Arnesto Modesto

by Darren Johnson

  “It would?! That’s bullshit! Are you with the government?! Is that why you're here?!”

  Arnesto held up his hands. He wasn’t about to piss off a suicidal veteran attempting to martyr himself. “No no, I’m not with the government! I’m an independent. I’m here to save your life. Look, I brought you these.” Arnesto produced and handed Owen a book on curing one’s gambling addiction and a money order for twenty thousand dollars. “I also signed you up for Gamblers Anonymous. They meet Tuesday and Thursday nights, 8:30 at the rec center. That money is a loan, by the way. I’m guessing you don’t take too kindly to charity. Interest is one percent per year, to provide some motivation. Pay it back to the stem cell research company of your choice.” Might as well try to cure Alzheimer’s early while we’re here.

  “How do you know so much? Why are you doing this?” Owen asked.

  “I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that I sort of stumbled upon your situation by mistake and realized I could help. Consider it my way of making it up to you for spying on you.” Arnesto was getting better at this lying thing.

  He continued, “I don’t think you realize how much you mean to Jenna. You are her rock. You are the only one she feels she can count on.” Now he was being truthful.

  “You sure seem to know a lot about me,” Owen said, handing his gifts back to Arnesto, “so how is it you don’t seem to know about my cancer?” Arnesto’s confused look told him all he needed to know. “Yeah, you government boys suck at your jobs.”

  “I’m not with— how long?”

  “Doctors say three to four months. But they’re never right. Could be more, could be less. And what am I supposed to do, sit around in more and more pain waiting to die, using my last days on earth to make Jenna miserable? Forget it, I’m going out my way.” He pulled out a gun.

  “Waitwaitwait! What about hospice care, checking with the VA, Medicaid, Medicare, something like that?”

  “I’m not old enough for Medicare, you dumb shit.”

  “Sorry, having a little trouble thinking right now. What about the rest?” Arnesto asked.

  “The rest of what?”

  My god, he’s as difficult to argue with as… Jenna. “Have you looked into them? They have services, they can help you.”

  “No. What’s the point,” Owen said, raising the gun to his temple.

  “Hold on! Where’s your note?! You at least need to leave a note.”

  Owen lowered the gun again. “Are you serious?”

  “You don’t have a note, do you.” It wasn’t a question. “You didn’t plan this. Most suicides are committed on impulse. Give it twenty-four hours. Take some time, write a note, see how you feel tomorrow.”

  “No. I’m done talking,” Owen said, again raising his gun.

  “Wait, motherfucker!” Arnesto brought his own empty hand up to his ear, mimicking a phone. "'Hello, Jenna? Yeah, we need you to come down to the morgue and identify your father. It might take you a while since he blew his brains out. Also, you’re going to have to handle all the arrangements and the funeral and everything. Your extended family won’t lift a finger to help, but they’ll complain about it all. Oh, also, they’ll expect you to pay for everything since they’re assholes like your father. By the way, do you remember your last words to him during your fight last night? Well, enjoy blaming yourself for his death for the rest of your life.'"

  Arnesto glared at Owen who stared back out of shock. One man on the edge of death, the other having never felt more alive.

  Slowly, Owen lowered the gun to his side. Arnesto suddenly became aware of his heart pounding in his ears.

  “‘I want you out of my life,’” Owen said. “That was the last thing she said before hanging up on me last night. ‘I want you out of my life.’”

  Arnesto nodded. “She said it, but she didn’t mean it. She was at a party with friends, she had a few, she blurted it out. You can’t let it end like this. You can’t let those be her final words to you.”

  Owen shook his head in frustration. “How do you know all this?! You’re not a spy. You didn’t follow me here. I was watching out. No car drove up here after I arrived. That means you were here before me. How did you know I was coming to this exact spot to kill myself? Wait a minute. Do you work for Father Martin?”

