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Author's Note:This is a short story of mine that I've divided into four parts to make it more manageable to read. No single part has any real ending, save the last one.
The kitchen light bulb was out again.
“Hurry, honey, or you’ll be late! Oh, damn,” Janine said as she noticed the kitchen went dim. She stood on the kitchen table, her floral bargain-bin skirt dancing around her knees, and knocked a stack of letters to the floor. SECOND NOTICE and URGENT and FINAL NOTICE blazed in bold red letters on the envelopes. She tapped the bulb and tried screwing it in and out, testing out that last curious theory that somehow the bulb had unscrewed itself. Nothing. “The light is out again. Could you pick up some more while you’re out?”
Robert was frantically knotting his tie while simultaneously trying to bolt down a slice of buttered toast that he almost choked on. “Again?” He coughed, exasperated. “I just got some last week.”
“Yes, again,” she sighed and looked around. The wallpaper was peeling, the paint was faded, there were holes in the drywall that needed patching, the showerhead in the bathroom was spraying water every which way except the direction it was supposed to (usually on or off), and the sink was clogged making the kitchen stink like wet garbage. So many projects they had planned to complete, but that was before the big lay-off. You hear about the economy taking a dip and company cutbacks, but none of it seems very important or concerning until it actually effects you. It happened to Robert almost four months ago and since then he spent his days fruitlessly searching for work. “This house is falling apart. I thought you were going to fix the shower; I’ve had to take baths for two weeks now. And the sink is still clogged, how am I going to do the dishes?”
“I know, I know,” Robert said, distractedly, pouring himself a glass of milk into a red plastic Dixie cup. What he really wanted was a cup of coffee but all they had was the instant stuff he hated. “I live here too you know, you don’t think I notice? It’s going to be fixed, I have the stuff, I just—” he paused, jerking his tie into a sloppy knot, looking away from his wife. They had managed to scrounge together enough money to buy a new showerhead three weeks ago and outside the bathroom door it sat in a Home Depot shopping bag, expectantly. His mind had been so possessed with finding work that he neglected to do much else. He would install it after he got the job, when the heaviest load of his worries had eased. “I just never got around to it. Trust me, before you know it we’ll be throwing out the rubber ducks and you’ll be taking steaming hot showers. I’m going to do it, just . . . not now.”
“Well, when are you going to get around to it, Rob? You’ve had weeks.”
“Just stop it, Janine, okay?” Robert said, his voice rising. His temper was always lurking so close to the surface lately, threatening to explode out of him and more often than not his wife was on the receiving end. “I don’t need to be reminded. It’ll be done when it gets done, but right now all I want to think about is this interview. Those projects are going to have to sit tight until I have some time to spare.”
In their four years of marriage, Robert had never so much as raised his voice to Janine, but now it seemed like he was getting in a shouting match with her every other day. He’d been firm, even icy at times, but he never yelled. Things had changed since then, and only for the worse. His anger had become as easily provoked as an abused lion in a cage, roaring and clawing at the slightest provocation, whether intentional or not. He was strained, pulled taught, and he knew if something didn’t change soon, he would snap. Robert felt like he had become someone else; he wasn’t THAT GUY, the sort that was always picking fights at the bar, who put holes in the wall in an ill-mannered attempt to divert his temper so he didn’t wind up slugging his wife one and had a fuse so short it was practically nonexistent. All his life, Robert considered himself to be laid back and calm, almost Zen-like in his slowness to anger, yet over the months it seemed like he was becoming more and more like THAT GUY. He wasn’t quite at the stage of breaking beer bottles at the pool hall, but sometimes he wondered how far off that was, seriously wondered. Trying times had a way of changing men, he realized. The job he was going to be interviewed for was the solution to all of their (his) problems, the sedative that would put the lion to sleep. It was a managerial position at a Nestlé warehouse, and Robert’s thoughts and need of this job possessed his every waking thought. He couldn’t think about the damn light bulbs or the showerhead just now.
“Time?” She gave a distraught, weary laugh. “How does a man with no job manage to keep so busy?”
