Alive

There is freaking gum stuck to my shoe already. What a way to start the day. Dammit, and I don’t have time to run to the bathroom and scrape this crap off. The minute I do that, some kid is going to barf in tunnel number six, while another one dumps his root beer all over table twenty-six and at least sixteen people will be crowding around the jammed Super-Whack-a-Clown machine all up in arms over the one kid’s quarter that it ate. Maybe I’ll just stick a piece of paper to it. At least, I won’t get that annoying snapping sound each time my foot clomps down on the ground.

“Hey Dirty Dirk, can you clean up under table four? Some wise kid decided that floor was hungry for a large pepperoni pizza. Wait, mmm, is that new cologne?” asks Shannon, as she seductively sniffs the air around my chest, allowing her long locks of ragged brown hair to fall over her face, their ends pointing squarely at the smooth dip between her breasts, barely being restrained by her obscenely modified navy blue polo. I find myself getting a little warm, but shake it off as a vision of her six foot seven truck driver husband begins to form in my mind. You should see the welts that he leaves on her. Make-up can only cover up so much.

“Go figure and I bet that the mother thinks it is somehow our fault, right?” I pull a lightly worn novel out of my back pocket. Flipping through the pages, I find the section where the publisher lists what books are going to be released under their name and tear out one of the pages.

“Whoa, what is that? I didn’t know you could read I figured you to be a picture book guy.” Shannon winks and then tears the book out of my hand and scans the cover with her piercing brown eyes, taking in each feature. I begin to fold the page into a nice, neat square, visualizing the perimeter of the gum wad.

“You don’t wanna read that, it’s just trash anyways.” I manage to snatch the book from her slender fingers, letting my own bright eyes take in each word of the title and briefly wondered what it would take to become a catcher in the rye.. It seems like such a self-sacrificing desire, yet, is it really? Or is it just a way to skip out on the real world by pretending that such a idealized life exists? There is no idealized life out there. Let me tell you, I have looked. I stuff the book back in my back pocket and cringe as I feel the font cover rip while press it down further.

“Yeah, it would have to be if Dirty Dirk is reading it. I think I’ve seen that before. I swear, where was it...oh right. I was supposed to read that book for my Intro to Lit class at community. Haha, obviously, didn’t get to it. Man, college was the biggest waste of money. Maybe if I had been smart like you and actually gotten a damn degree. If they woulda had a major in tray balancing, I would’ve gotten it.”

“Uh huh.” I absentmindedly nod my head, allowing each word to enter my head and exit just as quickly.

“Wait, Dirk, I still haven’t figured out why you are still here with that computer...”

“Mechanical engineering.”

“Yeah, that degree.”

“You know why I am still here.” The giddy smile on Shannon’s face quickly fell to a droopy frown. I left her hanging her head, weighted down by the guilt I hope settled on her mind.

***

I remember the first time I read Catcher in the Rye. That was long before the likes of this mangy place. I had to be twelve, maybe thirteen. It was about the same time that I first noticed that girls were getting little nubs of boobs. I would sit at home in my bedroom, while my parents argued downstairs in the kitchen, pounding through page after page . This is how I spent nearly every night of my adolescence. First, it was The Boxcar Children. Then Encyclopedia Brown. Then Beverly Cleary. Then onto the classics. Books were something that my parents never cared about buying. They figured that if they bought me books, they were personally contributing to my intelligence. Now I think they just did it to distract me so that I didn’t get in the middle of all of their own problems. Plus, it prevented them from ever actually having to “teach me” anything. My father always said if there was something important to learn, I would learn it myself. It’s only now that I realize what he meant.

As “good” Christians my parents believed it was their duty to procreate to fulfill their marriage, but beyond the birth, they didn’t think they needed to intervene anymore. I remember I used to tell my parents when I should go to bed and when I should probably get this and that for school. They were so wrapped up in their top-ranked law firm that worrying about their children seemed secondary. Maybe this is why their marriage was doomed. Was there ever really love there? Or was it just convenience and money?

The only one that ever taught me anything was my older brother, Stan, when he used to share his extensive collection of Penthouse magazines. Stan always was a man of the ladies. It seems like he was always sneaking a new one into the house. Some days I would crouch behind one of our black leather couches and watch them. Watch him caress their boobs. Stroke their long blonde hair. And kiss. Stan always knew how to kiss a girl right. Being only thirteen, I couldn’t quite understand all of the actions of my sixteen year old brother. Yet, I knew that I wanted girls to look at me like that. Eyes all glossy like they have never felt this way with anyone else in the world. He was the moment. Every moment as their shirts slowly slid over their shoulders, as they sank lower and lower into the couch, sinking away from my pre-pubescent sight.

Stan eventually explained it all to me the night that he found my hiding spot. I was twelve and he was with Lottie Lowner. What a name. All five of the Lowner kids had “L” names: Lucas, Leonard, Lola, Lottie, and Liza. Mrs. Lowner said it was good “karma” or something like that. The Lowners were washed up hippies from the 1960s, who smoked enough reefer to burn a hole in the ozone layer and hit it big in the stock market. Supposedly, one night, when Mr. Lowner was in his early twenties and finishing an English degree at Brown University, he got unbelievably high on weed that was supposedly the same stuff that Jim Morrison hit and had a vision about what stocks to buy up. He took all of the money that his grandfather had left him (which was a large sum, since his grandfather was the creator of The Burger Bop, the popular fast food chain throughout the Southwestern United States) and used it all to buy up these “divined” stocks. In about a year, he was a multi millionaire and was able to smoke the same stuff that former President Clinton tapped (and the rumor is that it is some good shit). Somehow, he was able to gain enough credibility to make a living as a financial advisor, helping his clients make decisions based on what visions he has on each high.

Anyways, let’s get back to Lottie. Lottie was a catch, long straight brown hair like Gloria Steinem and eyes that glittered like Molly Rigwald. She somehow avoided the familial disposition towards the cannabis, though had a bit of a taste for vodka. This particular night, Stan had splurged on a nice bottle of vodka and they were well into their fifth shot when the clothes started flying off. Lottie’s tiny pink tank top flew in my general direction, smacking me square in the face. Without even thinking, I screeched in response, causing Lottie to scream and my brother to jump off of the couch and grab rumpled my Spiderman t-shirt.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” He yelled at me, showering me with alcohol-tinged spit.

“I dunno. Just watching.”

“Oh god.” He pointed down at my pants, where a small hard bump was protruding.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I can’t make it stop.”

“Lottie LOTTIE ” The door slammed, shaking the brass candlesticks on our cherry wood mantle.

“I’m sorry, Stan.”

