I didn’t mean anything, I say.
I’m kidding, she says, I didn’t mean anything.
I tell her my name and she hesitates, and tells me hers. I don’t say that I already know it.
We walk to the apartment building together. We don’t talk about anything significant, just chitchat between strangers.
Well, I say.
It was nice meeting you, she says.
We’re neighbors, I say.
So it seems, she goes.
She walks up the stairs and I go inside. I can hear her walking around up there. I hear her for a while. I take a nap. It’s a start, at least.
I wake up from my nap to the sounds of violence. Lisa and her tall boyfriend with tattoos are at it again, and it sounds pretty awful—they both scream at each other, throw things at one another, and it sounds like he tosses her against the wall. I hear hands hitting flesh—slaps or punches, who knows, but it does not sound good.
Heidi runs down the stairs and knocks on my door.
Help, she says, can I come in…
I let her in. She’s wearing blue and white pajamas, holding her blue notebook. Her feet are bare. Her toenails are painted dark blue.
I just need to be somewhere safe, she says.
Maybe I should call the cops, I say.
No, no, she says, they’ll stop soon, they always stop and make nicey-nice.
It sounds bad.
It only sounds that way.
She sits down on the couch. I sit on the floor across from her.
I’m sorry, she says.
It’s okay, I say.
The fighting wanes down upstairs, and stops.
There, Heidi says.
How do you, I start to say.
I don’t, she says. I don’t even like having a roommate but she needed one and I need to save money for something that is coming up.
What’s that? I ask.
What?
What’s coming up?
She goes, Wouldn’t you like to know…
And I’m like, Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.
She glares at me.
What’s wrong? I ask.
Wrong?
Are you okay?
I know it’s you, she goes.
Me, I say.
I know it’s you, asshole, she says.
She tosses the notebook at me. It is open to the picture of a vase and flowers she has drawn. There are several drawings on other pages, different angles of the flowers, close-ups, pictures of a single flower.
I know it’s you, she says, no one I know knows where I live.
You draw nice, I say.
You’re a jerk, she says. You think it’s nice, but it’s not, ‘Secret Admirer.’ It makes a girl feel stalked. I was going nuts trying to figure out who would send me flowers, who would say my face is beautiful. I couldn’t sleep. I had strange dreams. And it was you all along. Don’t deny it. I’ve seen you look at me. And today—today.
Your face is beautiful, I say.
Oh fuck you, she says, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t say ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s not what I want to hear. I don’t want to hear anything. You have no idea what I’ve been through. You don’t know my life. What do you want from me?
Nothing, I say.
A date? she says. Do you want a date, romance, sex, love?
I wanted you to smile.
Fuck you, she says, fuck your smiles. You have no idea who I am. You have no idea what I’ve been through.
You’re right, I don’t.
Lisa and her boyfriend start yelling at each other again.
I’m being a bitch, Heidi says, her voice soft now. Maybe you were trying to be nice. I don’t know what you want. You seem nice. It’s just—weird.
They’re at it again, I say.
I’m pregnant, she says.
Excuse me?
I’m eleven weeks pregnant, she says.
I ask, What about the father?
And she’s like, Yeah, what about that guy, huh?
Things are getting loud and physical upstairs.
I think I should call the police, I say.
Why? Heidi says.
What if he kills her? I say.
She’ll beat him to it. She has a gun.
It’s not sounding good, I say.
It sounds worse than it really is.
Sounds like they are hurting each other.
That’s what people in love do, she goes, they hurt each other.
That’s not love, I say.
You saying you know anything about love?
I don’t know anything about anything, I say.
She goes, No shit, Mr. Pity Party.
What did I ever do to you? I say. They were just flowers. Who hurt you so badly, that you act like this?
She goes, Who hurt you so badly that you make a fool of yourself, sending flowers to a stranger you barely know? And why the hell don’t you use your parking space?
What?
Why don’t you use your fucking parking space?
I don’t have a car.
So let someone else use it.
It’s mine, I say.
We have to raise our voices, over the yelling and screaming and hitting upstairs.
It’s a waste of a good parking space, Heidi says.
Then park in it, I tell her, it’s yours now, all yours.
Jerk, she says. I don’t have a car, she goes, I ride a bike, she goes.
I know.
You’ve been watching me.
Park your bike there, I say.
I’m keeping it, she says.
Keep it, then, it’s yours, I say.
I meant the baby, she goes, I’m keeping the baby.
Something shatters upstairs—glass, a plate.
I’m going to have it, I won’t have an abortion, she says.
Something else shatters up there, and someone gets thrown into a wall.
