by H. M. Mann
“It’s okay. Let’s try …” She squinted. “You do have a bedroom.”
“Yeah, but it’s a wreck, and there’s only a twin bed in there. Even I sometimes have to sleep sideways.”
“It’s okay. Let’s try …” She looked into the darkness. “Is that your kitchen?”
Johnny blinked. “It’s an old oak table, Gloria. An antique.”
“Did you think I wanted to …”
Johnny nodded.
Gloria grabbed Johnny’s hands. “All I want to do is snuggle and talk. That’s all.” On the kitchen table? Is he crazy?
“I have no more furniture left,” Johnny said.
“How about …” She smiled. “A blanket.”
Johnny went into his bedroom and came out with a bed sheet. “I don’t use a blanket.”
“It’s okay.” Gloria took Johnny’s hand and led him to a dark corner beside the futon. “Sit.”
“Arf.” Johnny sat, splaying his legs.
Gloria wrapped her legs around Johnny’s torso and sat. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No.” Relax. Take deep breaths.
“Your lips are moving.”
Note to self: don’t lip-synch your thoughts. “I’m just warming them up for you.”
Gloria kissed him quickly. “This isn’t exactly yoga position number thirty-four, but at least we can kiss, smile, hug …” Sweat, breathe heavily … Gloria froze. “No one lives below you, do they?”
“Just the little people under the stairs,” Johnny said.
“Funny.” She wriggled her way closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, locking her legs tightly behind his back. “Okay. This is better.”
Define “better.” Do your times tables. Take pi to fifty digits. 3.1415926—
“Johnny?” She tried to catch Johnny’s eyes, but they were floating over her head to the ceiling. “You okay?”
Johnny looked down briefly. “Yes.”
“Aren’t you comfortable? I am.”
“I’m comfortable.” I just wish you weren’t so freaking close to me, that’s all. “I just wish the floor wasn’t so dusty. I should vacuum.”
“When’s the last time you vacuumed?”
Let’s see. Marla was here then, so … “Three years ago.”
Gloria’s eyes popped. “Three years ago?” So this isn’t a gray carpet?
“I’m thinking of throwing down some seeds, see what comes up.”
I know I’m going to regret asking this. “Um, why has it been three years since you vacuumed?”
It was Marla’s vacuum cleaner. She left, the vacuum left, you know, breakup math. “I haven’t had anyone to impress for a while.”
Now, we’re getting somewhere, Gloria thought. “Who was the last person you were trying to impress?”
Johnny sighed. “Her name was Marla.”
“Marla.”
“Yes. Marla.” Johnny inched slightly to his left to evade what might have been cracker crumbs digging into his butt.
Gloria didn’t speak.
“You want to know, um, why we aren’t together anymore?” Johnny asked.
Gloria nodded.
Vague answers are best. “Marla said I couldn’t provide enough for her.”
Gloria didn’t speak.
Vague answers make Gloria silent. Johnny rested his shoulders against the two walls. “I have to take most of the blame there. I didn’t provide enough money or excitement for Marla. I’m boring. I work odd hours. I was trying to write a novel, and that kept me away from her, even when we were together.”
“You’re anything but boring, Johnny,” Gloria said. “Though I can appreciate boring. No surprises. No drama. Just … peace.”
“Peace is boring?”
“It never makes the news.”
“True. Peace is boring. That would make a cool bumper sticker, but then the Republicans would get a hold of it and start more wars to make the world more exciting and the news networks happy.”
Gloria sighed. “How do you do that?”
“Say something totally tangential to the conversation at the most inopportune moments?”
“Well, that,” Gloria said with a laugh, “but … how do you make those connections so quickly?”
Johnny rolled his neck until it cracked. “It must be my engineering degree from the Virginia Poly-Technicolor Institute.”
“No, seriously.”
“Seriously. I do have an engineering degree from Virginia Tech.” And why am I bringing this up now? “I’ve never asked what your degree was in or from where.”
“U of Richmond, business management, but … you have an engineering degree from Virginia Tech, and you don’t put it to use?”