“It’s okay, kid. Let’s have a chat.” I see his half-crooked smile, forming those dimples that were his charm. I wonder if he still looks the same? If Houston has treated him well. Five years can change a face. Five years can change a person. Five years can change a life.

***

Out of the corner of my eye, I see our burly manager, Mr. Greenworth, lumber towards Shannon and I, his massive girth bouncing up and down like boat on rough waters. His face matches the color of our famous red, cat-shaped serving platters.

“Mr. Henley and Mrs. Burt, there will be no schmoozing in my establishment. Mr. Meow’s Pizza Palace is like...”

“...oh shit...here he goes again...” mutters Shannon under her breath. I snicker a bit.

“...and swearing, for god’s sakes This is a children’s recreation center Anyways, this gets me back to what I was saying. Mr. Meow’s employees are like Jesus’s Twelve Apostles. Without all twelve what does Jesus have?”

“Eleven apostles?” Shannon interjects. I shrug my shoulders apathetically.

“No, an incomplete team And what do I say about incomplete teams?” I can see a bead of sweat forming on Mr. Pebblesworth’s left temple. He starts breathing quite heavily like he has just finished running a marathon.

“A team minus one gets nothing done,” Shannon and I rattle off in unison. I roll my eyes, while twirling the folded square of paper between my fingers.

“Exactly, so I don’t need you two lounging around in the lobby shooting the bull while there is work to be done. I expect this kind of behavior from the high school nitwits, but you two have been here forever. You know what’s expected and you definitely know that I don’t need any more complaints. Fudge, this noon, some teenage moron dumped a full pitcher of orange soda on a little four year old. I had to give the party of thirty free pizza and drinks. But teenage dipsticks aren’t the problem, the problem is that you two are standing around and there are things to be done. Shannon, go scrub tables twelve, fourteen, and twenty. Dirk, go clean up that spill at table four and then change the trash in the bathrooms. Remember, the Twelve Apostles ” Mr. Greenworth waddles off toward his office, grabbing gargantuan cup of Cherry Coke on the way. I sigh and turn to walk away. Shannon taps me on the shoulder.

“Wait, Dirty, I bless you in the name of the Mr. Meow, the Mr. Greenworth, and the Super-Whack-a-Clown Machine,” says Shannon as she makes a sign of the cross, ending it with a gracefully raised middle finger.

“Wow, are you trying to seduce Satan?”

“Nah, we’re just friends. We ended that relationship a long time ago.” She smiles and begins to prance off, her hair bouncing with the motion of each step. I watch her until she is just a navy blue speck against the Technicolor explosion of the Mr. Meow seating area. As I watch, I see the last seven years of my life replaying over and over like the sick repetition of a communist propaganda video. Each person, conversation, and half-eaten pizza, look exactly the same, as if someone just copied and pasted them from one memory to the next.

“Why the hell are you still here, Dirk?” I mutter to myself as I lift my feet to walk, but find myself flailing as my left foot stays firmly fixed to the monochromatic tile. As I regain my balance, I suddenly remember the chunk of gum still plastered to my shoe. I press the neatly folded piece of paper to it. I smile as I think about the genius of my own innovation.

***

The first day that I walked into Mr. Meow’s, I recall being assaulted by the noxious scent of greasy pizza mixed with ripe human body odor, which thereupon flooded my mind with dozens of memories of crappy elementary school birthday parties. I couldn’t believe that it hadn’t changed since those days when I would’ve rather been sitting in the corner immersed in a book, than crawling around in neon plastic tubes playing some infantile version of “tag.” I was so fixated on the surroundings that day that I nearly knocked Shannon over, who was struggling to balance two large pizza pans. When I focused on her, damn, I couldn’t take my eyes off her boobs. They were so round and full. They were nothing like the little cupcakes that I had been used to wrapping my fingers around on a string of nameless teenage girls. They were real, womanly breasts. My teenage hormones were in overdrive and I stuttered to even speak as I tried to keep my body under control.

“What are ya doin’ here, besides screwing me with your eyes?” she said. I vividly remember her chomping on a large wad of purple gum and I being completely disgusted as I watched little drops of spit gather on the surface of one of the pizzas each time her jaw closed. It was right at that moment I knew this would be the perfect job to spite my parents.

“I...I...want a job,” I mumbled. I kept trying to divert my eyes away from her chest, but somehow they just kept on bouncing back.

“You don’t wanna work here.” Her piercing brown eyes seemed so serious that I wanted to laugh out of awkwardness. I tore my eyes away from her chest just in time to see Mr. Greenworth lumber toward us, his stomach a few belt loops smaller then, but still just as shocking.

“Shannon, get back to work and can that gum. You know th health code. You want a job, kid?” Mr. Greenworth smiled a big grin, exposing a plethora of silver-capped teeth.

“Sure.” I watched Shannon disappear among the disaffected suburbanites and their screeching offspring.

“Great Welcome to Mr. Meow’s Pizza Palace.” Mr. Pebblesworth extended his square-shaped hand and I lightly shook it. When he finally released it, I noticed a brown sticky residue coating my palm. I tried not to think about what it was.

“When do I start?”

“Right now. Wait, aren’t you Becky and Tim’s son? Why aren’t you working at the law firm like Stan? I mean, I’m more than happy to have ya, but I’m just curious.” Mr. Greenworth’s face lit up at the thought of getting some juicy town gossip. He always knows everything about everyone.

“I don’t really care that much. I just want a job.”

“Okay, son. No worries, Mr. Meow’s is the place to be.” I looked around at the fading red wallpaper, decorated with brightly colored cat caricatures. I knew Mom and Dad would be sickened by it. It was perfect.

***

With a mop in hand, I reach table four, discovering, much to my dismay, that table four is drowning in root beer. Sometimes I love the vagueness of Mr. Pebblesworth’s descriptions. It always makes for an exciting work environment. He basically thinks everything is a “small mess.” He says that by describing these “occurrences” in minimal terms, his workers won’t feel like their jobs are too tough, thus encouraging an “optimistic” atmosphere. Really, this is a bunch of bull. I mean, honestly, it’s incredibly overwhelming when you are prepared to attack a fallen slice of pizza and are faced with two large pizzas cheese-side down, plastered to ceramic tile. Basically, this “optimistic” philosophy has caused all of our stress levels to increase by sixteen points. I take a deep breath and begin to mop up the brown cesspool, while I hum some old Irish tune that my grandma used to sing to me before bedtime.

“Sir?”

“What is it with today?” I whip around, coming eye to eye with a teenage girl, with her bright pink hair tied back pigtails and ring protruding from side of her mouth.

