It was the year 2005. The 12th of February. A Saturday. The store was busier than usual due to the crossroads of the upcoming holiday and the weekend. Sadie was doing her grocery shopping, but knew there was something she had to do before leaving the store…
As she turned down the greeting card aisle, Sadie found herself lost in a lake of Valentine’s Day cards, swimming alongside starcrossed lovers, newlyweds, and middle/upper class midwesterners trying to save their marriages; all separated from their “other halves” to engage in this ritual of finding a perfect card. Or any card really. For most of them it came easy. For Sadie, the task was monumental. Possibly even insurmountable. She had to find The One Card. The rarest, mythicalest, most elegantest card. The special and prized card in the “For Her” section, that wasn’t specifically addressed from a man. Thankfully, she was able to complete her charge before the ice cream in her cart completely melted. She never was good at organizing her grocery trips. More thankfully, no one looked her way as she searched the racks of cards, carefully reading each and every card, inspecting them to find one that was worthy of being placed upon the altar of her heart’s affection.
Speaking of, her heart was pounding. Sadie was experiencing an odd mixture of excitement, anticipation, fear, doubt, but mostly… relief. As she pushed her cart to the cash register, she bobbed her head to the store music. A slight smile involuntarily grew on her face. “You just got your girlfriend a Valentine’s Day card, Sadie! Go you!” she thought to herself. She wanted to flap her hands and squeal and jump for joy, but her mission was not yet complete.
As she was loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt from her cart, she exchanged pleasantries with the cashier. That is, until she was interrupted. “Excuse me, but may I please see your ID?” the cashier asked.
Sadie’s heart stopped. What could have possibly caused the cashier to need ID? As she looked down to avoid the impatient gaze of the cashier, she saw the wine coolers she had picked up on Aisle 5. “Sure,” Sadie mumbled. “Of course.” She began to fumble with the clips on her purse to get her wallet out and slowly, fearfully produced her driver’s license. The one with the goddess-awful photo from eons ago. From the before time. The plastic rectangle was handed off. Words were exchanged. Unkind and unyielding on one end. Pleading on the other. The rectangle of shame was returned. The woman left the store empty-handed followed by a thousand silent stares, her head, and pride, brought low.
On the way home, she sang along with Pink Floyd’s “What Do You Want From Me?” played from her Zune through the lackluster car stereo on repeat.
Do you want my blood?
Do you want my tears?
What do you want?
Sadie hated the sound of her voice, especially when she was crying. But she sang anyways, because the expenditure of energy helped her focus on something other than the pain.
You can own everything you see
Sell yourself for complete control
Is that really what you need?
Halfway through the fourth playing of the song, she pulled into the first parking spot she could find near the building the apartment she rented was in. She pulled the sun visor down, opened the mirror, and yup. Her eye makeup was ruined by the tears. It was drying up now, but that brought little comfort. She made a futile attempt to wipe the makeup off with tissues on her way up the apartment stairs.
After Sadie opened the apartment door, her partner and her were almost immediately sharing a warm embrace. The instant understanding in each woman’s eyes held wisdom and stories that few could ever dream of. The comfort and safety they found in each other’s gaze was…
Our Lady of the Perpetual Metamagic 