That’s it, I say, and reach for the phone.
So do you think you could fall in love with a pregnant woman who is pregnant with some other guy’s child? she asks me.
What did you say?
You heard me.
We both hear a loud sound—a loud pop, a boom. And then another. And then silence.
Heidi and I just look at each other. We are frozen—I am holding the phone and she is touching her slightly protruding belly under her blue pajamas.
Oh my god, she says.
The phone starts to ring but I don’t answer it.
I know she is going to have a boy, a son.
Cyclops
There is a one-eyed man in Brooklyn and he wants to save your life. The eye was lost in a freak fishing accident; he was fishing on a lake, a great lake, and he was a boy. There was water everywhere. The shore was beyond his field of vision. A shining hook winked at him, swooped down and took his eye. His uncle screamed, “Oh my fucking God. Your mother is going to kill me, Johnny. Get that fucking thing out of your eye.”
There is something about him that is hard to resist. You might even say he’s a lady’s man. He’s a waffle man. He makes the batter that makes the waffle. He’s an artist really. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my wife, Cathy, fell in love with the fellow.
“I’m leaving you,” Cathy said one night.
“What?” I said. “What are you telling me?” I said.
“Our marriage,” she said, “is over. You know this. You’ve known this for a long time.”
Yes, I did; yes.
“I’m in love with Johnny,” she said.
“Who?”
“You know, Johnny.”
“The Cyclops?” I said.
“That’s mean,” she said, “that’s horrible,” she said.
“Since when?” I asked.
She said, “Does it matter?”
So I went to see the Cyclops. I know it was stupid. Thing was, I used to work at the Waffle House; I also made the batter. I waited until five minutes before closin
g. I went inside. Johnny the Cyclops looked up with his one eye and said, “Oh you. Why are you here?”
“You know why I’m here,” I said.
“What is it?” he said. “Do you want to pick a fight with me?” he said. “Is that it?” he said.
“No,” I said.
“Good. I don’t want to fight you. I like you,” he said.
He closed the Waffle House and we sat down and had some beers.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I said; “you’re taking my wife from me.”
“It’s been over between you and Cathy for some time,” he said. “You know this.”
Yes, I did; yes.
“How long,” I said.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“I think it does,” I said.
“The answer will only hurt you,” he said, “hurt you more than the pain you already feel,” he said, “because I can see it on your face, the way you sit down, the way your body moves, that you’re in pain.”
I drank some beer.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I know pain.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said.
He touched my hand and said, “Listen,” he smiled, “listen to me,” he said, “give me the opportunity to save your life.”
“What’s that?”
“I want to invite you to my church.”
“You have a church?”
“There’s a small church I attend,” he said, “and it’s wonderful.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“I kid you not,” he said.
“Does Cathy go to this church?”
Johnny smiled and said, “That’s where it all began.”
“I have no interest in church,” I said.
“I never did either, until last year.”
“Cathy doesn’t even believe in God,” I said.
“It’s funny how things change,” he said.
“Yes it is,” I said, and smashed the beer bottle over his head.
He wasn’t fazed. There was some blood, but it was like he expected me to do that.
“I understand,” he said. “This is okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I said. “Jesus, man, I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “I forgive you,” he said.
“Don’t forgive me,” I said. “Kick my ass.”
He just smiled at me.
Cathy was packing her things in suitcases when I got home.
“I did something bad,” I said. “You’re going to hate me.”
She said, “I could never hate you.”
She said, “Johnny called. I know.”
She said, “We know you didn’t mean it. Everything is okay.”
“What?” I said, and: “What the…”
“Listen,” she said, “this is for the best. This is saving my life. It’s saving yours. I love the Cyclops.”
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” I wanted to yell this but it came out weak and resigned and I hated that.
Aliens
It's a pretty cold Christmas Eve and I've been sitting at the doorstep of my ex-girlfriend's condo for some time now. I like the way the door feels against my back. I look at a moth flying around the porch light.
Terri finally shows up, holding a grocery bag.
“You,” she says.
“Me,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
“It's Christmas Eve,” I say.
“So,” she says.
“So,” I say. “What do you mean ‘so’?”
“I could call the police,” she says.
“You could.”
“I should.”
“Why?”
She goes, “Why are you here?”
“I’m cold,” I say.
“It's not that cold.”
“It is when you’ve been sitting out here for an hour.”
“You’ve been sitting out here for an hour?”
“Two hours.”
“Goddammit,” she says.
“Don’t be mean,” I say.
She says, “Don’t start that shit with me.”
“I’m cold,” I say; “I’m hungry.”
“Goddammit,” she goes.