  Arnesto barely managed not to gasp. “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You young people are always online. Stories have been popping up ever since Hurricane Katia. People claiming to be helped by some mysterious stranger.”

  Arnesto realized this could be the answer. Owen was clearly good at keeping secrets, had some odd sense of honor, and didn’t have long to live besides. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  Owen slapped his knee. “I knew it! Can you tell me anything about Jenna? I mean, she does have a good life after I’m gone, right?”

  “Have you noticed you and I are a little bit alike?”

  “There’s some similarities, I guess.”

  Arnesto shrugged. “Sometimes women marry men that remind them of their fathers.” He gave Owen a moment to let that sink in. “Funny thing is, I haven’t even met her yet. That won’t happen for many years down the road. But then we meet, get married, and every year after that we visit your grave on the anniversary of today. At least, that’s what I’m told. So, any chance we can push that date back a few months?”

  Owen let out a long, slow breath. “You called me a motherfucker.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, it was—”

  Owen held up his hand. “No, don’t ruin it by apologizing.” He turned his gaze forward out the windshield. Then he gave the subtlest of nods. He put the gun away and reached over and opened Arnesto’s door.

  “Take all that crap with you,” Owen said.

  “Sure, I’ll take the gun, too.”

  “No.”

  “Alright, the bullets then.”

  “No. Relax, I’m not going to do it. You don’t work at one of them suicide hotlines, do you? You kind of suck at it.”

  “No,” Arnesto said, getting out of the car, “I couldn’t handle the stress.”

  Arnesto wasn’t kidding, but Owen must have thought it was mildly amusing since he smiled. “I forgot your name,” he said, leaning over and holding out his hand.

  “That’s okay, so did I,” Arnesto said, as he leaned in and shook Owen’s hand.

  “You’re alright, kid,” Owen said. “Take care of Jenna.” He pulled the passenger door shut and started the car.

  Arnesto stepped out of the way and watched as Owen drove away. He then sauntered behind a pillar and barfed.

  Roach Trap

  Arnesto's Apartment

  Silicon Valley, California

  Friday, April 11, 2008

  Evening

  Arnesto was anxious. He felt like a little kid waiting for Christmas. Except in this case, he didn’t know when Christmas would finally show up and come into his life. The best he could do was narrow it down to within a few weeks.

  Any day now, he would meet his second wife.

  He logged on to his dating profile for the umpteenth time in a row. There were no new messages. Not surprising as he had stopped communicating with other women a while back in anticipation of Her.

  And one day, there she was.

  RoachMotel66 wasn’t online, but she had completed her profile. She only had two pictures. One was a few years old when she had longer hair, ignoring the site’s recommendation of only posting recent pics. The other was recent, however, it was only a profile shot of her face. Neither pic revealed anything about her body. It didn’t matter. Arnesto knew she was tiny. He knew she was five-feet-three and thin with a blonde pixie cut.

  And frigging adorable.

  He sighed with relief at finally seeing her again. He took the time to read her profile, knowing he shouldn’t take too long. Soon she would be inundated with messages, like, “Hey,” or “Sup” from guys who posted pics of themselves shirtless or in front of their cars. Arnesto alw
ays wondered if that ever worked.

  She might even receive a dick pic or two. Arnesto hated this tactic. Sure it made his lack of vulgarity look much better in comparison, but it was a classless move that hurt everyone.

  The waiting period was over. It was time to strike.

  He wrote her the following message, responding directly to several points mentioned in her profile: “Hi! I didn’t read your profile, but I’m opposed to the environment. Want to come over and watch me play Halo for the next 6-8 hours?” He checked it over, then giggled as he hit, “Send.”

  He played video games to keep himself busy while he waited. He had a feeling she would be back soon.

  He refreshed the window to update his favorites list. She appeared at the top — with a little green circle in the corner. She was online.

  He clicked on her picture to bring up her profile again. He only did this so the site would send her a notification that he was checking her out.

