Sunflowers-A Story

Handyman
A story

          “What keys can you play in,” she asked me.
          I looked at her, puzzled. “Keys?”
          “Are you the guy that plays the cornet?” she asked.
          “Good god no. I came to fix the leak in the sink, but I can’t get into the kitchen. There’s too many people in there, and they won’t get out of the way.”
          “It’s a party,” she explained.
          “Yes,” I said.
          “I thought you were the guy who claims to play the cornet.”
          “No,” I said.
          “I guess maybe he can, but I don’t believe it. I mean, how can you believe a thing like that?”
          “I don’t know,” I said.
          “Maybe he’s musical.” She shrugged.
          “Maybe,” I agreed. “I don’t know much about it. Anything, actually. I just came...you know, the sink.”
          She rolled her eyes in exaggerated disbelief, but I didn’t know whether it was the alleged cornetist or the alleged sink-fixer that she doubted.
          “I do a little carpentry too,” I offered, trying to hold up my end of the conversation.
          “Damn and blast,” she said suddenly. Her eyes flared with anger, and I fervently wished I hadn’t brought carpentry into the conversation.
          “I left my keys in the car,” she explained.
          “I see,” I said.
          “I think I locked them in.”
          “That’s too bad,” I said.
          “Do you do cars?”
          “Cars?”
          “You know. Doors.” She waited, but I didn’t understand. “Can you get into a locked car?” she asked in exasperation.
          “No. I mean if I have the keys. Of course. But not otherwise.”
          A man appeared from the kitchen. “Are you the handyman?” he asked me.
          “That’s right,” I answered.
          “Well, we’ve got a leak in here, you know.” He was a little keyed up.
          “I know,” I answered.