by Ashley Munoz
My gaze roamed her face; her skin was pale, her beautiful eyes tired and red, her gorgeous hair was thin and straw like. This was supposed to be her next big shot at beating the cancer. They said she could start chemotherapy. They said she had a chance, a weapon, a tool, something to use against the cancer destroying her liver. I took in the clipboards, the whispered words, the sad glances in our direction, and the throats clearing. I knew it too, just like my mother; this wasn't going to work out. But I wasn't ready to give up. My eyes moved up and searched the doctors soft blue hews for any hint of hope. There was none.
“I'm sorry, when we last checked your liver, it was a good candidate for chemotherapy, but things have progressed, and we no longer see that as a viable option.” The doctor delivered the news hesitantly, like we didn't already know that my mother was a walking time bomb. Like we'd erupt for entirely different reasons instead. It was that simple. No chemo, no help, no hope. That was it. She was done trying, didn't have any fight left.
That was two weeks ago.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me back to the present, but I was still caught up in my memory and my throat started to burn. The walls I had erected to hold back those tears for the last two weeks were breaking. No, no, no. Not here. Anywhere but here!
I closed my eyes and desperately tried to clear away the painful lump in my throat that had formed. It didn't work, the tears were coming anyway. I looked up at the ceiling and tried to count each and every white square that outlined the room. I blinked and blinked but still the tears cascaded down my face. I heard movement and then Jimmy cleared his throat.
“Sorry, are you...are you crying?”
His voice was a mixture of shock and doubt. No concern was present whatsoever. I lowered my gaze and saw that his face was twisted with derision, confirming that he didn't care that I was crying, he just couldn't believe that it was actually happening. With one last attempt at clearing my throat, I managed to cough instead. No, not this. The coughing escalated into a relentless stream of tears. Sweet Jesus, please make it stop! This entire thing was a total nightmare. Since my mother's diagnosis, random bursts of emotion would hit me, and if I tried to repress them, it would inevitably turn into a horrific coughing fit.
Jimmy wrinkled his eyebrows, and now looked genuinely concerned as he asked, “Are you okay?”
I didn't respond, I physically couldn't. After half a minute of my coughing fit, he cursed and jumped up to grab me a cup of water from the water cooler. He carefully set the cup in front of me, then hesitantly started hitting my back to help clear the blockage. I realized through a few more coughs that he was touching me. It donned on me how close we were, then my brain finally caught up and I got the revelation: he was going to feel or at least see my taser and call the cops.
I jumped up so fast that I bumped into his desk and spilled the water, which traveled down the middle of his desk, heading straight for the laptop, my resume, and that random pile of papers. All at once, I took my sweater off and started mopping up all the water, while he dove for his laptop. He was holding it above the desk, my sweater was soaked and, for one brief moment, we just stared at each other.
The silence between us was heavy and since my pride already went to die out in the parking lot, I decided to be professional and leave with my head held high. I shook out my sweater and gently folded it over my arm, straightened my skirt, and wiped under my eyes to clear the black streaks I was positive were running down my face.
“Mr. Stenson, I was disappointed to hear that you aren’t considering me for the position, however, if anything changes, please let me know. My contact information is on my resume.” I jerked my hand out straight in front of me, practically jabbing it at Jimmy, but he didn't accept my attempt at a handshake. Instead, he just stared at me as if I’d just grown two heads, so I dropped my hand down and walked out of his office.
My drive back to Belvidere was a quiet one. I didn’t play any music, I just drove, thinking and trying to figure out how it all went so horribly wrong. This just goes to prove that I should most definitely not follow my impulses, I should think things through and let them go. If I hadn’t said anything to Jimmy the Jerk, then I might actually be employed right now, and I wouldn't have had an emotional breakdown in his office. Although, in the back of my mind, I would always resent him for that one time that he nearly killed me. Once I was back in Belvidere, I decided to pull into the local bar, which looked nothing like Jimmy’s gorgeous establishment; instead, this one was called, “Sip' N Sides.”