Her words stung like a slap to the face and it took all of his self control to stop himself from yelling. Instead, he finished the gulp of milk he was in the middle of and set the Dixie cup calmly on the table, though his hand shook. Robert wanted to crush that cup into oblivion but the fear of the raging lion kept him in line. Already provoked, it was best not to entertain it. Besides, we might need the disposables until I can get some Draino. “That’s going too far Janine,” he whispered hoarsely. Robert looked Janine in the eyes and saw the regret and frustration as she saw the shame and hurt in his. “I’m trying as hard as I can. They’re going to get done, and I’m going to get this job, but Jesus, Janine, would you get off my back? I have enough on my mind as it is and I don’t need to be reminded of my problems. I know them well enough.”
Janine opened her mouth but nothing came. Instead, she closed her mouth and pursed her lips into a hard line. She looked into his eyes, trying so hard to be understanding but he could see the misery and the concern on her face. He saw that look on her face much too often, and it was like a spike in his heart every time he did. Janine stepped forward, hugged Robert tight, and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said in a strained voice. She felt his rough face against hers, freshly shaved with a dull razor. “I was out of line; I’m just so worried about us, and our situation. And they’re not your problems, Rob, they’re ours, don’t try to shoulder the burden alone.”
Robert imagined a lesser woman crying or bravely sniffing back tears, but her eyes were dry. Janine cared a lot, and he knew it, but she didn’t have her heart pinned on her sleeve. He had never seen Janine cry; she was a regular Shirley MacLaine.
“I love you,” Robert said. But you’re wrong, he wanted to finish.
Robert glanced down on the floor and saw the pile of bills scattered helter-skelter. Both mortgages, the power and light, gas, water, HOA, health and life insurance; they were all late. He sold his Ford Taurus a little over a month ago, which rankled because he needed that car—but he needed the cash even more. One less bill to pay he reminded himself, but that was little comfort.
Perhaps he was old fashioned, but he always saw himself—being the man—as the bread winner of the household, but since getting laid off they’d been living hand to mouth from Janine’s paycheck alone. He hated it, hated knowing she had to work a full time job and a second on the side (if one could call telemarketing a job, especially after the “No-call” list came into being) to support them while he couldn’t even get one. She worked so hard and it still wasn’t enough. When they first married, he had made enough money managing a warehouse for both of them to live comfortably, though she had a part-time job at the King Soopers to maintain some independence. Robert didn’t mind then: he was fulfilling his duty as the man by keeping the household running, so what did he care if Janine wanted to make a little money of her own? The bills, they weren’t her responsibility, they were his solely and she was suffering for it. His anger, a busted a showerhead, and of all things another burned out light bulb, she deserves better than this, he thought, better than me.
He held her close and drank her in, her shoulder-length hair colored like dark honey, large jade green eyes that had a wonderful sparkle to them. She was slender but curvy nonetheless, and although her breasts weren’t exactly large, they were shapely and that’s what really mattered to him. The light smell of peaches rose from her body and filled him, a scent that never seemed to come from shampoos or conditioners, but naturally from her. The stress of debt had given her face a world-weary look to it, faint shadows under her eyes from lack of sleep (up late worrying as he did, and he hated that too) but it barely touched her looks. Janine was gorgeous, the sort of woman that belonged on the arm of a far more successful man and Robert often wondered how he got so lucky as to be with her. But how long would she stay? The one thought that would keep him up later than most at night was Janine leaving him, that he would come home one day after job-hunting to find her gone. Farewell, bum, enjoy being broke. Alone. Perhaps she would be better off without him—no, there was no perhaps about it, she would be far better off, but he didn’t know what he’d do if Janine left.
Robert wanted to make things better, but it always seemed beyond his reach.
She gently disentangled herself him and snatched the Dixie cup off of the kitchen table to rinse in the sink. After swishing it around a bit, she threw the opaque water out the open window, made gray by the remains of the milk. “You should probably get going honey, you don’t want to be late. I think I see Tommy outside waiting for you.”
He peeked outside the kitchen window and sure enough there was Tommy parked on the curb, arm hanging out the side, radio turned up loud to Papa Roach’s “Last Resort.”
