a ruse supports a relationship at the price of limiting it
Winter makes puffs of Dwight’s breath as he sits in his sedan. Cracking the window, a wall of snow falls over his name tag. Spirit. Not the right spirit today. Windshield rivulets remind Dwight of Fanny’s tears last night. She could always melt his resolve, even in December. Decem-burr, as she calls it.
Dwight glances in the rear-view, toward the parts department. Ms Fanny Belt is parts manager at Gus O’Lean’s Garage, now come to manage Dwight. But Fanny’s bumper-sticker committed to aroma therapy. Scents Make Sense. Odours to Order. Feel Well by Smell. Paint is less likely to induce a migraine.
That crack brought her tears, so he runs a ruse that his smeller is off due to paint spirits. Live the lie or give up Fanny. One Belt best kept tight, Gus had said. I could come clean, Dwight considers, unfocused on the melting snow. Confess I don’t believe the fragrance-enhances message, but for now we both dance to the ruse.
Windshield wipers sluice away melting Decem-burr snow. He kills the engine, exits the auto, and balls up his courage to apologize for what he holds true. And apologize to himself for not defusing the ruse that supports their relationship, but no less limits it. Dwight is glad snow has no smell.
