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Rochelle checked her watch again, then began to drum her immaculate fingernails on the Formica tabletop. God, what was with him? 'Christ, I live at this diner.' Her mind was a storming whirlwind of sickening anxiety and rage, and she had finally become fed up. sighing loud at the table with warm, coffee tainted breathes.
The Diner's waitress held out a pot stained from years of use and queried, "You want me to top that off for you Rocky?"
"Nah, Lauren," shaking her head, the auburn curls of her hair jostled loosely around the oval frame of her ash-white face. "I'm going to take off I think, could you bring me my bill, please?" "I have to pee so bad I can taste it."
"Sure thing." Winking sympathetically, Lauren headed back over to the counter, pulled the pen out from behind her ear and began to scribble on her order ticket occasionally stopping to tap the tip on the counter top pensively.
While rummaging around hurriedly inside her purse for her wallet, she heard the bell on the door jostle and chime, and didn't even raise her head. It was Bobby; she could sense his presence before he even stepped inside. "I'm sorry," he hurried toward the table. "I was working and I lost track ." . ."
"Of time? Yes, I know Bob." Rising slowly from the booth, she glanced toward Lauren who nodded to assure her she was still adding up her bill. "And now I am out of time. I'm going home."
"Oh come on, Rocky," reaching out for her forearm, she raised her eyes to his, but refused to allow their molten innocence to woo her. "I'm sorry, let me make it up to you."
"No, Bob, I'm finished. I will be meeting with my lawyer in the morning to sign the papers and that is the end of it." Shoving past him, she met Lauren at the counter and perused the bill she handed her. Handing over a twenty, she told her to keep the change and thanked her for tolerating her all night.
"No problem, Rocky. You know I enjoy your company." Bob was already there at her side, interrupting and demanding to be heard. That was so typical of him, she realized. The man could never be around when you needed him, but when he was, you better pay attention because everything he had to say was important.
"Rochelle, I am not going to just let you walk away from us like this." Following her out the door into the crisp, autumn evening, she walked with quick, certain steps, trying desperately to guard herself against the brisk chill that cut into her long overcoat. "I have put too much time into this relationship and it's not over until I say it's over."
Jamming her hands into her pockets with stiff certainty, she continued on, eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of her. "Then I'll say it for you. It's over so go away." Heels clicked against concrete, echoing in her ears. They were her heels and she suddenly realized how tired her feet were, how tired she was altogether. It was an exhaustion that had grown to consume her almost completely over the last two years, but at that moment, it was unbearable, just like his presence.
"Now please, I'm going home and I want to be alone." Rocky blurted.
Grabbing her arm, he spun her around quickly to face him. "I'm not going to leave you alone, Rocky, I want to save our marriage. Why do you keep running away from me?"
With a sudden jerk, she freed herself free from his hold, and through it, she never once lost that semblance of composure, which had become her trademark. "I'm not running, Bobby, I'm walking and you're so far behind me, you'll never catch up."
When he stopped following her, there was a tug of disappointment inside her already unsettled stomach. In her mind, she imagined him standing there, arms at his side, an absolute look of defeat painted across his face, and it brought her a grave sense of satisfaction to see him this way, even if only in her mind. After all he had done to her in their short lived lifetime together, seeing him suffer a little was like a reward for all she had been through.
"Oh Come on Rock!" , whining, his insecurity and fear pulled at her conscience, causing her to stop. "Please, will you just hear me out?"
"You have from here until I get to the end of this block, Bob, and then I'm finished listening."
Sprinting to catch up with her, he arrived quickly at her side, his breath catching in uncomfortably in his chest as she began to walk.
"That is hardly enough time to say everything I need to say." He complained.
Breathing a thick sigh of frustration, she stopped again and looked over at him.
" First you keep me waiting for over three and a half hours. Then you show up as I'm leaving and tell me it's not over until you say its over. Now youre telling me the little bit of time I have allotted you, which I feel is quite generous, might I add, is not enough time for you to say whatever it is you have to say. If you ask me, Bob, you're treading on ice that only gets thinner and thinner with every step you take."
He pursed his lips together, twisting them a little to show how perplexing this whole situation was to him, and then his shoulders sagged. This outright display of defeat proved what she had known all along, he wasnt strong enough to survive a relationship with her.
"All I wanted was another chance."
Crossing her arms over her chest, a direct representation of her closed mindedness to the very idea, she smirked. "How many God damned chances do you need?"
"As many as it takes to show you how I really feel."
Unbelievably, he was oblivious to her feelings, staying wrapped up inside his comfortable cocoon of narcissism and egocentric psychosis; it was a shame he couldn't really express a simple gesture of affection.
Just a little, she leaned on her heels, watching him make an absolute fool of himself in an attempt to save their marriage. Marriage, huh. It was nothing more than a piece of paper saying two people had permission from the state to copulate and coexist in the same dwelling. Where all this sappy romantic bullshit came from, she had no idea, but it was everywhere. As if to prove her point, the city bus rolled past them, an advertisement for breath mints on the side depicting a couple blissfully close. You see, breath mints help you fall in love. So few people really know that after about ten minutes of sucking, you find yourself looking at this person you're supposed to be in love with wondering why he had to slurp while he sucked that mint.