“Sounds like someone is having a peachy day,” she snaps back.

“Shit, did I say that out loud? Crap and I just said ‘shit,’ too. Oh eff it, what would you like from me?” I lean the mop handle against the table. I finger my back pocket, tracing the outline of Catcher in the Rye, with my pointer finger, feeling a bit like Holden Caulfield and wanting to say fuck to the world.

“I don’t want anything from you. That’s disgusting, you perv. Anyways, someone made a mess in the women’s bath room. Just an F-Y-I. It’s pretty nasty. Someone...” Pink-haired girl stops for a moment. “Okay, someone perioded all over the floor of one of the stalls.” Her blank face slowly contorts into complete bewilderment.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I don’t know anything about it. Believe me, I am quite educated in that field. I’ll get to that after I clean this up.” I turn around and am about to grab the mop when I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

“Man, if I were you, I’d go clean it up. I think it’s freaking people out.” The girl starts to walk away, clopping her thick black heels against the floor, causing an annoying ‘clomp’
noise to reverberate off of the walls. I look to the women’s bathroom across the room, just as the door bursts open and a neatly dressed woman shuffles out with her hand pressing a zebra print scarf over her mouth. I fixate on the sloppy brown mess still oozing out from under table four and try to forget how hard it is going to be to clean up later. Yet, somehow I just knew that something wasn’t right here.

***

I couldn’t wait to tell my parents about my new job and to see the disdain painted across their apathetic faces. I waited for a choice moment to spill the news, when the impact would be the greatest, during our biweekly family dinner. Basically, once every two weeks we would all get together and bicker over a meal that my mother had catered in from some restaurant. Ideally, we were supposed to share what we were doing so that my parents could brag about their “glorious” children to all of their clients and coworkers. It was always a contest at the firm. Every time they bring home one of their coworkers or clients, it’s always about whose child was better. Mom would say something about Stan or I and then the coworker would counter with something more impressive about their own child. This would go on back and forth until the last scrap of dessert was gobbled down with a quick twist of the fork, a conveniently placed ending, just when each side was about to run out of accolades. Whomever got in the last word was declared the silent winner. Most of the time I never paid attention long enough to see if Stan and I earned the “most-prized” offspring award for the evening. I always asked to be excused before dessert, since the whole exchange sickened me. Who really gives a crap whose kid earned the most awards on honors night or who saved someone old lady’s cat from a tree? How about you ask your kid what it feels like to never be cared about? I mean, I don’t think I even understood what a hug was until I was almost fifteen.

This particular night, my parents had invited over the Steins. The Steins are both doctors, surgeons to be precise, and they had my father settle many of their malpractice cases. Tonight, the Steins just couldn’t stop gushing about their prized Julianne and how she had just won some state honor for cello or some bull like that.

“Well, Stan just got top marks on his SAT and is a shoo-in at Stanford. Oh, it’s so great to see my two boys following in their parents footsteps. Oh, and Dirk, well, he’s going to join us at the firm this upcoming summer.”

“Oh Dad, I forgot to tell you. I already have a job,” I interjected as I swirled my linguine, drenched in fresh Italian olive oil and garlic, around my fork.

“What? You didn’t take that clerk job at Mr. Brady’s accounting firm, did you? You know how I feel about him.” Dad gripped his wine glass. I could see his veins popping out on his hand and I waited for the stem to crack in two, sending a waterfall of shimmering Merlot all over the pristine tablecloth while everyone screeched in horror over the ruby splatter. The Steins were smiling in narcissistic unison as they mentally calculated the number of points that I had just lost to their precious Julianne. Stan kicked me under the table.

“What the hell?” Stan whispered in my ear. Dad’s face was the color of my grandmother’s homemade raspberry jam and I was afraid that it might explode, mixing little chunks of burning flesh with the soon to be splattered wine.

“Do explain, dear,” said Mrs. Stein in her false cheery voice that she used when talking to people under the age of thirty and old women, whom she thought were too deaf to hear her, though I have witnessed old Mrs. Weatherly flicking her off before.

“Well, I was strolling by Mr. Meow’s Pizza Palace...”

“What? ? Harry Greenworth’s trash pit?” Yelled Dad. A vein began to bulge out and pulse above his right eye, as if his face had developed its own beating heart. Mom cracked a perfectly posed smile, straight out of Good Housekeeping and began to softly pat Dad on the shoulder, like a child who needs to be burped.

“Anyways, I saw that there was a sign advertising for a server, so I strolled inside to see what it was about.” A vision of Shannon popped into my head. She was floating on a cloud like some erotic angel, her dark blue polo waving in the heavenly breeze.

“No, man, you didn’t do it, did you?” interjected Stan as he poked his baked red potatoes.

“It’s a good job. I start at seven dollars per hour and can get forty hour work weeks...”

“I was going to pay you eight an hour and give you weekends off ” Dad banged his fists against the table, the china plates rattling with each resulting vibration.

“Dad, I am working at Mr. Meow’s and I don’t give a fuck what you think.” I threw my napkin on my barely touched plate of food and stormed out the front door, never looking back, though I have imagined the looks on their faces many times; Mr. and Mrs. Stein grinning obscenely large grins, exposing every pearly white installed and shaped by Mr. Finley, D.D.S., as they mentally declare themselves the parental victors; Stan absentmindedly shoving potatoes in his mouth while he imagines perfect little Julianne without a shirt; Mom continuing to pat Dad, her store bought lips never flinching; and Dad, horns sprouting out of his head as a hellish explosion of words pour out from a throat that has saved the town of Greenville millions of dollars. All I could do was snicker with each step down our cobblestone sidewalk.

***

There is an odd stench hanging in the air of the women’s bathroom, but that is to be expected in such an environment. I scan the premises, trying to note everything that was out of place. Sink number three is dripping. Plink. Plink. Plink. Each drop seems to linger in my mind, trying to leave its own unique imprint. I walk over and twist the faucet handles. It’s the hot water, just barely loose. I don’t really know why it is taking me so long to approach this problem. I mean, it’s just a bunch of blood, right? I’ve seen worse than that. Damn, I’ve cleaned up throw-up, a ton of shit, and even some guy’s finger that he lost in a domestic abuse argument. Yeah, crazy stuff. Some guy crashed his own kid’s birthday party by pulling a knife on his ex-wife’s new boyfriend. What the hell has this world come to? I look up and notice that someone has etched “Stop Fascism” into the long wall mirror. I chuckle a bit to myself, as I think about how absurd that looks in the bathroom of a kid’s pizza shop. I love to think of the mother/daughter discussions that this must spurn everyday. Shit, I’ve got to stop dawdling.