I laid my head against the steering wheel. I was exhausted from crying and coughing. My eyes burned, and my throat ached. I wanted to go home and cry some more, but I needed time before I faced my mother. She was always so hopeful about me landing jobs, I hated letting her down and I was actually pretty sure that I'd land this one. I hopped out of the car and headed into the bar. The dim lights inside offered some sanctuary and protection from the world seeing the failure that lurked behind my eyes. I weaved my way through the few pool tables and bearded patrons that crowded around each one and found a place at the bar. I ordered myself a beer but the bartender must have picked up on my mood because he put a shot of tequila next to my drink. I stared at it, and decided, what the heck? I threw it back and set the glass down.
The bartender was an elderly man with graying hair, and he wore a plaid shirt that he rolled up to his elbows. I imagined my dad maybe looking like that, although I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him in twenty years; no cards, no random visits, no friend request on social media, nothing. He up and left my mom and me one night when I was eight years old, just leaving a note behind, explaining that we deserved better. Well, I guess we did if he was going to just leave us.
The elderly bartender's gaze narrowed on me, his soft blue eyes watching me. It was a pleasant look, but I'd seen it enough through my mother's sickness to know that it was a look of pity. He came over with his rag in his hand and took my shot glass, then he gently asked me, “You okay, hun?”
How does one answer that? I smiled at him and asked, “What is your name sir?”
He smiled back and threw his rag over his shoulder. “They call me Ripper around here, but you can call me Theo.”
I felt my dry lips crack as I gave Theo a smile. It felt like he was offering me friendship, and I had exactly no friends in Belvidere. I put my hand out as I introduced myself, “Hello there, Theo, I'm Ramsey Bennington.”
He chuckled to himself. “Ramsey, huh? What kind of name is that for a girl?”
It didn't sound rude, just like he was amused. He had a point. I really had no idea how I ended up with the name Ramsey, but I have never stopped getting that question.
“I don’t know, I like to pretend that I am somehow related to the famous Gordon Ramsay, but the spelling is all wrong, so my theory usually ends there. My mother always just shrugs when I ask her about it.”
Theo smiled and continued his questioning, “So, you okay, Ramsey?”
I decided to go with the truth, I mean, why not, if this was my one and only friend in this town? I might as well vent. I spilled out the whole, long story to Theo, about the trip to Rockford, the almost accident, the person—Jimmy the Jerk. All of it, and I told him about how unfair it was that I didn’t even get a real interview, and that Jimmy didn’t even let me explain that I wasn’t fired, I was phased out; it’s different.
Theo leaned on the bar, fist under his chin, eyes intent, listening. I told him the sordid details, skipping over why I started bawling like a school girl. After I swiped a few peanuts and took a breather, Theo rocked back on his heels and asked. “This place that you interviewed at, didn’t happen to be a bar, did it?”
I drank some water and nodded, not sure exactly how he knew. Theo stood up, shaking his head back and forth, as he started wiping down the counter space around me. He turned away from me to talk to a customer a few seats down. I took the opportunity to swipe even more peanuts. A moment later, Theo left t
he bar area through a door toward the back. I wasn’t sure if Theo was coming back and I needed to get back to my mom. I started to get up to leave, but a second later, Theo returned with a basket of curly fries.
“Looks like you need some grease, sweetheart, not alcohol,” he said as he moved the basket in front of me. This man was quickly becoming my favorite human being. I reached for the fries, then remembered how much I spent on the beer and realized I really couldn’t afford such a luxury.
“Thanks, Theo, but I can’t really spend any more money tonight.”
Theo laughed out loud. “Do you really think I would listen to a story like that and actually charge you money for these? Sorry, sweet pea, but your story is one of the saddest that I have heard, and the whole town has heard about your mama’s sickness. Please, take these, it's the least I can do.”