Johnny shook his head. “Well, I did for a while.” He kissed her tenderly. “Are you sure you’re comfortable? Maybe if I wedged a couple books in the futon—”
“Where’d you put your degree to use?” Gloria interrupted.
Gloria would make a good interrogator. “Well, I worked for the city and had a city car and everything, but I’m happy where I am now.” He leaned in for another kiss.
Gloria leaned away from Johnny’s lips. From a decent, steady job to delivering pizzas? Did he get fired for being so spacey or what? “What happened?”
I don’t want to go here. Can’t I just lead my anonymous existence in peace? It would be rude to say, “Gee, Gloria, I really don’t want to talk about this,” but my psyche would thank me.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me about it,” Gloria said.
Which means she really wants to know about it now that I didn’t answer her right away. “Well, I quit my job and started working for Hector.”
“Why?”
I do not want to answer this question, but I’m stuck. “Hector thought I was crazy, too. He still thinks I am. I have told him I am seeing three ladies, and he thinks—”
“Johnny, why did you quit working for the city?” Gloria interrupted. “Were there budget cuts or what?”
That didn’t work. I should have changed the subject to cheese. Who doesn’t like to talk about cheese? Johnny searched Gloria’s eyes. “I’d rather not say, Gloria. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Oh yeah? “Did they fire you?”
Note to self: Gloria doesn’t take no for an answer. “No, no, nothing like that. I resigned, okay? I just walked in, handed in my notice, treaded water for two weeks, and faded away. I had to turn in my cell phone, though. I kind of miss it. But that’s all water under the bridge now, and I can’t wait—”
“What made you resign?”
Johnny tried looking away from Gloria’s eyes, but she kept moving her head to catch them. “You’re good at catching my eyes, Gloria.”
“I wouldn’t have to catch them if you’d look at me.”
Oh, here they come. I was afraid of this. “I’m afraid you’ll see tears, Gloria.”
Gloria pulled the sheet tightly around her shoulders. “What happened, Johnny?”
Only Marla knows, but Marla was there, too, and that was how we met, and that was the basis of our relationship, that day and nothing else, a relationship based on need and grief.
Johnny focused on the near arm of the futon. “April sixteenth. Norris Hall.”
“April … sixteenth. What happened at Norris Hall?” Oh, God! “The shooting at Tech?” But he’s too old to have been there then, isn’t he?
“I was not killed, obviously.” Though something certainly died in me. “I was there that day, so you see why I’d rather not—”
“Why were you there that day?” Gloria asked.
Please, just drop it, Gloria. “I was taking a graduate class in infrastructure asset management.” But why does anyone need a master’s or infrastructure asset management when the freaking infrastructure can be ripped out from under you at any moment? “Believe it or not, I’m only four courses short of my master’s degree. Imagine that. I guess I should take those classes, huh?” Maybe if I ask a question, she’ll stop a
sking questions.
“So you were there taking a class and …”
Tears welled in Johnny’s eyes. “The professor of that class was a beast, and he demanded we be there on time at eight in the freaking morning, which meant I had to get ready at five-thirty to get down to Blacksburg on time. And he usually kept us late so I never got back to Roanoke by ten, which meant I had to work over any day I had class. And that day, for whatever reason, he decided to let us go only ten minutes late.”
Running for that door, hitting the warm spring air, seeing an overdressed man with dots for eyes walking by me as if nothing in the world was wrong …
“Were you in the building when it happened?” Gloria asked.
Tears spilled from his eyes. “I walked right past him, Gloria. I walked past the guy who would kill thirty-three people less than thirty minutes later. Thirty-three people died because I let him walk right past me.”
Oh God! “Oh, Johnny, you couldn’t have known, and even if you had, what could you have done?”
“Why didn’t I know, Gloria?” Johnny cried. “Huh? Why? He was as close to me then as you are to me now!”
Gloria tried to shake off her goose bumps. “No one knew, Johnny. No one. He was crazy.”
Johnny’s chin dropped to his chest. “Crazy. Yeah. I know crazy. Crazy and I are old friends. We’ve been living together ever since.”
