Meeting of the Minds -- Chapter 5

Susan's week flew by like a proverbial bird. The animal clinic was busy that week. On Wednesday she was seriously flapped by a beautiful blue Macaw that was in for a beak and nail trim.

The bird had gotten free of her hold, and lost several feathers before she retrieved him from the top shelf of the exam room. She didn't look Dr. Martinez in the eye the rest of the day.

That evening after work, Susan met her mother at the cafeteria. Susan hated eating at cafeterias, but they were her mother's favorite eating out option.

Helen investigated the offerings as they entered the serving line. On a low fat, low salt diet, Helen was very picky about what she chose to eat. Susan lacked appreciation of the bland.

However, she got baked whitefish, because she remembered it was on the Weight Watcher's diet plan. Susan needed to drop some weight, or she'd have to get a new outfit for her pending interview.

Maybe her mother would take her shopping. Helen was thrilled at the news that Susan had a personal interview set up. Eating fish and avoiding the dessert section, Susan hoped her mother would notice she was making an effort to lose weight, at least at this meal.

After filling their trays with food and drink, and Helen picking up the check from the cashier, they set their trays at a big corner table, which seated six. Helen sat facing the line, and Susan sat two chairs away from her mother, facing the window. This was their usual table arrangement.

The evening crowd wasn't very large, but Helen always seemed to run in to her friends there. This evening was no exception.

During dinner, and intermittent hellos with friends, Helen suggested she accompany Susan on her interview with the man who had come to the United States from Saudi Arabia.

Susan felt her eyes automatically roll to the top of her head. Her mother could still easily trigger this adolescent quirk.

"Susan, I know it's 1999, and things are different than when I worked in the office at the coffee company before you were born." Helen's thirteen years working as a secretary at Dwight Edward's Coffee Company were the happiest years of her life.

"I'm not saying you are being improper going to an interview at a strange man's apartment. But, even I know you can't trust everyone at his own word these days."

Susan set down her fork, took a sip of her coffee, and realized her mother might have a good point. Maybe it would be stupid to drive across town to the labyrinth of a huge apartment complex to meet some person she didn't really know. If he turned out to be some kind of creep, she didn't really have any serious self-defense training.

"I'm sure if this gentleman is honest in his intentions that he wouldn't mind if I came along for the ride. I promise to sit there, and not say a word. And I'll try not to embarrass you."

Susan sat, staring out the window. On an imaginary scale she weighed her mother's overprotective nature against the incessant television news stories of robberies, rapes, and murders. Her mother had always been extremely sheltering of her only daughter, and Susan fought her natural rebellious inclination to disagree immediately.

"Please, my dear, I'd feel so much better." Helen's eyes probed for the empathy only a mother can know.

Susan didn't want to bring "Mommy" along. What would this man think? However, he was from another culture. Different cultures have different ideas about the place of women in their society, but they all seem to respect mothers.

Susan couldn't say yes right away, though it seemed her mother, or somebody, should go along just for the ride. This interview would be at the man's home, not an office. Offices don't usually have beds. This was a unique situation.

"I'll think about it Mom. I'll let you know after I talk to him next time," Susan replied candidly.

That evening Susan spoke to Osama on the phone. In a soft voice, he said it would be his pleasure for the two to come to his apartment the following Sunday. Although the conversation was short, and to the point, Susan was impressed with the way this man spoke. His accent was less heavy, or Susan was getting used to his pronunciation.

He gave directions across town via Northwest Highway, past the Half Price Book Store, where he said he sometimes passed afternoons drinking coffee and reading. Susan didn't personally know anybody that did that, but it sounded like a safe way to pass time to her. At least he wasn't giving directions via the tittie bar section of Northwest Highway. His apartment was well past the section of the highway that housed most of the gentlemen's clubs in town.

This would be a long drive, perhaps 15 or 20 miles. Most of the driving was on one road. Susan was most likely to get lost in the last section of the drive that took her into a thousand-unit apartment complex with security gates.

Osama, sensing her concern, told her to call from a gas station at the corner, and he would come to met her there so that she could follow him into the gated community.

This guy was either real nice, or experienced in the most efficient way for someone to find him.

As the workweek finally passed, Susan became more excited at the opportunity of leaving animal care and teaching someone who wanted to learn. She had burned out teaching in the public school system, but this would be different. Maybe she did really want this job.

Sunday morning Susan collected an armful of books she had used previously teaching English to speakers of other languages. She found her framed diploma from the University of Texas, which she had hidden in the closet since leaving teaching. When she had gathered everything she could think of to impress her potential employer, she made a trip down the stairs to put the items in the trunk of her car. She slammed the trunk with an adrenalin rush, then slammed it again because the latch didn't catch.

Seeing the dog-eared books, and the official document of her collegiate accomplishment, brought Susan a comfortable feeling about what she was doing. She walked up the stairs to her apartment with a smile on her face. Out of all the jobs in the world, this one had somehow found her. She wanted the job, even though she didn't know exactly what would be involved.

