I was on a plane, and, as often happens, the woman next to me asked what I did. And it often happens in such circumstances, as we are no longer actually on earth but suspended in the ether above, that a lie takes place. But as I was in no mood for a lie to take place I said, “I do Biblical erasures.” And she said, “Bible erasers! You must sell a great many of them!” I didn’t know if she meant pink rubber erasers with Biblical quotes stamped on them were a commodity appealing to millions, or, since I claimed to support myself in this manner, I would certainly have to sell millions of them. But as I was still in the truth-telling mode I said, “Actually, I haven’t sold a single one.” And as the air of the airplane was suddenly warm and oppressive, I struggled to remove my overcoat, and when she reached out to help me I was overcome by this unexpected and tender gesture of assistance and to my great embarrassment and for reasons having nothing to do with our conversation, I began to cry. And she said, “Don’t worry dear, God works in mysterious ways.” We never spoke again, but a month afterwards I dedicated my new book of poems to her, a perfect stranger whose name I don’t even know, because she had become by then, in my mind, the perfect stranger.
mary ruefle