  At last, she responded, “Okay, you made me laugh. Its good to see there’s at least one guy on here with some intelligence.” Another response came right after, “Typo, ugh! It’s, not its. Not my fault, I was eating a burrito while I typed. ;-)”

  That’s my girl!

  Arnesto wrote back, “It’s okay, I made a typo once." He got the notification that she viewed his profile and added, “Are you checking me out? My eyes are up here!”

  He eased off the jokes and let the conversation flow more naturally. They talked about her job in I.T. She was the only female in a small group of technicians that worked for a sales company. They had fun there, but sometimes things got a little too slow. They played online games together during their downtime, except for Barry, who wasn’t into it.

  She and Arnesto talked about other things, too, sticking to the usual topics. Where they were from, how many siblings they had, what colleges they went to, how glad they were college was over, and so on. When it looked like things were slowing down, Arnesto decided to kick it up a notch. “RoachMotel66. Is that Roach as in Rachel or Rochelle?”

  “Wow, you are the first person to guess Rochelle! No one guesses that. They always guess Rachel,” she said.

  “Booya! Ten points to Gryffindor!” he said.

  “Definitely! But I can only give you nine. It’s actually Rochel, not Rochelle. Still, nobody else has any points, so...”

  “Your parents spelled it Rochel? Are you sure? Get them on the line, I need to speak with them. Just kidding. Nice to meet you, Rochel. My name is — and this is no joke — Arnesto.”

  “Arnesto? With an A?! That is hilarious! Wow, we’ll have to let all our folks have it. We can get back at them in front of everyone at our wedding. KIDDING!”

  Not if we elope again.

  “Your profile says you’re divorced?” she continued. “How many times have you been married?”

  Let’s see. Katrina, you, Jenna, Katrina again. Four times now, damn. Wait, the first three don’t count. “Just the one time. I’m not in a rush to make that mistake again.”

  “That’s good to hear. And on that note,” she wrote, “I have to get to bed. I have to get up early for my long day of doing nothing. But I enjoyed our conversation. :-)”

  “Wait, what’s your number? I want to ask you out to sushi.”

  There was a noticeable pause before she responded, “I don’t know if I should give out my number to someone I just met on the internet. I hope you’re not offended.”

  This felt new. Did he not get her number during their first conversation last time? Had they exchanged more messages through the site before he made his move?

  “Not at all! I understand,” he wrote. “But I would love to talk with you again. You can have my number,” which he typed in, but added, “No pressure! Otherwise, maybe we can chat online again soon. Have a good night!”

  “I’d really like that. Goodnight, Arnesto with an ‘A’!”

  A couple late night chat sessions and several text messages later, and they were ready to meet. He wanted to get to the restaurant before her this time, so he arrived ten minutes early. However, as soon as he walked in, he saw her already seated at a table. That was her way. She smiled and gave him a little wave.

  She even stood as he approached, neither taking their eyes off the other. He started to go for a hug, which she was about to return, but he chickened out at the last second and offered a handshake.

  “I’m sorry, didn’t I warn you? I’m a little awkward on the first date,” he said as they sat down.

  She smiled her bright beautiful smile. “That actually makes me feel better.”

  “How so?”

  “I kind of have a type. I’m usually attracted to thin, awkward guys.”

  He held out his arms and said in his best sarcastic tone, “Hello!”

  “When I looked at your profile, I thought you were good-looking, but you looked a little buff. And then in chat, you seemed a little too smooth. I’m glad to see it was all a façade!”

  Arnesto looked a little stunned. It wasn’t an act. “Nobody’s ever called me any of those things before.” He held out his hand for a high five. “Five points to Slytherin!”

  “Slytherin?! I’m going to pretend you said Ravenclaw.”

  “What about you?” he asked, feigning disgust. “Neither of your two pics shows your body. I came here hoping to meet somebody morbidly obese, and instead you surprise me with your perfectly fit little figure?!”