I have no idea what to say at all! Gloria thought. I don’t know how to comfort him! Jesus, give me something comforting to say! “Are you sure it was him?”
Johnny nodded. “I saw his picture on TV later that night, and that day, I went on to work, not knowing that anything had happened until lunchtime when I was eating a bowl of chili at Texas Tavern. When the radio said ‘Norris Hall,’ I staggered out of Texas Tavern and wandered up Church Street going nowhere in particular for the rest of the day.” He looked up. “I could have been number thirty-four, Gloria. I still think I am number thirty-four sometimes.”
I … geez, Gloria thought. That number! I knew it wasn’t random. What do I say now? Is there anything I can say? “Johnny, God obviously saved you for a reason, right?”
We’ll get to Almighty God in a minute. “So anyway I ditched work. I stayed out all night drinking, which is really stupid because I don’t drink and two beers put me on my butt. I sobered up long enough to go to the candlelight vigil where I met Marla and wasted months with her thinking two grieving, scared, psychically wounded people would cancel each other out and make it right.” He wiped his eyes harshly. “I even lost my faith in God, I mean, what kind of God would allow thirty-three innocent people to be killed?”
“And spare you?” Gloria asked. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Right.” Johnny’s eyes cleared. “Why me? What makes me so special? Why do I get to live?”
“Maybe God isn’t through with you yet.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that tired old line before. I used to go to church all the time, and I even paid attention. But after that day, I hardly even see God anymore.” He swallowed a sob. “Until you.”
“Until me?” And now I’m tearing up!
“Yeah. Until you.” He kissed her. “Until you all I saw was dysfunction.” He squeezed her hands tightly. “Gloria, rich ladies pay me with pennies and put the change in socks.”
“No!” I have a new definition for “petty.”
“Gay men openly flaunt themselves in front of me.”
This is … an unexpected thing. “They do?”
“Okay, just one, but he rattles me every time I deliver a pizza to his house,” Johnny said.
“Maybe he’s just lonely.” Johnny is attractive … to men?
“I don’t know,” Johnny said. “I mean, what about all these lonely people I deliver to? Maybe I’m the only person they see all day. I’m the highlight of their night. Me. What does that say about this world if the pizza guy is the highlight of your day? Huh? What happened to us? How did we get so desensitized to the suffering of others? Maybe I’m just overly sensitive, I don’t know. Where did love go, Gloria, and why didn’t it warn us it was leaving?”
“Johnny, I don’t have any answers to most of your questions tonight,” Gloria said. “I mean, I feel pretty much the same as you do. I went to church most of my life, too, but it wasn’t till after Angel was born that I got saved. Church before was just a place to go every Sunday. Now when I go I always get some sort of encouragement. It is hard for me to see God, too, but I know He’s there. Sure, I see dysfunction everywhere. You know Gladys?”
Johnny nodded. “The snake neck lady.”
Gloria shuddered. “Yeah. Well, Gladys sells beer and cigarettes to a kid with a fake ID and pockets eight bucks every time.”
At least she doesn’t sell guns to crazy people, Johnny thought.
“Misery walks into Quick-E Mart every night to get a six-pack, a bottle of comfort, a pack of joy, a can of peace.”
A can of peace, Johnny thought. I like that.
“I mean,” Gloria continued, “they all want that lottery ticket to paradise, and they’re all so confident that they’ll win this time, and oh, what I could do with fifty million. People pump less gas, pay more attention to coupons and specials, take more pennies from take-a-penny, read but not buy the newspaper. Our bathroom is the only place where some people ever bathe, use the toilet, or wash their hands. It’s so depressing most days, and yet there’s crazy Vic talking to his hot fries, and he’s actually a hero in disguise. But when I go home to Angel, it all fades away. And when I see you, it fades even more.”
And here I was about to just fade away. “But I just feel so … empty, Gloria.”
Gloria shook Johnny’s shoulders gently. “You’re not responsible for the way the world is, Johnny. It just … is.”
