A meeting of coincidence, a startling discovery, a heartfelt goodbye. The necessary but insufficient ingredients for a recipe of love. All present and oh so sufficient when you fixed my oven last Saturday afternoon in Arlington, Massachusetts.
It had been hours since I discovered Kanye Westinghouse wouldn’t turn on. I tried everything. Turning him off and on again. Pacing around the kitchen. Feeding him a Hungryman Country Fried Steak (his favorite meal). No response. I turned to the internet for answers; searching for “oven broken”, “spells to make fire: appliances”, and “Movies where Michael Cain does an American accent”. Nothing again. At my lowest point, I saw it: “Ray’s Appliance Repair”. A sponsored ad? No. It was fate. I know this because you, my hero, my savior, my knight in a shining Ford Transit Connect, knew what the problem was and had the tools to solve it. That is fate.
You arrived earlier than your estimate. Lighter traffic than expected, you said shyly. A strong face to avoid wearing your heart on your sleeve. You don’t need to hide yourself from me. “You’re in my home, you’re safe here”, I whispered under my breath as I took your coat and showed you to my kitchen. “What?” you replied, handsomely. “The oven’s over here” I said, letting the true words come from my heart.
“Looks like the igniter is broken” you said over your shoulder, a glint in your eyes you would say was caused by my standing lamp from Target. But I’ll call it what it was, you were seeing stars. “So I need a spark?” We all do, but I asked in hopes you’d see what I was really asking. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Just need to go to my truck.” My heart raced. Years of writing poems to missed connections on Craigslist only to find all the connection I need right here in my kitchen. We can escape in your van and cruise the US listening to Kurt Vile and seeing where the road takes us. You fixing ovens, me writing novels. I watched you leave, but not for the last time.
Time stood still while I waited for your return. And return you did, lighting up the room with your rugged charm, and also the Petzl headlamp used to light up dark spaces (of my heart). When we’re together I’ll give all the light you need. Back in the kitchen now it’s like it was meant to be. In my head we’re making a lazy Sunday breakfast, me making pancakes while you work your magic in the oven. We catch up on our week and talk about plans for the afternoon. I’m snapped out of my daydream by a whoosh and a blast of hot air on my face. Kanye Westinghouse is back!
You pack up your tools and I’m searching for the words that’ll make you stay. I have other appliances I can break. You mutter something about “That’ll be it then” and I’m still replaying our best moments together in my head. The time you showed up early. The time you knew what the problem was. The time when we were together. You pass me a piece of paper with your phone number. A love letter? No, a bill. Love doesn’t come cheap.