and I found myself enjoying that resentment. It was good to see you as unhappy as I was. Nice little household.

So we come to last Saturday night. You'll recollect we started it off with me listing all the things we might do. I was all glowing at the prospect of going out somewhere, anywhere just to be going out. We small-towners get that way about Saturday nights; it means a great deal to us. But every suggestion left you colder and got me hotter under the collar. I knew your long stare at the salt-shaker was a reverie about the one place I hadn't mentioned. I just don't get excited about bars and you always get mad at me for not having as good a time as you do. So we haven't gone. Now it was getting late and jealousy of that salt-shaker finally got me. I took a deep breath and said brightly as if it had just now struck me, "Hey look, why don't you let me drive you out to Helen's Place and you can give me a ring when you're ready to come home. I've got a lot of typing to do and I'll probably be at it way after you get home."

Judas, sweet Judas, how you raged! When I finally convinced you I wasn't being sarcastic and that I really had a lot of work to do, you believed me as if I hadn't spent the last hour trying to suggest things for us to do on my favorite night of the week. You bounced up and insisted on doing the dishes, and even got very affectionate for a couple minutes there. You said it was because you knew how much I didn't want you to go. The implication was you were

just a poor helpless kid caught in the terrible undertow operating out of Helen's Place. I was also a bit miffed at getting the year's ration of affection at a time like this but, instead of drowning you in the dishwater, I only suggested you submerge your hands. You must have felt uncomfortable even after wringing all that affection out of your impassive nature; you quieted down on toward the drying and got downright silent going to the car. I insisted the whole way out that it was all right and why shouldn't you have yourself a time when I had to work, and get in there and relax like mad, kid. I wasn't going to let you blame me for having a bad time; it was a real send-off. In fact, I worked so hard at it I almost forgot to get the key from you. That would have been great: Saturday night waiting on his porch for him to come home.

As a matter of fact, I really had a little work to do. I drove back humming to myself; the microscopically thin veneer of self-sacrifice hadn't worn through yet. You'd been brighter-eyer than I'd seen you in months and I'd be getting this work done sooner than I had expected; we'd have more time together Sunday with it out of the way. I might even get a little luxurious reading done tonight. I planned on hurrying on out to get you as soon as you called so we could have a beer together before coming home. Maybe the place wasn't as depressing as I liked to think it. Maybe I was all wrong about bars being depots for desperate people. I hummed all the way home.

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