Angry Annie

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  “Does Adam think he’s just a friend? Because I think he believes he’s a hell of a lot more.”

  I sigh.

  “Maybe you lied to him too. Maybe you even lie to yourself.” He steps away and turns back to face me. “Here, Annie asked me to give you this.”

  He pulls a flash drive from his pocket. “Do what you want with it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  He starts to walk away.

  “Rhode, please don’t leave. Come inside. Let me explain.”

  “Should I join you and Adam? Do you need more information from me about Annie or is it Adam’s turn to be your source?” he asks, pointing up the stairs. “No, thanks. I’ll see you around, Joss. I don’t like being used.”

  “Really? That’s what you think about me? That’s how you’re going to be? Is that how quickly you give up? I thought you wanted to be with me.”

  “I did.”

  “But not anymore?”

  He sighs and pushes his hands into his pockets.

  I tug on his sleeve and move in closer to him. He seems to try to read me.

  “Please give me a chance.”

  “Joss, you need any help?” Adam yells from the second floor.

  Rhode nods to me. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. It’s like the light is gone. He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “Good night, Joss. Good luck with your article. I hope you get everything you wanted.”

  He jogs across the parking lot and hops into his car. I want to chase him, but I know it won’t do me any good. The truth is, he’s probably better off without me.

  I WAKE UP AT 3:00 a.m. to the sound of a car alarm blaring outside. After I made Adam leave, I called Rhode. He didn’t answer his phone and I didn’t leave a message.

  I wanted to tell him I’m crazy about him, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Especially now that I know he’ll never look at me the same way again. I really blew it.

  I finished the bottle of wine Adam left, curled up on the couch, and cried myself to sleep. I can tell because my couch pillow has a big wet spot and my hair is matted to my head on one side.

  Pushing up from the sofa, I hear something hit the ground. It’s the flash drive Rhode gave me from Annie. I forgot all about it.

  Curiosity pulls me out of my drowsy state and I sit down at my computer. I turn it over in my fingers a few times. How in the world did Annie make this? Her computer is so old, it probably still uses floppy disks. I guess maybe it wasn’t as old as I thought. I’d like one day to go by where I’m not wrong about something. Just one.

  I plug it into the drive and watch the files download on my screen. I stop counting at thirty. They just keep coming. Every file starts with the word review followed by shoes, bird feeders, books, stores, underwear . . . the list is endless. Hussy lipstick catches my eye and I snicker. Rubbing my eyes, I shake my head in disbelief. I think she’s given me every review she’s ever written. The cursor finally ends with a file named Review – Joslyn.

  Leaning back in my chair, nausea hits me hard. Did she review me?

  I click on the file. Word opens. It’s a letter.

  Dear Liar,

  Yesterday when you left to find Stupid, I did some snooping of my own. I found your notebook on me as well as a release form you never had me sign. I mailed it to your office because, like I told you before, I don’t care what you think about me. I don’t care what anyone thinks.

  But, I’m gonna tell you my story for my own piece of mind and because you paid me to. A deal is a deal.

  My name is Annie Gibson, not McClintonuck. I liked that name better, so I took it. It was supposed to be mine anyway and a promise is a promise.

  I’ve always considered myself a word connoisseur. I fancy words and the way they can be put together to bring emotion. For many years I was paid well to put those words in a certain order for a greeting card company. I believed every word I said, until one day I didn’t.

  Bobby was the love of my life and I was his. I did rock his world with my pooty, but he didn’t die because of me. He died because of the world. Because the pressures of the world were too great to bear. I said he died because of his heart, but the truth was it was my heart that suffered.

  The night he died, I let go of all my plans for the future. There would be no wedding, no home with a white picket fence, no children, and no grandchildren. There wouldn’t be a happy ever after for me. I accepted my fate.

  I wrote greeting cards for years after that. My niche became the sympathy cards. I could write a sappy note that could make war criminals cry. And then, I didn’t want to anymore. I got over it.