“It's Christmas Eve.”
She says, “Goddamn you.”
Her three cats sniff at my feet. My own cats are dead now. Well, one is, having eaten a chicken bone from the garbage; the other went off somewhere and never came back.
“I can’t believe I let you in,” Terri says, going to the kitchen with her bag. “I almost had a feeling you’d be here anyway. Like a vision or a dream.”
“What's in the bag?” I say.
“Pasta,” she says, bringing out a bag of dried pasta, and then a jar of sauce.
“Did you get meatballs?”
“Of course.”
“I love meatballs,” I say. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been dreaming about a nice home-cooked meal, like the nice home-cooked meals you used to make.”
“Are you saying that to pull at my heartstrings?” she says.
“No.”
“Yes you are.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Yes you did.”
I open the fridge and look in—it's a sudden urge.
“Help yourself,” Terri says sarcastically.
“Sorry.”
“No,” she says, “it's okay.”
I grab a beer.
“I don’t think you should,” she says.
“What?” I say.
“You know how you get, sometimes, when you drink.”
“And you don’t?”
“Well,” she says.
“I haven’t been drinking like I used to. Not these past months. I’ve cut back.”
“I started drinking more,” she goes.
We have white wine with our dinner of pasta and meatballs. We sit across from each other at the table.
“You’ve lost weight,” Terri says.
“I haven’t been eating like I used to.”
“I can tell.”
“Am I being rude?”
She smiles. “I like it when you eat food I cook.”
“I haven’t been working.”
“You look pale.”
“I’ve been cold,” I say. “No heat.”
“Why don’t you take care of yourself?”
“I can’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“I never could.”
“All your life you’ve relied on women to take care of you.”
“You make it sound so bad.”
“Not every woman can play Mommy.”
We don’t talk for a while. We eat and drink.
Terri says, “Christmas doesn’t mean anything to me. It's just another day. People put too much into it.”
“Is that what your step-father made you believe?”
“How can you say something so mean?”
“Christmas is dreaming about all those toys and good things,” I say. “Happiness and smiles.”
‘That's for children,” she says.
“You were right,” Terri says as we put the dinner dishes in the sink, “what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“About my step-father.”
“Oh.”
She says, “He had to take the magic out of everything, the bastard.” She asks, “You want to hear about this dream I had?”
“What dream?”
“I told you I had a feeling you’d be at my door tonight, right? Right. Well, I had this dream the other night—”
“Okay.”
She says, “I dreamt you were there, in the cold, just like you were, and I let you in. The thing is, you weren’t you. You were an alien. Well, not an alien, but an alien had taken over your body. This alien informed me of this. You were sick or something, you weren’t well, you were going to die, and the alien couldn’t stay in your
body.”
“How did it take over my body?”
“I don’t know. The alien didn’t have a body, it was non-corporeal or something. This doesn’t matter, it was a dream, not an episode of The Twilight Zone. The alien wanted my body, you see. It wanted to jump from your body to mine. I told it I couldn’t do that. I wanted to be with you. So this is what it did: it took my soul out of my body and put it in your body, with you, then stole my body. So there the two of us were: our souls stuck in your body. The tragic thing was that you were dying, so we were doomed to die together.”
“I want to kiss you,” I say.
She turns her face.
“You can kiss me on the cheek,” she says, and I do. “Hey, do you want to watch TV?” she says.
“Are you going to sleep here?” Terri asks after the movie on TV.
“What?”
“I guess that's a yes.”
“It's cold at home.”
I get up, she pushes me back on the couch.
“I’ll get you some bedding,” she says.
She leaves and returns with a blanket and two big pillows.
“Terri.”
“What?” she says. “You didn’t think you were going to sleep in my bed, did you?”
“I was hoping.”
“And do what?” she says. “Did you think you were going to fuck me?”
“I was hoping I could kiss you.”
“Kiss me?”
“I was hoping I could hug you.”
“Hug the extra pillow. That's why I got it. You like pillows. They’re big and warm.”
“I like pillows,” I say.
“You can kiss me goodnight,” she says, after a moment.
“On the lips?”
“That's what kisses are for.”
I kiss her on the lips. I kiss her again. I try a third time, but she moves away.
“I’m sure the cats will sleep on top of you, like they always used to.”
“They miss me.”
“They do.”
She leaves to her bedroom.
I lie on the couch, with my two pillows, and cover myself with the blanket. Only one of her cats stays with me, the other two follow her.
Adventure
Phone Call
I got the phone call while I was watching television. Star Trek. I think I could’ve been watching too much television.
Pictures of Houses with Water Damage: Stories Page 2
