The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Geographies of the Heart by Caitlin Hamilton Summie

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Disconnected
Sarah
Fall 1994

(excerpt)

On their first date, Sarah wore jeans and a red sweater, to catch the auburn color in her hair. No make-up. She usually wore some, but not then. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to be herself.

She’d met Al in the library early in the week, in an unusually long line for reference help. After chatting about the wait and the weather, and just before she stepped up for her turn, he’d invited her out for a coffee at the Campus Cup.

The Campus Cup was just shy of being a dump, but students and faculty alike loved it, the lumpy chairs and scratched tables and maroon curtains, pulled back now to let in the last of the late afternoon light. The Cup served coffee or tea in mismatched saucers and cups, and there was no background music, just the hum of conversation. Sarah loved the Cup, and she often squirreled up there with books and tea at her favorite table in the corner by the front window, if she could get it. On rare occasions, she’d bump into her younger sister, Glennie, but Glennie most often studied in the library and only popped in to fuel up. She never lingered, so Sarah thought of The Campus Cup as her place. For Al to suggest it gave her confidence in him, even if it was a logical choice.

She saw Al now, half-standing up from his chair, waving, blushing. He was as she remembered, with his Scandinavian white-blond hair, the blue eyes, those dimples. He was tallish and on the heavy side, not that she was petite, and she was grateful they’d be sitting down. It would be easier to look him in the eye.

When she reached his table, Al held out her chair. Who did that besides her Grandpa? The gesture charmed her, and Sarah smiled her thanks. They smoothly navigated the awkward subject of who was paying. Sarah imagined that any offer to treat would be waved away and asked for a coffee but declined his offer of a cookie. Lately she had been eating too many of those, as the stress of her final semester took its toll, but the stress was less from schoolwork than her job search, which hadn’t yet yielded any results.

Settled later, after making a careful landing with their blue cups and red saucers, Al looked at her brightly, quickly glanced away, then looked back. And just as quickly, a scruffy, gaunt young man appeared, pausing to readjust his heavy backpack as he passed their table. At least that’s what Sarah thought until he lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave.

“Hi, John,” Al said. “John, this is Sarah.”

She held out her hand, and John stared at it, then shook it more forcefully than necessary, as if to make up for his not having understood what to do with it in the first place.

“I just wanted to let you know that I read the book you suggested. I didn’t, uh, I didn’t agree. With some things,” John said. His voice was soft, and he seemed nervous, taking his time getting his words out and fiddling with his backpack strap, but Al never interrupted or tried to fill in his words for him.

When it was clear that John was done speaking, Al said, “I’d love to know what you thought of it. Do you want to come to my office hours tomorrow?”

John nodded. “Okay. I’ll come by. Not this week. Maybe next week.”

“Looking forward to it.”

John nodded again and hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Okay,” he said, and with a glance back at Sarah, “Bye.” But he didn’t leave.

“I’m glad you stopped,” Al said, smiling.

And then, still nodding, John left, bumping people with his backpack as he passed, apologizing his way out the door.

The exchange was painful to watch, and Sarah admired Al’s patience. Or maybe, she thought, it was actually kindness.

“Are you a professor?”

“Almost. I’m a Ph.D. student in the Religion Department. How about you?”

“I’m a marketing major. I graduate this December, so I’m in the middle of a job search.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “Why religion?”

“I’ve always been interested in it. I was like John. I read a lot when I was young. It’s hard for me to explain, but I’m interested in its role in people’s lives. Maybe in redemption, or the hope of it.”

“Redemption? All I want to do is sell Cheerios or something,” Sarah chuckled.

“I get this question a lot, but I don’t really have a great answer. I think I’m still figuring it out myself. It’s why the B.A. became an M.A. and is now a Ph.D.”

Something about his truth nagged her, perhaps because she was ready to move on in her own life. She wanted to be solid, set, ready, employed. “I thought when we graduated, we were automatically adults.” Her tone was light, but his reply, when it came, was pensive.

“Adulthood is hard.”

“Well, spare me some pain. What’s hardest?”

“Making friends,” Al said, blushing again. “It’s hard to make friends without classes and dorms and parties. Where do you meet people, you know? And I’m not even talking about dates. I mean friends. How often can you go hang out with people in the department? Even if your old friends are still your friends, you want to meet new people, too.”

And that’s when something recalibrated for Sarah, made her tilt her head and begin to listen with the same care Al had listened to John.

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