened in his phone calls. And he will blame her, telling her he is going because it is her fault that he is angry, because she didn't try hard enough. And she will believe him.

I am sorry, woman on the other end of the line. I wish I could help. I hope for better for you.  

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As lonely as social distancing has been, there has been safety in not interacting with people, too. It's a terrible place to be, here in pandemic limbo, afraid of both the carelessness and the bubbling anger of strangers. 

Save us from ourselves.