The scene: the living room of a rustic but solidly built house in Vermont, with a gorgeous view spread beneath and a Green Mountainside above. It is a summer morning, and the sun is still low but bright and cheerful. The Guest and The Erstwhile Missus are there at the invitation of D—, a colleague of TEM; the two women teach at the same school, and are in the kitchen talking.
For their part, The Guest and G—, who is D—’s husband, met for the first time just a few minutes ago. They now share a sofa in the living room. They have their feet propped up on a rugged coffee table which G— himself constructed, starting with actual logs and, conceivably, a blacksmith’s forge and anvil. A former industrial chemist in a Pennsylvania city, he moved to Vermont to be with D—; having utterly changed careers, he has become a successful carpenter. He built this very house, as well as its two predecessors. His whole demeanor seems that of New Hampshire (The Granite State) rather than Vermont: craggy. On the TV over the fireplace, a man in a threadbare suit and thin gray carefully-combed hair reads agricultural news from a sheaf of paper: news not just of weather but of livestock auctions, grain prices, and government-subsidy deadlines.
In short, The Guest is on alien ground, apparently having shared not a single life experience with G— but eager, for TEM’s sake, to ingratiate himself in some way.
Guest: You know, I’ve always wanted to live in Vermont.
G— is silent for a long moment, extending through the end of the segment on TV, several commercials, and the start of a new segment.
G—: (immobile, arms folded, gaze fixed on TV) Why’d you want to live in Vermont?
Guest: Oh jeez, it’s just beautiful here. I mean, look outside right now. (He gestures vaguely at the window.) Seriously — could anything be more beautiful than that? (He pauses to give G— a chance to interject something, anything.) In the fall, oh my gosh, it’s beautiful in the fall. (Another pause.) And if I had enough books and a house as well-built as this one, why, I bet I could be happy living up here my whole life.
Another protracted silence. Another commercial break.
G—: You ski?
Guest: (speaking rapidly) Nope — never been on skis in my life! Actually now that I think about it snow skiing, water skiing no difference, never even held a ski in my hands, actually I’m not very athletic at all, no sir.
The silence oppresses. From the kitchen, sounds of female laughter and the clatter of tableware. The newsreader on TV seems to have started all over again: temperature and precipitation expectations for the day, records of past years—
G—: (only his mouth moving) So why’d you want to live in Vermont?
I feel the pain and am inspired.
reminded me of this: http://www.stanmack.com/comicLarge.php?id=13
BTW: “this” being the comic strip series, not necessarily that specific set of panels.
Oh, and the laughter from the kitchen makes it all the worse.
Is this something dredged up from your old archives? Or have you only just got over the discomfort sufficiently to be able to write about it? This was how many years ago??
Froog: This was about 25 years ago, maybe a bit more — early 1980s, anyhow. It’s always been one of my favorite “What a ninny!” stories to tell on myself, but I don’t think I’ve ever done so online before.
That guy really did impress me from the start. All the more reason for embarrassment!
Squirrel: If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you had some sort of professional psychological credentials.
brudder: Whoa, good catch! I still see Stan Mack sometimes in The Funny Times, but I’d forgotten all about his “Real Life Funnies/Overheard Dialogue” series.
marta: Ha!