  It was all doom and gloom. It wasn’t how I felt anymore. It wasn’t me. So I started writing what I called my get real cards. I thought they were a hoot. Not everyone was sad when a loved one died. Sometimes it was a relief. Boss didn’t like the card that said, “I heard of your momma’s passing,” on the front and ”Sure took long enough,” on the inside. But good Lord Almighty, I bet you that woulda sold like hot cakes!

  He moved me to a happier place. Birthday celebrations. But he didn’t like my ideas for those either. I wrote cards for birthdays that said, “You still alive? Why don’t you drop dead already?” Boss said he thought I’d lost my mind. I had a feeling he was gonna let me go, so I quit. I didn’t need to work. Bobby left me everything, including his sister, Thea. Plus, I ain’t never spent a penny. People seem to like giving me money and food and shit. I don’t stop them. I got no reason to.

  But not writing no more, well, it hurt my heart. One day, the Lord sent me a sign. After I watched a waitress talk down to a homeless man, I felt I needed to say something about it. I about lost my ass. So I reviewed the place.

  And you know what happened? People liked it. They responded to it. Some people thanked me. Some people yelled at the owner and demanded he change his staff. Some people even told me to mind my business. But it gave me something to do and someone to talk to.

  After a while, I realized people responded to the bad more than the good. And when it would get lonely, I’d write a review, sit back, and wait to see what happened. Some people stopped believing what I said and that didn’t really bother me. I liked the negative comments more than the good because it fueled my fire. I liked that my words made people speak up. I figured it was better to yell at me than not say anything at all. It gave me pleasure to know a bad review from me meant other people would want to know more and find out for themselves.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. Some of this stuff pissed me off to high heaven in a Jesus quilt. But mostly, I wrote what I thought would get people angry.

  Angry Annie. Yep, that’s me. I’m an old, angry woman. I hate the world and everything in it. I hate my stupid cat Stupid who refuses to leave me even when I tell him I wish I’d never laid eyes on him. I hate my greedy, old, sort of boss who lets me come in and stock shelves just so I have somewhere to go. I hate my lawnmowin’ annoying neighbor who brings me some of the worst tasting food I’ve ever had and checks up on me every day even though I tell him he makes me physically ill. And I hate this blond hussy who showed up at my door actin’ like she knew what made the sky blue and gave me a reason to get up in the morning.

  You know why I wrote that review for your sister’s bakery? It wasn’t ’cause I wanted her to go away, even though she coulda picked a better color to paint the outside. It really is an eye sore. I wrote it ’cause I knew I’d get it some attention. So take that pill and shove it up your hooty tooty know-it-all ass.

  Child, you got a lot to learn about life, about men, and about old people. Growing old doesn’t harden your heart. We force ourselves to get harder on the outside ’cause we gotta protect the mush from seeping out. You should spend more time lookin’ through other people’s eyes and less time assuming you got the world figured out. Nothin’ is ever the way it seems. You is dumber than Stupid and that’s saying a lot ’cause we all know how many times he’s hit his head walkin’ into a wall.

  There�
�s a reason you didn’t get reviews from me. And the only reason I’m telling you is ’cause I know I ain’t ever gonna have to lay eyes on your ugly, twiggy, whiney ass ever again. I didn’t give you my reviews because I knew the minute you got them, you’d be gone. And, well, when you flip over a crab, you see the softness under his shell. And sometimes we crabs have to take what we can get while we can get it.

  So write your article about me. Tell the world I’m angry, ’cause I am. This life ain’t always been good to me, but for some reason, I’m still kickin’ through it. Every once in a while I get me a bag of lemons and a chance to use them. I live for the lemons.

  And for the sake of all things green, make sure you keep that boy busy. He’s cut my grass twice this week and he needs to mow someone else’s lawn for a change. He cuts grass when he’s worried and after you left yesterday he cut mine again. You keep this up and I’m gonna have to get AstroTurf.