Would it be wrong, would it be right,
if I took my life tonight,
Chances are that I might mutilation out of sight, and I’m contemplating suicide . . .
Robert himself wasn’t much in to hard rock; he was always more of a Louis Armstrong and Beetles man. Tommy on the other hand was nuts for the stuff, the harder the better, just short of total head-banger music.
He knelt and snatched up the pile of bills and threw them on the table. I’ll deal with you later, he vowed. “The next time you see me, I’ll be an employed man. Wish me luck.”
Janine gave him a hopeful smile. “Good luck.”
They kissed.
“See you later, babe.” He walked out the door, adjusting his tie knot.
“Don’t forget to pick up the light bulbs!” Janine cried as he shut the door.
Practically running, he hurried to Tommy’s Jeep, eyes on his watch. It was only 9:23 and the interview wasn’t until ten, plenty of time, but he didn’t want to take any chances, he had no room to make mistakes. The grass rustled noisily underfoot: the lawn wanted clipping.
Tapping his fingers in time to the beat on the steering wheel, Tommy sat in the driver’s seat with his head back and his eyes shut, now absorbing “Chop Suey” from System of a Down. They had been best friends for the better part of ten years, two graduates of the "prestigious" Arapahoe Community College. Though they were both thirty-years-old, Tommy was looking much younger than he these days, an easy smile on his face and the carefree slackness to his features to complete it. Watching him sit there, Robert envied Tommy greatly at that moment and he also couldn’t help but feel a stab of resentment. Must have been great to carry so few worries, but he felt shitty for the bitterness he felt. Like Janine, Tommy didn’t deserve it. Not his fault I can’t find work, he thought, I’m an asshole for feeling this way. Tommy’s a real friend, been nothing but supportive since the lay off—even loaned me some dough.
Like a hot coal in his gullet, he swallowed his bitterness to smolder in his gut and knocked on the Jeep window, snapping Tommy out of his pleasant stupor. “Oh hey,” Tommy said, and reached over and opened the passenger side door. “You look nice, man,” he made a frame by connecting his thumbs and forefingers and leaned forward, as if zooming in on Robert. “You have the looks, the experience, the skill . . . They’d be crazy not to hire you—but no sports jacket?”
Robert sat down, buckled his seat belt with a click and shut the door. “Nah, I thought it would be overkill. I’m being interviewed to manage a candy warehouse, not to be president of the entire company.” He smoothed down his blue and red striped tie: a nervous twitch. He had languished much that morning deciding on what he would wear, and finally came to the decision that he shouldn’t overdress. However, it was Janine’s idea to wear the white button down instead of the blue—a manager’s job was white collar after all and Robert thought the suggestion was a stroke of genius. “Thanks for the ride, Tommy.”
“De nada,” he kicked the Jeep into drive and they set off down the road. Tommy worked as a mechanic for the city’s Fast Rail train system, working 45 hours from 8 to 5. Robert had planned on taking the bus to his interview, but Tommy had offered, had insisted on driving him, taking the morning off for it, taking extra hours tonight to make up for lost time. “You kidding me, Rob?” he had told him. “You expect me to leave my best friend at the mercy of public transportation? No way, I’m driving you.”
Tommy shut off his CD player, leaving only the steady rumble of the engine. For awhile they drove in silence, Robert staring fixedly at the road, his mind touching on the coming interview incessantly while Tommy stole occasional glances at him, knowing he should speak but uncertain of what to say. Tommy knew the pressure he was under, but how to try to comfort him without sounding like a jerk. He knew, but did he understand? Tommy thanked God he didn’t. Although unsure of what to say, he broke the quiet. “So,” he began, the cheeriness in his voice gone, now somber, “Are you ready for this? You look pretty nervous.”
“I’ve been ready for this for the last four months,” Robert replied. He was glad for the distraction from his thoughts. “And of course I’m nervous; I need this job more than you could possibly know, man. The bills are piling up and every day I expect to get a notice of foreclosure for the bank. If I can get this job it would solve all of my problems. And worse still, I think if I don’t do something soon to change things, I think Janine might leave me.”