Finally, I turn to the row of metal stalls, painted a classy shade of Pepto Bismal Pink. I let my eyes slowly travel along the floors of each stall. Piles of crumpled toilet paper. A tampon. Two lip glosses. A Tylenol travel size package. My eyes come to the third stall and I freeze. Gingerly, I swing the creaky door open, allowing myself to take in the entirety of the bloody shape. Suddenly, every feeling that I once knew has left each muscle of my body as I try to decipher what is lying on the floor. The fingers, no bigger than Tic Tacs. Eyes, barely shaped, just little indents in the head. Legs, arms, and even a nose, just slightly misshapen. The acid deep within my bowels begins boiling, trying to force its way up my throat. I can’t fight the urge and run to the nearest trash can and unload the sandwich and chips that had been my lunch.
As I lay hanging over the edge of the s scratched and dented sky blue trash can, all I can think about is Shannon. Shannon and it. That. Can you even call it a thing? Or is it a human? I always wondered each time I looked at her bump of a stomach.

***

“Whatcha gonna do when you go to Stanford?” I asked Stan as we laid on the roof of our house looking at the stars, the night of his high school graduation.

“Bone a bunch of sorority girls. Ahh, California lovin’.” Stan took a swig of the wine bottle that he had stolen out of Dad’s wine cellar. “Wanna sip?”

“What if Mom and Dad find us?” I focus in on Orion’s belt, tracing the path between each star mentally visualizing the shape that they create.

“Wouldn’t that be a miracle? Sonny, we are more likely to see a purple cow jump over the moon than to have the Mothership and Fathership find us.”

“Yeah, you are totally right. What if I didn’t go to Stanford?” I turned my head and looked at Stan, his shaggy brown hair splayed out on the black shingles, the aviator sunglasses reflecting the glow of the full moon, a crazed smile spread across his face.

“Dude, that is probably not the wisest of choices. Dad, would boil you alive.” Stan took another swig and handed me the bottle. I spun it around in my hand, trying to make out the year on the label. 1969. The year my parents got married.

“I mean, don’t you think ‘bout things?” I awkwardly tip the bottle, allowing two drops of the maroon liquid to fall into my mouth.

“I try not to. Haha. Nah, course I do, but Dirkson, sometimes you just gotta ignore the thoughts and make the parental units happy. Once ya do that, it’s smooth sailing.” Stan pushes the sunglasses up into his hair, exposing his tender eyes to the moonlight.

“Stan, I just wanna run.”

“What do you mean? Run a marathon or something? Are you nutsy, boy?”

“Not like that. Just run away from here. From Mom and Dad. From the firm. From Greenville. From money. From expectations. From everything.”

“Whoa there little french fry, I think that sauce is going to your head.” Stan snatches the bottle back.

“It’s not the wine, Stan. I just don’t think I fit in with this life. I have never felt like I fit in this life. That’s why I started working at Mr. Meow’s. That’s why I’m not going to Stanford. Don’t you see it, Stanmeister? Stanford might be a million miles away, but it is still Greenville. It is still the prestige. The fake nobility. The silver spoons jabbed our mouths. You might be goin’ to another state, but you aren’t leavin’ any of that behind.”

“Since when did my little fifteen year old brother get philosophical on me? I knew I should have stopped you from reading all of those damn books. Kid, life ain’t that easy. Sometimes you gotta take what is handed to you.”

“Just wait, I’m gonna show Mom and Dad that they can’t control me. I’m gonna make them wish that they never had me as a son. Yeah, I’m gonna run away from it all and make myself. Yeah, just Dirk.”

“Sounds like a goddamn kid’s show. Well, my power to you little bro. Just don’t come running back to me when your little rebellion doesn’t pan out. I don’t want some riffraff to muck up my chance at a real life.”

“Riffraff?”

“Yeah, ya know, a bum.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Not now, but your five year plan seems to be setting you up for that.” Stan took the last gulp of wine and then shattered the bottle against the roof, sending little bits of green glass confetti trickling down into the gutter. If only my fifteen year old self had realized how right Stan had been.

***

I walk over to one of the sinks and rinse out my mouth. I splash a little bit of frigid water on my face trying to bring myself back to reality. I look up at the mirror and focus on the usually familiar face that is staring back. Yet, today it doesn’t seem to hold the same familiarity. Each feature seems to be much older than the twenty-three years that they possess. The once bright blues eyes seem to have faded to a pale gray. My closely cropped dark brown hair has gone pale around the edges and the lines of my forehead seem to have doubled . What are you doing, Dirk? What the hell are you doing?

Oh my god, it’s a baby. A human. Or at least it was a human, wasn’t it? I jam my head under the faucet and let the water run over my face, hoping to resurrect the feeling has vacated my nerve endings. What should I do? Do you call 911? I mean, is it really a person or not? Is this even a homicide? Shit, Mr. Greenworth is going to be so pissed. Wait, what about the mother? I mean, I remember some stuff from anatomy. This can’t be good. I mean, she just had a kid. Whoa, is that what it is like? Imagine just sitting in a pizza joint, knowing that your kid is coming. Oh my god, why didn’t someone do something? There had to have been screams, right? And why just leave it lying on the floor? Oh my god, there is a baby on the floor. Oh my god, what the hell do I do? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How many times can I say fuck before it means something. Fuck. Before it can replace something. Fuck. Before it can erase something. Fuck. Before it can take away. Fuck. Before it can take away everything that ever meant something. Fuck. Everything to me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why didn’t I get out of this place when I could’ve?

Back when change wasn’t such a hard thing.

***

“Dirk, what are you still doin’ here? Shit, you should be out gettin’ some college tail. Damn son, you don’t need none of my old ass.” Said Shannon as the wooden end of a broomstick began to jab me in the back. I slid my hands down the curve of her back, fingering the clover-shaped scar right above her left butt cheek.

“I dunno even know, Shannon. I guess I don’t really care that much.” Shannon pushed me against the wall, causing a metal pail to tumble off the shelf and bang me on the head.

“What the hell do you mean? You don’t care that much? What the hell, Dirk?” She pressed her thin lips into my neck, her tongue to tickled the hairs I missed shaving that morning.

“ I dunno, I guess I’ve never really thought much about the future. It just doesn’t seem that important to me. I mean, yeah, I just don’t feel like making any decisions. It’s easier that way.” Shannon pulled her head away. Even though it was dark, I could feel her eyes beating down on me, like two little questioning consciences.