  Good riddance,

  Angry Annie

  I don’t even realize I’m sobbing until I come to the end. How can one week with a complete stranger make you question your entire life, your goals, and everything you thought you wanted to be?

  I stand and walk the room. Everything looks and feels different now. A week ago I was so certain I’d do anything to get ahead. I was so certain I had Annie pegged for a horrible person. But was she really ever that bad?

  I think about the night I found her with the bottle of scotch. I remember Rhode telling me she meant the opposite of what she said. I remember her door being unlocked and a cup of coffee poured for me even though she claimed she never wanted to see me again. But she did want to see me. And as I look back, I wanted to see her too.

  I turn off the lights and walk into my bedroom. There’s a glow coming through the window from the street lamp and I sit on the bed and let it shine on my legs. I think about the bathroom at the dollar store and my foot stuck in the toilet bowl and I smile. She made me laugh, a lot.

  How can I go back to work and write an article about what a horrible person she is when I’m not sure I think she was ever terrible to begin with? When right now, I feel like I’m the terrible one? When deep down inside I want to be more like her than I care to admit? How can I tell the world that this particular Internet troll is an awful human being when I’m a bigger liar than she ever was? Every troll has a tale and Annie’s story isn’t at all what I expected.

  I close my eyes and I see Rhode’s face. I remember how he looked at me when he realized I’d been keeping the truth hidden away along with my feelings for him. How can I walk away from him, walk away from a man who makes my heart pound in my chest just by entering a room? How could I lie to the only guy who’s ever made me want more?

  Pushing up from the bed, I run my fingers through my hair. I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m not the same girl I was a week ago and I’ll never be the same. Something has to give and this time it’s going to be me.

  I YAWN AS I sit outside Darla’s office. A week ago I would have been a nervous wreck about presenting my article to her, but today I’m calm, cool, and collected.

  I’ve been waiting for her since 6:00 a.m. It’s almost eight and I’m going to have to come back later if I can’t get in to see her. This meeting is taking forever. But coming back later doesn’t bother me because I know one way or another I’m going to get her to read this article and my proposal. It’s damn good if I do say so myself. It could change everything for all of us, assuming I can get Annie to cooperate and Darla to buy into it. Annie is step two. I need to get in the door with Darla before I can sit at the desk with Annie.

  The doors open suddenly and unhappy, flustered people race out of her office like ants on a hill sprayed with bug killer. I imagine myself as an ant trying to carry Annie on my back. I must be more tired than I realize. Apparently not sleeping in twenty-four hours will do that to a person.

  “Back already?” She sighs as she notices me while closing her door. “I suppose my week of quiet is over. If I tell you I’m busy, will you go away or are you going to sit out there all day until I listen?”

  “Good morning,” I say with a smile as I step into her office and place my article on her desk.

  She sits down, lowers her glasses to the tip of her nose, and sighs. She picks up the papers and skims through the top page. “This isn’t what we discussed.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s even better.”

  “Ms. Walters, what makes you think I have any interest in this sort of thing?” She drops my papers into her garbage can and shakes her head. “Good day.”

  “Hold on,” I announce. “I know it’s not the article I promised you, but you didn’t even read it.” I bend down and lift it out of the trash can, smoothing it out and placing it back on her desk.

  “Yes, I had an idea, but the truth is the facts didn’t add up the way I’d expected. Isn’t it my journalistic responsibility to report the truth? Are there Internet trolls out there who write nasty reviews to hurt people? Absolutely, but this woman . . . she’s not like them. She’s mean and horrible, stubborn and crazy, but she also has a heart. She cares in her own way and she tells the truth whether people want to hear it or not. Sometimes we need the truth more than we realize.”

  I swallow hard when Darla focuses on her computer and makes a few clicks.

  “One of the reasons I took this job was because I heard you managed the magazine. You have always been my idol. Until today.”

  Darla’s eyes meet mine.