I swallowed that familiar lump in my throat that liked to surface when people were really nice to me, or when they mentioned my mom. I started eating the fries and instantly felt better. Theo leaned forward on his elbows, watching me carefully, like he was settling in for something.
“Now, since you've told me a story, let me tell you one. Once, when my son James was eleven, he had this girl that he liked. He was so nervous and embarrassed by the fact that he liked her but didn't know how to talk to her that instead of trying to approach her, he spied on her.”
I choked on my water. "Spied on her?" I asked, my mouth tilting up into a smile.
"Oh yes." Theo shook his white head while looking over my head, as if his memories lingered there. “He would follow behind her to school, to tennis practice, and anywhere else she'd go. He never went to her house, thankfully, but still, I reached out to the girl's dad, just so he didn't do anything if he found a little gangly kid following his daughter around.
“Now, the girl's dad was the police chief, and once I talked to him, we made a plan. One day, James started to follow the girl and her friends to a movie. The chief followed them and pulled up behind him, turned his lights on, and used his loudspeaker, commanding him to freeze, like he was a criminal. I was in my car, watching the whole thing from across the street, and nearly died of laughter at how red James’ face turned. The police chief ended up introducing my son to his daughter, thinking it would help the two to actually speak, but after that, James was too embarrassed to ever talk to her again.”
“No. Theo, that's the worst.” I leaned forward, laughing, my stomach aching from the intensity of it. It felt good to laugh. Theo laughed with me, then swiped a few fries before he continued, “Oh, it gets worse. When James was in high school, he thought he could hide the fact that he had failed a class from his mother and me. He would intercept phone calls from the school, throw out the mail, and even faked a report card showing that he had a passing grade. Of course, my wife and I knew the entire time, but thought we'd see how far he'd go until he assumed he was home free. We decided to team up with his teacher for the class that he failed, and one day the teacher explained that she had wanted to share a special presentation with the class about parental dynamics and how to overcome adversity. So, the teacher rolled in a TV cart and played the video that my wife and I had recorded, where we talked about the way we met, fell in love, and of course, our baby boy, James. We had baby pictures. I guess he was so mortified that he ran to the TV and turned it off and fessed up to the teacher on the spot. He ended up working off his bad grade in school with extra homework and he worked off his deceptive behavior here in this bar for an entire month straight.”
Theo finished with light laughter at his memories, his face was bright, and his smile was wide. He didn't just look happy. He looked fulfilled. It was the kind of look that I could only hope for someday. I took a sip of water and waited a moment before I responded.
“Sounds like you have an amazing family. Your son James must have grown into a great man with such fun and attentive parents,” I said, while drawing circles in the bar from the condensation of my glass.
Theo clicked his tongue and started wiping down the counter with force. “He definitely hasn't stopped surprising me, that's for sure, but his mama passed a while ago, about seven years now. That really messed with him.” Theo finished while looking off into the expanse of the bar again. I could tell this topic was painful for him.
“I'm sorry to hear that, Theo,” I said, while watching his face. He gave me a warm smile and patted my hand.
“It's okay, she's in heaven now and died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by her loved ones. No better way to leave this earth,” he finished, while squeezing my hand, like he was trying to infuse hope into me with just his grip. I looked down and fought against the pain rising in my chest. I needed to get back to my mom and make her dinner. I gathered my purse and was about to say goodbye to Theo, when he placed his hand on my arm, “Wait for just a second, honey.”
Theo disappeared in the back, and when he returned, handed me an apron. “I know it's not a fancy accounting job, and I could only afford to pay you minimum wage, but you would get tips. You can tend bar for me, and serve, bus tables, whatever you want to do. You can also eat and drink for free here. What do you think? I could really use the help.”
I was speechless, I really didn't know what to say, but as I looked at Theo's hopeful face, how could I tell him no? I would be just down the street from my mom, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to just accept something. I swallowed and replied with a smile, “I would love to. What time should I start?”