  She tried hard to resist smiling, but failed. “I can see we’re going to have a grand time.” The word “grand” came out sounding ever so slightly like “grond.” Anybody but someone who already knew everything about her would have missed it.

  Arnesto straightened up and stared at her. He wasn’t expecting this so soon, but here it was. She noticed his reaction and looked down at her silverware and then outside, avoiding eye contact. Should he bring it up? It was a gamble, but things were going very well. As if he could possibly resist. “We’re going to have a what time?”

  “A grand time.” Now there was no accent. Nor was there any indication she wanted him to press her on the matter.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” he said. She rolled her eyes. He decided to go soft. “I have always wanted to visit Ireland.” Her softened expression told him he had made the right choice, but it wouldn’t hurt to continue treading lightly. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful and would love to hear about it from someone who may have gone and may have picked up the accent. And if they have, they shouldn’t be embarrassed because it’s the sexiest accent ever. Well, second to the French accent.”

  She stared at him a long time before speaking. “I did spend some summers there with extended family as a child. And yes, it is beautiful.” She waited for a response, but Arnesto said nothing. “I may have picked something up and blurt it out every once in a great while.” Arnesto held steadfast. “Aren’t you going to say, ‘Aha!’ or something?”

  “That would be immature.”

  She couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Neither could he. When she was able, she said, “Don’t worry, I’m American, born and raised. I’m not dating you for a green card.”

  “Prove it. How many assault rifles do you own?”

  “Three,” she said, holding up three fingers for emphasis.

  He nodded. “Correct. Minor infection: take doctor-prescribed antibiotics and heal, or try to pray the problem away?”

  “Make an appointment to see my doctor. Wait an hour and a half for a five-minute visit. Pay an eighty-dollar co-pay, plus another hundred and thirty for the pills that probably cost sixty cents to manufacture. Take the pills and heal, but then feel sick a week later when I receive a three-hundred-dollar bill not covered by my already huge deductible or my insurance. Consider next time asking for a million likes on Facebook.”

  Arnesto was shocked. “Holy shit. You’re American. No more questions, Your Honor.”

  They talked for hours. Afterward, they went for a walk around a nearby park. He pleasantly
surprised her by taking her hand. The next day, she woke up and checked her phone. There was already a text from him thanking her for a wonderful time and telling her he really wanted to see her again soon. She appreciated it but wondered if he was this way with all the girls. She went online to review his profile, but he had already disabled it. Now she was impressed.

  They went on more dates, which quickly turned into getting take-out and playing video games or watching old horror flicks or documentaries. They became lovers, and he was the best she had ever been with. Somehow he seemed to know exactly what she liked.

  “I love how much you love my breasts,” she said as they lay in bed after one particular love-making session.

  “They’re perfect.”

  “They’re only B-cups. Rounding up.”

  “Yeah, but look at them. So perky and… breasterific.” He did have a way with words.

  “Nobody’s ever given them more attention than you,” she said. “But, and I know you won’t take this the wrong way, sometimes it feels a little more like... you’re feeling for something. For a brief moment there, you reminded me of my doctor.”

  Arnesto got quiet.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to worry you,” he responded, “but I thought I felt a tiny bump.” This was a lie; Arnesto hadn’t found anything at all. He leaned up so they could see each other. “But then I lost it. Even if I had felt something, it could have been a harmless fibroid or something. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get checked out. Is there any history of breast cancer in your family?”

  “Now you sound like my doctor. What gives?”

  “Nothing. I… have some experience with this. I lost someone once.”

  She put her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. There’s no history of cancer in my family.”

  “No aunts or great-aunts or anybody had it?”

  “I promise... No, wait, I think my great aunt Gladys had it. But I don’t.”

  “I know. I’m sure you don’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m paranoid about that sort of thing. Still, I would consider it a huge favor if you got checked out. Just to rule it out.”