  “Today I realized that a nasty, little old woman who’s had a rough lonely life but fights her way through it is my idol. Because when it comes down to it, she cares. If you would take the time to look around this office, you’d see that every one of us has a story inside that makes for good cover. I’m telling you right now that I believe with my whole heart and soul, The Gaggle’s sales would skyrocket if you’d just hear me out. If you’d take a chance.”

  “Are you finished?”

  I meet her gaze with more confidence than I had before because at this moment I know she’s not that different from me. She’s just another human being and I’m not beneath her. “Yes, I’m finished. I’ve spent the last week being called every horrible name in the book. I’ve been stuck in a toilet bowl, lost a week of vacation, used my grocery money for a story, and met a man who rocked my world. This week changed my life and it changed me. You won’t hear from me for three months as promised, but I also promise you this. I promise that in three months I’m going to hand you that article again. And I’ll do it every day after that until I know you read my proposal and gave it the consideration it deserves. Thank you, Darla. Have a wonderful three months. I’ll see you the very next day.”

  I leave her office with my head held high. I might have crossed a line and maybe I’ll get fired for it, but in my heart, I know it was worth it. What good are lemons if you can’t squeeze them in your own eyes and see things differently?

  I feel in my gut that I did the right thing. A story is only as good as the heart behind it. I’m rewriting my story too. It needs a brand-new beginning and preferably, a happily ever after with a certain landscaper.

  Sitting in the parking lot of Tyke’s Tavern, I glance into the mirror for the hundredth time with the intention of fixing my hair and makeup. But every time I look in the mirror, I do a double take because I almost don’t recognize myself.

  I feel so different now and as I sit here, about to pour out my heart for the first time in my life, I worry he won’t see things the way I do. I worry he won’t let me explain. I usually don’t overthink things, I just act. But this time I’ve planned out every scenario in my head. I’m more nervous about this than I’ve been about anything else in my life. Most likely because this involves my heart and up until a few days ago, I didn’t believe I had one.

  My cell phone lights up with a text and I drop it out of excitement. Turning it over, I say to no one, “Please let this work.”

  I read her text out loud. “He’s on his way.
Good luck, sissy. You’ve got this.”

  I swallow hard and close my eyes. He’s coming. I glance over at the flower pot I put together for him and wonder if he’ll understand.

  Time passes slowly. I watch the door like the closet stalker that I am and my heart leaps when I see him, clad in tight-fitting jeans, a button-down flannel shirt, and a backward baseball cap. It’s only been two days since I saw him last, but it feels like a lifetime.

  As I walk into the bar carrying my gift, I offer a silent prayer. Jorgie had to lie and tell him she wanted to meet about having some greenery added around the bakery. Hopefully, he’s not upset that he gets me instead.

  He’s leaning on the bar with his lips pressed to the tip of a bottle of beer when I sneak in and position myself by the back wall. I stand directly behind him but at a distance, hoping and praying he’ll gaze into the mirror. I need a redo.

  An eternity passes as he finishes his beer. During that time, he gazes at his phone, at the door, and at his beer, but never looks in the mirror. Of course not. He’s too modest to think anything about himself. Maybe this was a dumb idea.

  A slender brunette with a plunging neckline leans on his back as she places a drink order and I suddenly have the urge to start a cat fight.

  He smiles, shakes his head, and says something to her. She gets her drink, nods, and walks away. That’s right, skankoliscous. He’s mine. Walk away. Walk away!

  Then it happens. His eyes meet mine in the reflection behind the bar. I smile at him the way he smiled at me the first time I saw him, but instead of being happy to see me, he tosses some cash on the bar and walks out the door.

  I chase after him. “Rhode Bennett! Stop right there!”

  He keeps walking and I can barely catch up to him. This plant is heavier than it looks. I shouldn’t have watered it.

  He’s almost to his car when I catch my heel on a crack and fall to the ground. The planter breaks into pieces when it hits the ground, creating a crashing echo across the parking lot.