The Writers' Circle

The Grace of the World

"For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."
--Wendell Berry




Ruby strained to keep hold of the narrow ledge in the rock wall. Her fingertips scraped to bleeding, the tips of her shoes clinging to shallow crimps, she gripped the looming wall like a spandex spider. A sweating, grunting spandex spider. 

"Sal, I am so kicking your ass when I get up there." Risking a glance to the top of the ridge, she growled at the wide grin waiting for her.

"Only a bit more. C'mon, you can do this," he said. "Hell, you've climbed taller men than this."

He laughed as a variety of muttered curses wafted up to him, and then readjusted his grip on the belay line leading to her harness. Quite a girl, this Ruby. They met when she'd moved to Tucson a few years before. She seemed quiet at first. Sal chuckled. 

"Shit," Ruby hissed. Her fingers slipped and she scraped the skin off her wrist scrabbling for purchase. She ground her teeth. Even breaths. Focus. She scanned the rockface above her and found her path. She bumped with her left hand, secured the hold, and then edged her feet into new jags, feeling her way between visual checks. Breathe. In, out. 

She no longer noticed the trickle of sweat between her breasts, the raw skin, the gnat cloud orbiting her head. Nothing mattered but the wall, and climbing it. Part of her mind noted remaining distance, the slant of the sun, her growling stomach, but Ruby ignored it. Her body took over, seeking workable holds, lifting her own weight from crack to nub to grip. Sal egged her on, but his voice faded to the background. She heard nothing but her own breathing.

Her arms and legs trembling, she finally reached the ridge and topped out, collapsing on her side, panting. Small rocks and spiny plants dug into her, but damned if she didn't care. Sal leaned down and thumped her on the back, tugging on her ponytail.

"Well done. Really," he continued. "For a first time, incredible. Nobody makes it their first time."

Ruby opened her eyes, tilting her face to him. He leaned closer to offer a hand up, and she grabbed his water bottle from his belt and took a long drink. She doused her face, cleaning the dust and sweat. She took another swallow.

"Go to Hell, Sal." 

"Anytime, Iowa. As long as you go with me." He smiled, his broad face both homely and angelic. 

Ruby couldn't resist a smile, and they settled in for the desert vista and some beef jerky. The late afternoon sun bathed them in a golden glow, the small canyon beyond their dangling feet preparing for another long evening, its resident creatures hunting or hunkering as their instincts demanded. Life was good.

 # # #


In the predawn hours, Ruby laid in bed listening to the dark, to the dogs barking down the street, to the building creaking. Something felt different. Wrong. She stared at the ceiling, but trouble stayed under the current, the shadows floating across her room less than forthcoming. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down her sides and neck and she shivered as they dried. Summer in the desert. She rolled out of bed and turned off her alarm clock, padded to the bathroom and rinsed her face. In the fluorescent light, Ruby looked wan. Shadows settled under her eyes, her plain features waxy without expression to enliven them. She studied her reflection, resigning herself once again to her unexciting and rumpled appearance. Luxuriant waves, the box promised. My ass, she scoffed. Her fingers caught in the knots cobwebbing through her lank hair, and several strands came away as she disentangled her hand. She sighed. 
The night creeps dissipated along with Ruby's reset in the bathroom mirror, and she puttered into the small kitchen. The coffee almost made itself, her routine automatic after a few years in her new hometown, and her mind wandered back to those inklings of dread. Forget it, she thought. It's nothing.
She'd moved to Tucson three years before, fresh out of college, and fresh off the Iowa farm where she'd grown up. Her parents didn't object to the sudden move, but the quizzical look on their faces never completely faded after she announced her plans. She could still see them in her rearview mirror, dazed and waving as she drove off. She still wasn't sure why she'd chosen Tucson, but for the outdated romantic notion of a frontier Southwest. 
"You be good, Rue," Pa had said, his wrinkled face stoic. He'd patted her on the shoulder, and she'd leaned into him, savoring the rare physical touch. Her mother, though. Ruby smiled. Her mother had packed a full box for her trip, replete with non-perishable snacks, magazines, a first aid kit and pepper spray, just to be safe. She'd clasped her and hugged so tight Ruby's breath whooshed out, both their eyes wet and full as they said their goodbyes. She could still smell her Ma's skin, fresh wisps of field flowers and her old-fashioned face powder, as feminine as Ruby always wanted to be.
Her dog whimpered and paced to the kitchen, then to the living room, his tail wagging. His ears swiveled forward and back and he panted, gaze drawn to the glass doors. White with large brown splotches all over, Hugh was fifty pounds of tense dog curiosity. Or anxiety. Ruby wasn't sure at the moment.