“ Shit Dirk, you have the whole world ahead of you. I mean, hell, you’re smart. Shit, top of your class and a scholarship to the university. You don’t want to work here. Get the hell out of here.” Shannon fumbled around in the darkness, kicking around brooms and mops as she locates the pieces of clothing that she discarded only minutes earlier.

“Wait.” I reached out and grabbed her hand. “I have four years to figure it out. I have four years to spend with you.”

“Come on, Dirk, you will leave me behind long before then.” Shannon wriggles out of my grasp and slipped her polo back on. My hands scanned the floor for my own polo.

“How do you know that?” My hand falls the crumpled piece of cloth and I quickly slip it over my head.

“Dirk, you are too good for me. Shit, I hear Mr. Greenworth. Here, I will go out first.” I imagined Shannon smiling her devilish smile my direction as she settled her hand on the doorknob.

“Shannon, I love you.”

“Haha, yeah right, you are just a kid. You have no idea what love is.” The door whipped open and slammed closed. A wash bucket crashed to the floor and I felt my whole heart spilling from its gaping plastic mouth.

***

The bathroom door begins to creep open and the curly locks of Shannon begin to take shape. I quickly pull my head out from under the faucet and shake off the water droplets clinging to the stubble around my mouth and the pricks of hair on the top of my head. Rubbing my weary eyes, I try to fight back the tears that I can feel bubbling beneath the surface.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on? There are like a dozen frantic women runnin’ ‘round the place. What the heck? Is there a naked man in here? Wait, they prolly wouldn’t be upset by that. Whoa...Dirty...I mean, Dirk, you okay?” Shannon walks over to me and lays her hands my shoulders. I begin to feel warm again, yet, even this warmth can’t seem calm the chaos within my body. I turn around and stare intently into Shannon’s eyes.

“Shannon, I...” I feel my stomach getting queasy again and push her over as I dive for the trash can again.

“What the hell, Dirk? Did you have another rough night of drinking? I thought you were done with that. I mean, aren’t you going to AA meetings? Shit son, aren’t you over me yet?” The last comment jabs me like a poisoned sword. I want to throw up again, but there is nothing left. I shove the trash can against the wall, the collision of metal and cement sounds like an explosion within the room.

“No Shannon, why do you only think about yourself? No, I’m not drinking again. It’s always about you isn’t it? God, you don’t know the whole of it.” I angrily wipe my wind-burned lips and point to the third stall. Shannon looks bewildered and saunters over to the creaky door. She carefully opens the door and then quickly slams it shut.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Fuck. Shit. Damn ... oh my god. It’s so real. They look just like that. Oh Madison. It looks just like she did. Smaller, but the same. Oh my god, this just isn’t...” Shannon collapses and I quickly dive on the ground. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her body close to mine. I can feel her heart beating against mine. I’m definitely kidding myself.
“Shannon ... Shannon ...” Her eyes snap open and she struggles back into standing position, leaning against one of stall separators.

“Whoa, I’m fine. Shit, was I dreamin’? ‘Cause that was one screwed up thought. Wait, why the hell were you holdin’ me?” I stumble to a standing position. I run my hands over the slightly damp tips of my hair.

“You passed out for crying out loud What the hell, Shannon? This isn’t about us. How insensitive are you? Shannon, there is a dead baby in that stall. There is a human that is no longer living and all the hell you can think about is whether I am still in love with you.”

“Well, are you?” Shannon steps toward me, pressing her breasts against my chest. “Because I can’t seem to figure out why you are still here. Why you graduated from college and never got another job. Dirk, what the hell do you want?” I look down at my feet and focus on a rumpled corner of the gum encrusted piece of paper projecting from the sole of my shoe. What the hell do I want?

***

“Dirk, I’m pregnant,” mumbled Shannon as she scrubbed the caked cheese off of table twenty-four.

“Oh my god, we should get married This is the perfect opening. Come on,” I yelped in joy. A vision of Shannon decked head to toe in frilly lace popped in my head, strolling down an aisle peppered in rose petals to meet me, pimped out in a classy white suit, so trashy, my parents would just love it.

“Dirk, I can’t. We can’t. It will never work out. Come on, you are in school and I’m just too old.” Shannon’s head drops, the shriveled red rag tumbles from her hand to the floor.

“Are you okay?” I reached out and wrapped my arms around her, feeling her face sink into my sunken in stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No, Dirk, we can’t. You can’t fix this. This is my problem.” Shannon pushes me off and reaches down to pick up the rag, her mass of hair flopping over her face like Cousin It.

“Shannon, it takes two to make these kind of problems, so I am half to blame. Come on, I will be done with school in a couple of months. We can run away from here. I got a great job offer in Montana and we can go there together. You can leave this pit behind.” I looked to Shannon and saw tears running her face, like two little waterfalls of emotion. I walked over to her and reached out to wipe the tears, but she turned away as my hand was about to reach her trembling face.

“Dirk, I have to tell you something...”

“Ears open.”

“It’s not yours.”

“What? ”

“The baby, it’s not yours.” Shannon kept her head turned away, like a guilty witness, refusing to come face to face with her own crimes.

“Wait, I thought....weren’t we...what the hell? Shannon, didn’t we make it exclusive? I mean, I know it was screwing around in the broom closet for a while, but what about those dates and that night. That night where I asked if we could actually be together and no of this messing around with each other stuff. What the hell was that, Shannon? Were you just using me? Were you just looking for someone to always come back to, while you went and fucked around as you pleased.” I chucked the platter I was carrying against the wall, splattering a photo of Mr. Greenworth in a cat suit, with marinara and mozzarella cheese.

“It’s not like that, Dirk.”

“Isn’t that what they all say? What do you mean it’s not like that? How could it not be like that? What is it like? Did you trip with all of your clothes off and fall on his...”

“Stop it ”

“Stop what? I’m just trying to figure some things out because last time I checked girlfriends and boyfriends don’t sleep around with other people. I guess maybe I am just old fashioned like that.” I walk over to the mess I had just made and pick up the platter. I swore the cat on the platter was laughing at me as I piled the pizza goo on its face.

“Dirk, come on, I just couldn’t help it. Marty showed up.”

“Marty? Isn’t that the guy who beat you and dumped your driveway when you broke up with him?”

“You know, he’s not that bad of a guy.”

“Sure, breaking someone’s wrist really isn’t that bad. I mean, if it was a femur, it would be a whole new story.”

“Ahh, sometimes, I just want to hit you in your damn baby face. Here’s the deal, he came over and apologized for everything and said that he now has a steady job as a truck driver and he really wanted to start over with me. He said that I was the only girl that had ever meant anything to me. We made love that night and it was, oh, so wonderful.” Shannon’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, like some princess who had just seen her prince charming.

