Ruptured Rapture

I arrived at The End of Time a little later than usual this morning. Winnie was there, sitting by herself and eating a timid breakfast of toast and fruit. I sat across from her, assuming the invitation to be open.

“Hi, Winnie.”

“Hello, Maxwell.” She seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me. I wondered if my failure in asking about her new job had finally caught up with me.

“Are you okay, Winnie?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” I persisted, recalling that when a woman says I’m fine, she really means I’m not fine and you’re going to hear about it soon, so keep on asking.

“Well,” she said, putting down her toast and cautiously dabbing her lips with her napkin, trying not to smear the light frosting of lipstick that she had applied. “I feel foolish today.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I believed that old preacher about the end of the world—at least the rapture of the faithful—taking place today. Obviously it was all wrong, and I feel stupid for believing it.”

“It’s okay, Winnie,” I said. “It’s easy to get hopeful about things we believe in.”

“Thank you, Maxwell,” she said. “You’re very kind.”

I saw The Forb push through the door of the café. I suspected that he wouldn’t let the issue pass without comment. I was right. He came to our table.

“No end of the world after all, Winnie.” He sat down next to her. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to mock me, Mr. Forbish,” she said. “I already feel like a fool.”

“I’m not mocking you, Winnie,” said The Forb. “I once believed that my father would come home after he bailed out on my family. He never did. Sometimes our dearest wishes don’t come true.

“I’m sorry about your father, Mr. Forbish.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m over it. My old man was a bum. Anyway, it actually was the end of the world for someone.”

“It was?” she said. “Who?”

“Limerick Bill. The idiot.”

“Oh my,” said Winnie. “You don’t mean . . .”

“No, nothing terminal, I don’t think,” said The Forb. “He decided that since the end of the world was coming, he would finally get drunk on the most expensive beer he could buy on credit. It probably feels like the end of the world to him this morning.”

I smiled at Winnie, gratified that she was humbled by the failure of lunatic religion, and touched by her concern for Limerick Bill. I hoped that The Forb would leave so I could show appropriate interest in Winnie’s life. Maybe she would even have dinner with me. She looked pretty this morning.

“Well,” she said, “I have to get going. Big day at my office. Plus, I have something to look forward to today.”

“What’s that, Winnie?” I asked.

“A man at my office asked me out on a date. We’re going to dinner tonight. He seems really nice.”

It suddenly occurred to me that the end of the world comes to us in different and unique ways.