"What's up, hamhead?" She bumped him with her knee, gaining his attention and a swift sniff of her kneecap. He sat facing the patio door and looked over his shoulder at her.

She opened the glass door to the balcony, settled in the cheap plastic lawn chair with her two-fisted mug of coffee. The air was balmy, the sky just beginning to turn lighter, the purples still near black, the hemisphere still dampened with sleep. In a few hours, she'd be sitting in her cubicle, listening to muffled traffic of the rush hour four floors below, watching the city work its machinations, earning her usual pittance. Right now, she could breathe in the desert air and revel in the view from her second-floor abode. Palo verde trees flicked their willowy branches with the breeze, small blooms adding their own perfume to the dawn symphony. Small brush cacti stood, stolid soldiers awaiting orders, guarding the perimeter. Morning birds filled the trees, twittering their nimble song.

Her Armory Park apartment was in an older building near downtown, plaster ceilings and walls, wooden floors with an uneven charm, but she loved the history of the place. She could feel the generations of people here before her, and the connection of place between them. Her furniture was anonymous, collected from thrift stores and garage sales around town over the last few years. Ruby had never been happier anywhere else, including home. This was her home, now. Hers and Hugh's.

Slipping on her mismatched jog suit, Ruby whistled for Hugh and they took off for their morning run. Around the nearby [insert park name] park, they jogged in the gray light, felt the heat rising from the cement under their feet, Ruby leaving sweat fumes in their wake. She loved the early morning, the solitude. Jogging gave her a regular connection with the nature around her, as well. Her work certainly didn't, and since leaving home she'd discovered how much better she felt outside. She wouldn't admit this to her father, but she missed working on the farm. The herds of sheep cropping grass with their quiet rhythm and sharp teeth, low green hills reaching the horizon, loudmouthed ducks terrorizing Huck and Finn, the border collies.  The shearing was hard work, not to mention milking and mucking pens, but Ruby missed it all the same. She slowed to a walk, stretching her arms and observing the awakening day around her. The sky was lightening to a powder blue so deep she could almost touch it, and a dry breeze wicked the perspiration from her face. The air was sweet, the subtle fragrance of desert sage sweeping past her. A slow smile quirked the corners of her mouth. Of course, the desert had its good points, too. She picked up the pace again, calling Hugh away from a hole in the ground. 
On the way home, they took the shorter path through the park, where Hugh enjoyed the small artifical lake. As they neared the water and Hugh spotted his first duck, a shudder rolled across the rocky grass, through the ground beneath them, and car alarms blared from the surrounding neighborhood. The ducks flew scattershot into the air. Yard dogs sounded off in chorus, and Hugh barked, charging from behind Ruby and clipping her legs. She lost her balance and skidded to the ground, skinning her left knee. 

"Shit, shit." She examined the tear in her pants. "Double shit. Hugh, get back here."

Settled on the rocky bank, she listened to the cacophony around her and waited for Hugh to get his yah-yahs out. After the momentary upset, quiet resumed. Earthquakes in the desert. Hm. Ruby shrugged, and Hugh danced around her in circles, excited by the break in routine.

"Chilidog for breakfast, you say?" she gestured toward the vendor on the street corner. "I'll go for that."
# # #

Eight o'clock, and Ruby was late and taking the stairs two at a time, her sensible heels chafing only a little. Ruby worked for the city. She was a lackey, performing basic clerical tasks. Most of her workdays were numbing, but Ruby had few career aspirations and was fine with the grind. Her life had always been uneventful, growing up in Marshalltown, she'd moved to the city to escape the isolation, the distance from whatever excitement might be happening. She loved the city. She had abandoned the land, how to work the soil. How to work with animals. Hugh would disagree, but the extent of the work they did together amounted to a healthy bout of fetch. And they both were happy with that and each other. Complacent as she was, she wasn't especially looking forward to work, or her cubicle, or the people she worked with. Bill, her supervisor, was actually quite an asshole. 