“I guess that means we are over, doesn’t it?” My eyes began to burn and I had to use all of my strength to keep the tears from coming out.

“Dirk, I...I...he is different and I feel like I have to give him a chance. Ya know?” Shannon walked over to me and laid her vile hand on my shoulder. I shook it off, feeling every muscle in my body revving up for a detonation of anger.

“I guess I was just a place holder, huh?”

“No, of course not, Dirk. I mean, come on, did you think that it was ever going to become something more than screwing around?”

“I guess that was my mistake. It must be my age.”

***

I take my eyes off of the littered floor and focus on Shannon. Her watery eyes gaze into mine and for a moment, I want to kiss her, why not just contribute to the catharsis?. Yet, I just can’t stop thinking about the fetus. There is just something about that little body that I can’t get out of my head. I’ve got to help it. I’ve got to do something. Call the police...Mr. Greenworth...I can’t focus. My head feels like it is riding on a roller coaster. What can I do? I push Shannon out of the way and run over to the paper towel dispenser. I begin to yank handfuls of paper towels out of the dispenser.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t we call someone or somethin.’ Oh my god, Dirk.” Shannon grabs her mouth again and collapses over the trash can again.

“Shannon, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. What happened? What happened?” I tumble on to the floor, paper towels fluttering around me like leaves falling from a tree. I begin to nervously scratch at my wrists, trying to feel. Bleed fucker. Bleed fucker. Shannon lifts her head from the trash can, wiping a trickle of phlegm oozing from the corner of her mouth.
“Dirk, Dirk?” I continue scratching, the blood begins to push towards the thin white surface. “Stop it, Dirk ” She grabs my wrists, staring into my watery eyes with her own bloodshot ones. Our hands shake in unison like two little kids leaning against the washing machine, trying to make their voices garble like a robot.

“Shannon, I can’t do this anymore.” She turns her head away. I count the breaths. One. Two. Three. Her head swings back, tears mixed with globs of black mascara collect on her eyelids.
“Can’t do what? We have to suck it up. We have to...” She crumbles into me, her body flopping like a rag doll. My head settles on her shoulder and for a few minutes, I feel okay.

***

“Dirk, you need to come home...” I pulled the cell phone away from my ear as a little boy tugged at my pant leg, his tiny fingers digging into the flesh of my calf. “Dirk, this is no joke. Mom is gone. She left Dad.”

“Why is that any of my business? They can do what they please with their lives. They have never given me shit. Why should I care now that they have messed up their own lives?” I screamed back in the phone. The kid stopped pulling on my pant leg and looked up at me with doughy green eyes. I shot him a intense scowl and he quickly disappeared.

“Dirk, I know that you don’t have the fondest feelings for them, but this is bad. Dad crashed his car into a tree and is at the hospital.” Stan paused for a moment. “I don’t know if he is going to pull through.” I banged my head against the wall. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Dirk, is everything okay?” asked Shannon as she laid her hand on the small of my back, causing my spine to arc in response to the unwanted physical touch.

“Dirk...Dirk, are you still there? I gotta go. I have a client in Berlin on the other line. Get your pussy ass over there and actually contribute something to this family...” The line went dead. Maybe he should take his own advice, I thought to myself. I snapped the phone closed and dropped it on the floor, sending the back and battery skittering across that vile black and white tile. Shannon jumped backwards, nearly spilling the pitcher of water balanced precariously on the tray in her left hand.

“I’m leaving.”

“Dirk, can I help you?” Shannon’s voice faded into dull buzz of child babble. I stopped in the doorway, meeting eyes with Shannon for just a brief moment. She started to walk towards me, but I pushed my way out the door.

***

“Dirk...” mumbles Shannon as she lifts her head, shoving me off of her shoulder.

“Humph...what?” I groggily open my eyes and frantically push her limp body off of me. Shannon stares back at me, frightened, and tries to scramble to her feet, but her legs are wobbling like vanilla pudding. I quickly jump up and intervene, allowing her to fall un comfortably into my arms once again. I feel her breath against my chest. In and out. The hot air seeping through my shirt. Through my skin. Straight to the core of my being.

“Thanks, I guess.” Shannon pulls her face away from me and plants her feet firmly on the ground. I can’t let go. Not again. Not again. “Dirk, I’m fine. You can let go of me now. Honestly, I’ve got it.” Shannon continues to struggle, but my fingers won’t release. They just keep gripping tighter and tighter.

“Shannon, I...no, this isn’t right.”

“Say it, Dirty Dirk, I dare you. I know what it is. You can’t let go, can you? Do you still love me? Say it Say it I’m not that blind, ya know.” Shannon pries my fingers off of her polo. The tears are still pouring down her face, staining her shirt with black and peach streaks of make-up.
“Shannon, this isn’t right...” I smash my face into the wall, wishing I could just put my head through it.

“Fine, Dirk, we will just leave it, won’t we. We will just leave it like you left your dad that day. You’re good at leaving things.”

“I did not leave him...” I pull my face away from the wall and grab her shoulders, our beating faces just inches apart.

“Then where did you go, Dirk? Where did you go? Why did you leave us all?”

“You left me, Shannon, not vice versa and stop bringing us into this. What does our past have to do with what is going on here?” Shannon closes her eyes, scrunching her forehead up into a neat row of wrinkled frustration.

***

“Mr. Henley, what is your decision?” Asked the nurse as checked the tubes protruding from my father’s nose.

“Why am I making this decision? Isn’t this Stan’s job? I’m the second son. Old news. Not worth a thing.” My eyes settled on the blob of blue and white that was supposed to resemble my father.

“Well, sir, it is your name that is written down. No one else’s.”

“That doesn’t make any sense? What about my mother? Aren’t they still technically married? Dad, can you hear me somewhere in there. I know you can’t breathe, but there has got to be something going...”

“Mr. Henley, believe me, he can’t hear a lick of what you are saying.. That beeping machine is the only thing keeping him going.” Beep. Beep. Beep. It played over and over in my head, infiltrating ever thought that attempted to enter.

“I can’t take this.” I pressed my hands against my ears, trying to make the beeping go away. I thought of all of the moments that I wanted to kill my father for every time he forgot me or tore me down or just plain denied my entire existence. Why did he choose this moment to recognize me as his son?

“Mr. Henley? Do you want to wait another day?” I stared at the nurse blankly. “Yes, I think we will give him another day.” She scrawled something down on Dad’s chart and scurried out the door.

“Wait.”

“Yes. Mr. Henley?”

“Is he alive?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is there any part of him that is living?”