“I know I’m not. I know it. But I was this close to dying, and that still messes me up.” Johnny wiped his eyes. “I just couldn’t … focus after that, you know? I knew I had to eat, so I took a job that didn’t require thinking, a job that kept me on the move, a job that allowed me to float through life with as few cares as possible. Then I started writing to escape this messed up world … only I can never finish what I’m writing.” And complete my escape.
“Did you get any counseling?” Gloria asked.
Get counseling, you freak! Johnny shook his head. “I didn’t think I deserved it. I wasn’t in the building when it happened. I wasn’t in a classroom praying for my life. I didn’t see any of my friends or professors get killed. I thought I would be all right. I thought Marla would help me. I mean, I had survived being an orphan, I had survived foster care, I had survived getting adopted … I thought I could survive anything.”
And I thought I had baggage, Gloria thought. I thought I had too much junk in my trunk. Johnny would need a U-Haul … but you can’t get one on weekends!
“I was their replacement child, did I tell you that?”
Gloria shook her head.
“Of course I didn’t. This sort of thing just doesn’t come up in polite conversation. Mr. and Mrs. Holiday had lost their only child and son to leukemia, and according to them, I did everything possible not to live up to his memory.” I had a brother I never knew, and I grew up in the shadow of his memory. “My parents compared me to him constantly, and I couldn’t argue about it. I never knew the guy! All I could say was, ‘Well, at least I didn’t die.’” Johnny looked up. “I never said that to them.” But I thought it just about every day. “I tried to be good and loving, but I wasn’t even allowed to go into his room. I sneaked in anyway and read his death journal. It wasn’t as morbid as you might think. He actually wrote some happy poems with a death sentence hanging over his head. You could say that the dead brother I never met inspires me to write.”
Change the subject, Gloria. You’re not qualified to handle any of this, and he’s just getting worked up again. “Where are your, um, parents now?”
Johnny bowed his head. “Flagstaff, Arizona.”
The commune in his book, Gloria thought. Is his whole life in that ridiculous novel?
“So, how was your childhood?” Johnny asked, wiping his eyes again.
Gloria blinked. Does this mean he’s through venting? “Well, I, um, I had an interesting childhood.” And I’m about to spill it all to this man. Why? He’s exceptionally receptive or something. “I found out my father’s name in the third grade. Some girl told me. She said I had four half-sisters, I ran to Mama, and she confirmed it.”
“Are they as pretty as you are?” Johnny asked.
Of course not! “They’re all as bowlegged as their bowlegged mama and quite hairy, as well.”
“Nice. Have you ever met them or talked to them?”
Gloria shook her head. “Here and there, but they keep their distance. I’m their ‘other’ sister. They’ve never invited me to any family reunions.” Though I’ve always wanted to crash one to see what would happen. I might do that this summer. Yeah. “I’d really like my daddy to meet his granddaughter at least once.”
“We are such peas in a pod,” Johnny said. “Peace in a pod. That would be a good bumper sticker, too.”
Gloria nodded. I hope this means that the crisis has passed. He seems to be calming down. “But we’re actually kind of lucky, Johnny. We’re free to, I don’t know, make ourselves with no ‘family curses’ to hold us back.”
Johnny smiled. “We’re American originals, all right.” And we’d have a very small wedding. Think of the savings on cake and food alone! We could use a few postcards instead of invitations! Heck, we could hand-deliver them and save some stamps!
“Do you keep in touch with your parents?” Gloria asked.
Oh yeah. We might have to mail their invitation. “The last time they called was the day after the day after the shooting,” Johnny said.
That’s cold! Gloria thought.
“They wanted to make sure I wasn’t dead,” Johnny said with a tight smile. “I assured them that I wasn’t, as if hearing my voice say ‘Hello?’ wasn’t enough for them. ‘Do you want us to do anything, Johnny?’ my dad asked. He never called me ‘son.’ I told them I had quit my job and was joining the circus. He said, ‘Do you want to speak to your mother?’ I said, ‘Sure! Do you know where she lives?’” Johnny closed his eyes, and the tears came again.