"Morning, petunia," he said, stepping out of his office to wave her down.  His pudgy fingers waggled, his shirt collar already damp with perspiration and straining under the weight of his doughy neck. Bill started to slick his hair back a few months earlier after seeing a vintage James Bond movie, convinced the look inspired fantasies in his female underlings of underwater wrestling. He'd conspired with management to plan a pool party for this year's annual get-together, but the women in the office shouted that down with adamant refusal in their eyes. The men seemed oblivious, either way.

She sighed. "Hey, Bill." She raised her eyebrows and waited. He took his time, ogling her from head to toe.
"Well, don't you look lovely today." His oily gaze left a trail. She glared at him, emitting a low growl of disgust. He nudged his thick glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "You're in a mood. Hey, I need you to run to two, get those requisition forms from Tuesday. They never sent them over."

"I'm on it." She saluted, happy to leave him behind. 

Ruby swung back the direction she'd come, carrying her backpack, not yet stopping at her desk. The only thing waiting for her there was, well, more of the same. On the way to the second floor, she could stop off at five, find Sal.

She'd worn her flirty skirt today with the small blue floral pattern, with her favorite sweater. Lightweight, and flattering to her slim figure. She wasn't lonely, exactly,  but never having been in a serious relationship, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would. Right now, and for the past three years, Sal was the closest she had and he was a gay hermit. As far as she knew, he didn't leave his house other than for work. He was a collector of, well, many things. Glass bottles, old motherboards, antique wooden chickens. He was an odd bird, but they'd struck a fast friendship from the first. She breezed up on his desk, leaning down on her elbows and resting her chin on her hands, batting her eyes. He startled, pushed his glasses up on his forehead and mimicked her.

"Love of my life," he lilted. "You brought coffee?"

"Caffeine whore." She opened the brown bag she'd carried from the vendor down in the lobby. "Lucky for me, you're easy. Wait until you taste this sludge."

"Oh, but the chewy bits, those're what keep. I can make a cup of this swill last all day if I work it right." He smiled, corners of his mouth wide. She shifted to sit, nudging him over a bit in his seat so they could share.

"What're you working on?" Sal worked in traffic control.  

"Well, the weirdest thing." He brought up the screen on his computer. "This morning, exactly 5:45am, every intersection shut down for two minutes. Every traffic light, every handicap signal. From what I understand, the electric utilities reported a momentary failure across the board, as well. Exactly 5:45 am."

Ruby blinked, unimpressed. "I think we had an earthquake. You're telling me we've never had an outage before? So what?" 

"Earthquake? You sure?" 
Ruby shrugged. "Felt like it. I scraped my knee. See?"
He shook his head. "You don't get it." He leaned closer, lowered his voice. "We don't have backup for this. Not on this scale. If it happens again, for longer than a few minutes or so, the city crashes. I mean completely crashes." His eyes held hers, serious. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

"People would have to walk to work?" she shrugged.

"Ruby. Listen. I've been reading about this. Massive power outages happen, and they spread like falling dominoes, city to city." He took a sip of coffee. "The frightening thing is, they've been getting worse the past ten years or so, and happening more often. Doesn't sound like a big deal, I know. But what if these outages are just the first hint? What if bigger trouble is brewing?" Sal's forehead had wrinkled, his eyebrows lifted in his nervous excitement.

Ruby stood up, smoothed her skirt. "You sound like you almost want this to happen."

"I'm just saying don't rely on the system to get things going when it happens again." Sal wished for a donut.
Ruby eyed him, a slight smirk playing across her lips. "Don't worry about me. I'm from sturdy farmer stock, remember?"
"Girl, you'd get knocked over by a stray cat. You don't fool me."
Ruby chuckled and flitted her fingers at Sal as she started walking away, leaving him to his destructionist reverie. 
"Wait," he waved her back, his face grave. "Bring me a donut?"