“Well, yes, there is blood flowing through his veins and his heart. Here, let me show you.” She grabbed my hand and pressed it against his chest. Bump. Bump. Bump.

“But is he really alive?”

“Well, I say if a heart is beating...”

“What if I flick off this machine? I mean, that is what you have been asking me all along, isn’t it?” I walked over to the beeping machine and eyeball the blinking red switch.

“Well, yes, but...”

“But what? You and I both know the truth. He’s dead. Don’t sugar coat it for me because I don’t do bullshit. The truth is, he has been dead to me all of my life.” I shot one last look at the man who was supposed to be my father. I fingered the two plane tickets in my front coat pocket and stormed out the door.

“Oh Mr. Henley, wait, what do you want me to do?” The nurse trotted behind me, as I barreled down the intensive care hallway.

“I want to see him live, no wires attached.”

***

“Dirk, I...I want to...” Shannon clamps her lips closed. I release the grip on her shoulders, as my eyes fall upon stall number three.

“You can stand there and try to psychoanalyze the shit out of our fucked up lives, but I’m putting this little guy to rest. No one deserves to be left lying naked on the bathroom floor, while two immature adults bicker about their once illicit behavior. He at least deserves to be properly taken care of.” I click open the paper dispenser and grab out a stack. Then I walk over to the third stall and whip the door open. I crouch down on the floor and slowly roll the little body onto a pile of paper towels. He’s just so small, yet he looks so real. I can’t even comprehend it. I wonder if he remembers being alive? I mean, are they really living at this point in their lives? I’ve felt the heartbeat before. Bump. Bump. Bump. It was incredible when I laid my hand on Shannon’s belly right before Madison was born a couple months back. Yet, if you have a heartbeat does it mean you are alive?

“I wonder where she is?” asks Shannon as she her crouches down beside me, dropping
another wad of paper towels on the ground.

“Who?” I ask as I begin to fold one of the towels and tuck it around his reddish-purple torso, as if to protect him from the cold that he will never feel. My stomach is gurgling again and I have to fight back the urge to spew my guts for the third time.

“The mother. Oh my god, I hope that she’s okay. I mean, my sister had a miscarriage and had to go to the hospital because she was bleeding so bad. And oh the emotional stuff. She cried for a week. She just sat in Momma’s rocking chair and stared out the window, while tears drizzled down her face. She wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t sleep. She just sat there.” I looked over at Shannon, who continued to let the tears fall freely down her face, as if it was a normal involuntary function. “You know what I told her. I said, ‘Well, at least you can get your figure back now.’ What a bitch. What a goddamned smart ass bitch. How the hell can anyone be so insensitive?”

“Shannon, it was a long time ago and you didn’t really know what she was dealing with. Forget about it, sometimes we’ve just got to move on in life. Here, help me finish wrapping him up.” Shannon leans in and begins to wrap up his head while I work on his abdomen. After ten minutes, he looks like a miniature mummy. Shannon looks to me as I scooped the palm-sized bundle in my hand, trying to formulate a good idea.

I wonder if this is how the nurse felt as she held my father’s hand as some indifferent doctor clicked the switch. I wonder what she thought about. How insensitive that son of his was. Did she cry? Probably not, it happens everyday, she would think. It’s just another number. Another body sitting in the morgue, waiting. Waiting for someone to claim it. To take it home. To bury it next to its father: pneumonia, age seventy-seven , its mother: breast cancer, age forty-three, its sister: suicide, age twenty, and now son chronic broken heart, age fifty eight. Chronic broken heart? Could I say that? Did Dad really love Mom? Did he suffer, too? While I stared at Shannon across the ball pen, did he cry? While I scrawled my last essay, did he rev that engine up, a bottle of Belvedere sitting to the cup holder? Was he going to our lake house, just to take a breath of that salty air? Was he going to sit on Mr. Watt’s doorstep, waiting to see her just one more time? Or did he always see that tree? A blurred brown blob in his windshield, the only answer that made sense. Was that what this little guy’s mother thought? Was it the only answer that made sense, sitting on the bathroom floor, wondering when the blood would stop. Would it ever stop, pouring life from between her legs? Pouring life from the hole in his stomach as the machine beeped and beeped. Pouring life from her eyes, as she stood on the alter, tiny baby in hand. Pouring life from my mouth, over a toilet in Helena, Montana, while they dug the hole deeper and deeper.

Shannon and I continue to stare at the little mummy, fixed in a state of utter disbelief. The door of the bathroom crashes open, exposing the mass of Mr. Greenworth.

“Alright, what is going on in here? I’ve had half of a dozen people complain about a ‘weird mess’ in the women’s bathroom. You guys haven’t been doing any hanky-panky...wait, what are you holding Mr. Henley? Are those drugs? Oh my god and I was worried someone was having sex in here. But, drugs? Oh my god, no one is going to want to bring their kids here. You two have got a lot of explain...”

“Chill out, Greenworth, we aren’t dealin’ in drugs. Believe me, we would’ve let you in on that a long time ago,” Shannon jumps in. She tries to crack a smile, but ends up with something halfway between a grimace and a smirk. Mr. Greenworth looks completely confused and snatches the bundle out of my hand.

“Wait, you don’t...” I yell, but it’s too late.

“Oh my god, what the hell is this. Is this a joke? I don’t understand ... I ... you ... both of you...” Mr. Greenworth begins to turn his classic shade of red again. He quickly folds the paper towel back, covering the face of the tiny figure once more. His face fades from a pale red to an olive green. I snatch the bundle out of his hands, just in time for him to turn and vomit, adding unpleasant array of color to the boring gray tile floor.

“Well, we tried to warn you,” says Shannon as she hands Mr. Greenworth a wad of paper towel to clean his mouth off with.

“Was that a fetus? Or is someone playing some sadistic joke on me? Because this is not funny.” Mr. Greennworth wipes off his mouth with the paper towel. He notices the “Stop Fascism” on the mirror and shakes his head. “Anyways, someone needs to get rid of that A-S-A-P before someone finds out about it. I don’t need this place getting a bad reputation. We already have Chet Cheese’s breathing down our necks. If they got word of something like this, we would be done for. We don’t need people knowing about dead babies in our bathrooms.” Shannon and I’s mouths drop open simultaneously. “What? What is wrong with you two? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

“Aren’t you the least bit put off by this? You know, someone had a miscarriage. You know there is a little baby that is no longer alive. Isn’t that the least bit upsetting?” I blow up at Mr. Greenworth. I start to walk toward him, anger streaming through each of my muscles, its menacing force rippling beneath my skin.

