She tapes the flyer over the chaos of photos, greeting cards and receipts that she’s already taped on the refrigerator door. Meaning that for at least a week it will get first dibs for her attention. Meaning also, that she’s made it invisible to him. Because he is more interested in the contents of her refrigerator than the commotion of information on its door. Inside the fridge is about him. Outside the fridge is about her.
The flyer is a strobe light to her. When it catches her eye—and it often catches her eye—her heart explodes. Like a policeman, the meaty kind and strong, in full body armor, belt laden with guns, tasers, flashlights, and handcuffs, her heart throws its shoulder, for all its worth, into her sternum. But only once, then it quiets down and she calms her breaths. After terror comes intrigue. She feels drawn to the promise of the flyer: Mistakes: How to Fix Them. How to Use Them. The class is a code, a secret code that only she understands.
By hanging it in plain sight, she insures its true meaning will be hidden from him. He’ll think it a benign waste of space and time at most, she reasons. Besides, he can be confident that she will ask his permission before signing up. For the past five years she has never failed to do so. Then, depending on his mood and the level of frustration he’s experienced that day, he will either grant or withhold. Taking into account, of course, his perception of her level of interest—she is pretty sure he follows the rule of inverse proportions. The higher her interest, the more likely he will be to deny. No, she reassures herself, the flyer is taped under his radar. Only she can see the fine, cashmere, lace weight strand that connects the knitting class to The Mistake. Her Mistake.