Theo replied with a big grin, “Three would be great. See you tomorrow, sweet pea.”
I couldn't get the smile off my face as I walked out of the bar. I wanted to run into Theo's arms and hug him like I would imagine most girls would do if their dad had just made everything better for them. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to keep comparing Theo to my dad, but I was too far gone already; he was just the sweetest man I had ever met.
I drove home and pulled into the single car driveway that was a mixture of grass and gravel. I walked down the path to grab the mailbox and surveyed my mom's house from the street. It was a modest three-bedroom home with a lighter blue color and white shutter windows. It looked like it belonged to a happy family, a whole and healthy family. Not a dying one, with a broken mother who was being taken care of by her failure of a daughter.
I left the SUV in the driveway, like I usually did, since her garage was chock full of my stuff from my apartment in Chicago. I kicked my flats off by the door and made my way into the kitchen, where I found my mom at the stove, stirring some soup. Guilt reached in and wrapped around my heart, holding it hostage. I should have gotten home earlier so she didn't have to make herself anything.
“Hey Mom, how are you feeling?”
She smiled like she always did and said, “Oh, fine sweetheart, how did your interview go?”
I blushed. I didn't want to tell her how it went. I looked down at the white, outdated linoleum, trying to find some courage there in its shiny patterns. “I didn't get the job, Mom, but I was hired at the local bar here in town.”
I moved past her to the fridge. Hopefully, she wouldn't see my face. She wiped her hands on her nightgown and stepped closer to me. “Oh, well, how do you feel about that?”
I grabbed a can of soda water, and cracked it open, finally meeting her dark brown eyes. I told her the truth, “Well, I would have preferred the other job, but I just need something right now, so I am thankful.”
She smiled, and then came closer and held my wrist. “My sweet girl, just do what makes you happy. Promise me, you'll always do what makes you happy.”
I hated when she did that. When she talked like she was leaving me verbal goodbye notes, like she wouldn't get the chance to tell me these things later. I would never tell her that though, it wouldn't be fair, so I just smiled and nodded my head. “Mom, would you like to go rest and have me bring you the soup when it's ready?”
She turned back towards the stove. “No, it's ready now, thank you. I will just take it in the living room, if
you don't mind. I want to finish up the comedy show that's on.”
I poured her soup into a bowl, placed it on her TV tray, and got her some water. There was a strong chance that my mother wouldn't even eat the soup because she felt sick, but I liked that she was at least attempting it.
Once she was settled, I headed for my bedroom to call Laney. I needed to decompress with my best friend. I tossed the phone on my bed while the speakerphone rang, and I stripped out of my clothes to throw on my comfy sweats and sleep shirt. I briefly recalled that it was a Thursday and I had every intention of going to bed directly after my phone call. I winced at the memories of my old life, that Thursday night meant date night, or wine night, or something else equally as fun. The phone rang a few times.
“Hey, I was wondering when you were going to tell me about landing the badass accounting job!” my best friend excitedly yelled.
An ugly red color marred my cheeks as I responded, “Ha, yeah no, I didn't land it.”
“What! No way, you were way overqualified for that job, what happened?” Laney's shock slowly led into disappointment. For the second time that night, I told my sad, pathetic story. The only thing she managed to wrangle from the story was, “good-looking jerk who happened to smell good,” which made me immediately regret telling her anything.
“What's his name again?” she asked with curiosity.
“Jimmy Stenson…” I breathed out while turning on my TV and getting under the covers.
She clarified, “The bar is called Jimmy's?”
“Yep,” was all I could manage as I fluffed my pillows behind my head and grabbed the day-old glass of water that sat next to my bed. I looked at the glass, searching for any bugs. Was it gross to drink day-old water? Because I was far too lazy to get up and get new water.
She was quiet on the other end. I heard some typing, then, “He's hot.”
I spit out some of the water. “What?”
“I looked him up. Huh, looks like he has kids.”