“Whoa, there Dirk, what the heck What is wrong with you? This is your little problem, is it? Come on, you don’t have to play the Apostle part anymore.”

“You have no right, you asshole.” I lunge at Mr. Greenworth attempting to slug him with my free hand, but stop a few inches in front of his face.

“Dirk, what the hell? Chill out,” yells Shannon as she grabs onto my navy blue polo. Her long purple nails dig into my back, yet I don’t even feel the pain. “You need to freakin’ calm down.”
“Shannon, how could you be on his side?”

“Dirk, this isn’t about sides. We aren’t competing against anyone.”

“Listen to the woman. Wow, I never thought I would ever say that,” chimes in Mr. Greenworth, who has now managed to force himself against the back wall of the bathroom. I want to laugh at his cowardice, but there is no joy left in my throat.

“Because Dirk, I can’t afford to lose my job.” Shannon begins to slowly back toward the bathroom entrance, as if she was trying to remove herself from the problem.

“Always giving in, huh? Never fighting for anything, right? It’s too hard to fight isn’t it? It’s just a lot easier to give in. Do what everyone tells you. The safe road. Always take the safe road. Well, aren’t you just the perfect little angel.” The tears flow back down my face, filling each of my pores with every unresolved regret that I will never be able to let go. I look down at the little bundle. Do you remember it? Being alive? I mean, what was the purpose of it? You never even got to see the light of day. If I could I would give you what I have left, I would. It’s not worth much to me.

“Whoa, did I just get myself into some domestic case here? You guys sure this little mess isn’t...”

“Shut up, Mr. Greenworth ” screeches Shannon. “This is our problem.”

“Excuse me, this is really my problem. I don’t see your name engraved outside the manager’s office. This establishment is my life. Don’t you two get it? I can’t let anything like this little blip mess it all up. Mr. Meow’s was finally going somewhere and now look at this. We have got to get rid of it.” Mr. Greenworth runs his fingers through his greasy, thinning gray hair. Bits of dandruff flutter around his glowing face. He grabs the beat up trash can and drags it in front of me.

“I’m not just going to throw it out like that. He deserves more. He was alive at some time. Doesn’t he deserve a burial or something. Or at least...” I stop as I realize the irony of each of these passing moments.

“Dirk?” Shannon whispers.

“Mr. Henley, I order you to get rid of this...”

“Shut up, Mr. Greenworth. Dirk, I think you are...”

“No, Shannon. I’m not right. Don’t go on agreeing with me as if it will make things between us better because it won’t.”

“Whoa...” Mr. Greenworth begins to sprout a grin. He’s probably thinking about the wondrous array of gossip that he is about to experience.

“I loved you at one time. Yes, I loved you, but you never loved me...”

“But Dirk, I couldn’t marry you...”

“Because I’m too good for you, right?”

“Well...”

“Tell me again. Come on. Tell me why you left me standing in the airport, while my father was going six feet under.” I begin to cradle the little bundle in my hand, wondering how it would have felt to hold Madison the same way I the crook of my arm.

“You were too good for me, Dirk.”

“Too good, huh? Too good. Do good guys really finish first? Do they? Because I did everything right for you, Shannon Don’t you get it? Don’t you see it? Why do you think I went to school here. Stayed in this trash pit...”

“Whoa, I always knew there was something going on between you two. Seriously, workplace romance doesn’t work. Wait, Shannon, aren’t you married? Oh right, okay, I’ve got it now. This was a prior thing, wasn’t it?” stammers Mr. Pebblesworth.

“SHUT UP, MR. GREENWORTH ” yell Shannon and I in unison. Mr. Greenworth shakes his head in embarrassment and anger.

“I skipped out on my own father’s burial for you. I mean, he never did much for me, but he was family. I hate myself everyday for that. And for what? For two tickets to Montana. For a job that I was too hung over and strung out to take when I overdosed on pain killers the night before. For a woman that never showed up...” I look to Shannon’s ghastly white face and then to the bundle.

“I couldn’t do it, Dirk. It was too perfect of a life.”

“Yeah, too perfect? Guess that’s worse than the fat lips and black and blue ankles.” Shannon begins to shake violently like she was filling up with steam.

“Dirk, I’m not gonna fight anymore.”

“Why not? I’m a big boy. I mean, I just moved into my big boy bed.”

“Stop it, this is why I will never be able to explain myself. I dunno maybe its something out of place in me. But why does that matter anymore?”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. None of this matters. Mr. Greeworth is right .” I lightly squeeze the paper towel mass. No response. Just squish. “Yeah, it’s just flesh. It’s not alive any more. It never was. At least, not when it came into this world.”

“God damn. Stop thinking about this fetus Can’t you see there are bigger things going on here I mean, why in the world did you come back, Dirk? Why did you do that to me?” Shannon turns away from me and places her hand on the exit door. Her fingers slide down the length of it, as if she is trying to decipher the meaning of every scratch and dent.

“Excuse me, but I have had enough of your two Dirk, throw that lump of...whatever away and get back to work. We have no time to be dilly-dallying around. There are customers to get to ” Mr. Greenworth began to bang the trash can down in front of me, obviously thinking that the banging would somehow motivate me to throw it in.

“Are you kidding me?” I stand transfixed on the moment. I don’t know what to think. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You never understood me, Shannon. Ever. You’re right. I have no morales. I have no goals. No humility. All I ever had was love, but I guess that all those poets had it wrong. Love doesn’t get you anywhere. As I look down at this lump, I realize that this is someone’s else’s baby. It doesn’t mean anything to me. Don’t you get it? IT DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING TO ME ANYMORE ” The tears were burning my face like they were filled with fiery water.

“Dirk...I...we...let’s talk about it.” Shannon begins to walk toward us, but stops midway, as if she has run into some conveniently placed invisible barrier.

“Hey, I am not kidding you two. Do you want your little snotty butts fired?” Yells Mr. Greenworth.

“Here,” I stare menacingly toward Mr. Pebblesworth. He looks as if he is trying to crawl up the wall. I hold the little bundle out in front of me, like a peace offering to the gods. “This is what you want.” I stuff the bundle in his clammy hand.

“Dirk...Dirk...” Shannon’s voice fades away as I walk toward the bathroom door.

I speed walk through the restaurant, ripping my sweat stained polo off, watching it fly through the air like a victory flag. Prying eyes settle on the streak of my body as I crash through the front doors, feeling the impact of the pavement rumble up my legs. I stop look back for a moment, thinking about how much of my life I wasted away at this wretched place. I turn toward the entrance of the parking lot, the dull burn of the hot July sun beating down on me and begin to run, feeling the wad of gum squish beneath my foot with every step.