She did like the work at the animal clinic, and the classes she was taking toward being a Registered Veterinary Technologist were interesting. However, she'd done it all before. Susan had a Bachelor's degree in English, but she was now taking courses toward an associate degree. She felt backward. It was drudgery, and she was always broke. If she took this job, all the effort she'd taken toward changing careers would be for naught. Susan had spent the previous year and a half on a new career path. She was in her fourth semester of study.

Now she'd have to quit her job at the animal clinic, or she'd have to drop out of the vet program at school, or both. All she knew was that an English teacher was needed for 5-6 hours a day. There was no way she could do both. The teaching job had to pay better than the animal clinic. Tail wags are great, but they only go so far.

Susan paid special attention to putting on her make-up that morning. She laid out her cosmetic instruments as orderly as she laid out the doctor's surgical table. Visine, sepal eye pencil, black-brown liquid eyeliner, brown mascara, and a dark brown eyebrow pencil were set orderly on the right side of the vanity, with foundation, blush, and powder on the other.

She ironed a white blouse, and admired the new black skirt her mother had bought her. The outfit was simple, but professional. She'd worn scrubs and jeans for what seemed like years. The thought of heels and hose put a bit of a damper on her spirit. Burn out still haunted her.

She peered into her eyes as she put on the various layers of her cosmetic face. Although she had ceased applying make-up for the benefit of the animals for which she cared, the routine application and outcome of putting on a new face made her feel new too.

When she arrived to pick up her mother, her energy and confidence swelled. Susan and Helen chatted through an imaginary interview on the 45-minute drive across town that Sunday afternoon. Following the man's directions, they eventually reached the service station he had denoted as the place from which to call. As luck would have it, Susan's cell phone was out of juice, but a pay phone was conveniently located on the parking lot. She called the phone number, Osama answered, and said he'd be right there. He arrived in less than five minutes. He drove a dark colored sports car, which wasn't new. Susan waved at the small fellow with Arab attributes. He waved back, motioning for her to follow. Three turns later, they drove past the security gates and into the apartment complex parking lot.

Formal introductions were exchanged, and Osama politely shook both Susan's and Helen's hands. He insisted on carrying in the books and other materials Susan pulled from the trunk of her old green Dodge. With green expanses of landscape, the three walked along a pathway that led past half a dozen buildings. Osama pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the apartment door, and congenially invited his guests inside. Susan had worn her two-inch heels, and she felt very self-conscious because Osama was very short and slight of build. She took the first appropriate opportunity to sit down.

Mother and daughter sat on the sofa as Osama went into the kitchen and prepared each a soft drink with ice, and water with ice. He returned and placed the four glasses on coasters on the coffee table. The apartment was nicely furnished with a leather sofa and love seat facing toward the fireplace and patio window overlooking the manicured fall landscape below. A glass and chrome dinette set was graced by a poster print of a middle eastern looking princess. Susan caught the glint of approval in her mother's eyes.

"My cousin lives in Saudi Arabia," said Osama, removing his sandals, and then sitting on the love seat. "He has taken courses for learning English at the college close to here. He studied about three weeks. He says he wants to just walk in the mall and learn English. I told him it would not be as easy as he thinks. I told him that you can't learn a language that way."

Osama had learned English well, and had graduated with an engineering degree from an Atlantic coast university. He was presently working the graveyard shift for a medical equipment company. He was interviewing on behalf of his cousin, who would return to Dallas when his teacher had been hired.

"I recognize some of the books you have. I used some of the same books to learn English," said Osama.

"I taught English and English as a Second Language for five years," Susan said, ready to spill out her qualifications. "I taught some of the boat people who came from the Philippines. My students were in middle school, mostly between the ages of eleven to sixteen or so."

Osama chuckled a congenially. "My cousin may not be the kind of student you are accustomed to. My cousin is 29 years old, and has a wife and three children. He is very hard headed. His father is rich, and he is very spoiled."

"I'm used to working with hard headed students," said Susan. "I helped my students to pay the family light bill and to do other things in the community. I thought maybe your cousin and I could learn to use the bus system, and he could call on the telephone to get directions to the places we could go. I thought we could go to the library and the museum and sometimes maybe out for lunch. You said he likes to go to the mall?"

"When he is in town with his friends he likes to go to the night clubs. He stays out very late at night with his friends," said Osama.

"What hours do you want to have a teacher for your cousin?" asked Susan. "Could we meet at the public library for his English lessons?"

"Ahmed wants the teacher to come every day to the apartment for six hours. I have had so many phone calls, I am ready to make the decision. You are just what we're looking for," he said, as he picked up Susan's framed diploma and handed it to her. "I would like for you to be my cousin's teacher."

"And I would be delighted to teach him. How soon do we start?” Susan asked, the excitement obvious in her voice.

"I will call him when it is morning there," said Osama. He will probably be here within the week. He works with his father at the largest bulletproof glass manufacturing company in the Middle East. It will take just a few days for him to settle his business, and then he will be ready for his teacher! I will call you before I go to work tomorrow, and let you know which day."

Osama walked Susan and her mother to their car, and provided directions out of the complex and back to the highway, which he noted was under construction. All were smiling as Susan and Helen Carpenter pulled out of the apartment complex in the old green Dodge, waving to the Saudi Arabian gentleman a pleasant departure.