Tommy tensed and he looked at Robert unbelieving, half grinning, half frowning, shaking his head, as if the idea of her leaving was stupid and he was overreacting, yet also possible. Robert’s face looked drawn and pale and Tommy knew even if it wasn’t true, Robert certainly believed it. He was scared, and that worried Tommy. He righted his grin. “Don’t be dumb. She wouldn’t leave you, she loves you.”
He turned left on Potoma Boulevard, westward towards downtown.
Robert’s mouth twisted, acid sloshing in his stomach like a washer on agitate, writhing like a nest of barbwire. “I want to believe that, but the situation at home is getting bad. It feels like all we do is argue,” he ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. “I’m always so angry these days: I’m frustrated, I want to make things better but no matter what I do I can’t and I’m taking it out on Janine. I—” he was going to tell him about how close he was to becoming Ike Turner, but was too ashamed to continue. What would Tommy think? “I don’t know what to do,” he said instead, “As bad as things have gotten, I can’t honestly come up with any reason why she should stay. I’ve nothing to offer except debt and verbal abuse these days. If I can get this job, I can fix all of our problems and take things back to the way they were, and maybe I can become my old self again. If.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this man. You sound as if you’re the only guy who has had financial problems. Anyone would be the same way.”
Robert hesitated, and then said, “But that’s not an excuse.” He didn’t want to say it, but it was true. Part of him wanted to believe that, to say it’s not my fault, it’s the mess I’m in, it would be so easy, and comforting, but he knew he would just be kidding himself.
“Yeah, but then again,” Tommy said, “you’re only human, like the rest of us. Any asshole that says otherwise needs to get off his pedestal.”
Tommy flicked the turn signal on the steering column, a rhythmic tick-tick-tick filling the brief void of silence as he turned onto Orchard Street.
“Thanks for hearing me out Tommy,” Robert said, “I know it must be torture being with me these days.”
“Not at all, man. Listening to your problems is what I’m here to do. But I wonder: if things have gotten so bad, why don’t you just wipe out your debt by applying for bankruptcy? It’s not the greatest solution, but it’s a solution, right?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot” Robert said, and he had. He came close to making that decision but the thought of what it would do to his credit, even as bad as it was, stopped him. “It’s tempting, but I think it would only end up making my problems worse. What I hope will be a temporary problem will last me years. Not even a loan shark would lend me a stick of gum afterwards.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
Robert licked his lips, suddenly dry. He didn’t want to ask, he asked before and it made him sick with shame, and the thought of doing it again was absolutely repugnant. But he had to, in case things didn’t pan out for him. If ever there was a time in his life to let go of his pride, he knew it was now. “If things don’t go well today, could you—” the words stuck in his throat, “—lend me a few more bucks?”
Tommy glanced at him, sadly, gnawing his lip. “I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I can man,” Robert said, abashedly, red creeping up his collar, “But I might really need it and you’re the only one I can turn to—I really hate to ask.”
The acid was bubbling, hissing in Robert’s stomach.
He saw the answer on Tommy’s face before he spoke. It was filled with grief for him, and an intense longing to help, but the answer was etched as clearly as the epitaph on a newly engraved tombstone: no. “Robert, man,” Tommy said, pained, “You know I would, you know I want to, but I can’t give you any more money. I have a family of my own to take care of. My savings is bone dry from the last loan I gave you and if I start tapping into my checking, I might end up in the same boat as you. I’m sorry . . .”
The acid froze solid in Robert’s stomach. He shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he said. A dull fear stole over him, like an acrobat crossing a tight rope without the security of a safety net, but at the same time he also felt more determined. Just don’t fall, he told himself. “You’ve helped me a lot, you’re a real friend. But this is, after all, my problem, so don’t say sorry for the hole that I’m in.”
Robert clapped Tommy on the shoulder to let him know there were no hard feelings, but neither felt any better.
To be continued.
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One day me and my granpappy were goin' fishin' down by the crik. I slipped and fell on a rock, skinning my knee and my granpappy leaned in real close and asked: "Is the rock okay?"
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