Bob was rambling on and on about some plan he had for them to work things out and the more he spoke, the less she listened. She'd heard it all a million times, the promises, high hopes, big plans, just like love, it was bullshit. Her husband, she realized, was the epitome of the word bull shit. And she realized, you can't bull shit a bullshitter.
"So what do you think?" Was what he asked her when he finally finished his presentation.
Tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, like a puppy dog who wasn't sure what his master was going to do next, she vaguely wondered if she could get him to do tricks. There was a hopeful smile pulling at the right corner of his mouth, exposing the perfect, white semblance of his teeth.
Wetting her lips with a quick movement of her moist tongue, a snide grin tugged them upright. What did she think? Was he stupid? Did he really want her to answer that?
Was that a rhetorical question?
"What do I think?" She pondered aloud. "About the anus as a hole?" She thought a lot of things, but rarely ever said them. If she kept them to herself, she kept from breaking his fragile spirit, but this time, she decided to say them. Just for the hell of it, of course. After all, what if his spirit wasn't so fragile? What if all these years, she had been tiptoeing around him for fear of breaking him without just cause?
"Let me tell you what I think. I think you're an idiot if you think I'm going to stand around and listen to another minute of this bullshit!"
She left him standing there, absolutely dumbfounded. It was as though he had been swallowed by the void of his own ramblings and master plans. Even as she rounded the corner of Grove street, she noticed he was still standing there, with his jaw hanging open against his chest.
Served him right, she decided, ignoring the inner tug of guilt on her conscience. After all he had done to her, it was payback and she wasn't about to feel badly about it. He had it coming, and besides, she hadn't gotten this far in life by listening to guilt. Onward, she trudged now, her steps slowing in hope that he would come after her, but by the time she reached the front stoop at 322 West Garden Drive, the only other human in sight was a pizza delivery guy on his bike.
Dejected, she sighed and huffed her way up the stairs, all four flights of them, then unlocked the door to her stuffy attic apartment. She had been right to speak her mind this once, hadn't she? He'd had it coming, right? Tossing her purse onto the sofa, she kicked off her shoes and listened to them clunk into place across the cluttered living room.
With steady fingers, she reached for the lamp switch, clicking it five times before she realized the bulb had probably blown. "J@# C%$," she muttered to herself. Darkness, like a thick, wool blanket wrapped around the room, the last bit of light from the hallway huddling like a frightened child in the far corner by the door.
"J@# C%$! Again," She cursed herself for shutting the door too quickly and for not buying the more expensive name brand light bulbs.
Bob was to blame for this, she decided. He was to blame for everything that had ever gone wrong in the last two years of her life. It was almost twisted when she analyzed it to make it his fault in her mind, but all kidding aside, he had been the one that insisted upon keeping their old apartment when she announced that she wanted a divorce.
Stumbling blindly through this unfamiliar place she had been sleeping in for the last six weeks in attempt to turn on the dim bulb in the hallway, she stubbed her toe on the corner of some waylaid end table. A well formed curse escaped her lungs before she began haphazardly jumping and hopping in a ritualistic pain dance that would in the end, be her ultimate demise.
It was during this dance that a column of stacked boxes erupted behind her, tumbling around her and knocking her off balance. A heavy thud met with that sensitive point between her toes causing her to fall, slowly at first, as though the hands of time had ceased in order for her to think about what was happening to her. This was unbelievable, she realized in the process of the fall.
When her forehead met with the corner of the glass top coffee table she had taken despite her husbands' begging her not to, it split wide open, spilling out fragments of bone and sticky blood onto the carpet beneath her head.
Through this whole ordeal, she remained conscious, her mind skittering around the edge of a thousand unmet expectations in life. Her marriage had been an absolute disappointment, her career a failure, there was nothing in her miserable existence to be happy about, and now she was going to die in a pool of her own blood, alone on the floor in an apartment she absolutely hated. Somehow, this was all Bob's fault too.
Inside her ears, there was a pulsating numbness that rang in a maddening, high pitched tone, almost identical to that tone at the end of the public service announcement, that signaled an emergency. How ironic that in this state of personal emergency, her brain would send out that signal and she would die with that as the last sound she would ever hear.
A sound she imagined was a groan from her own throat filled the air, but she could hardly hear it over that incredibly annoying tone ringing in her ears. Perhaps someone else in the apartment building would hear her and come upstairs to see if she was all right. Again, she attempted that sound, only this time, there was a thick, sticky, fluid in her throat and she choked.
Oh my god, she thought. I am really going to die. It was absolutely insane, and she had never seen it coming. She had thought she had at least into her early seventies like her mother, before the grim reaper stood over her shoulder, beckoning her into the Bardo with a skeletal gesture of his cold hand.
One hour passed, but Rocky didn't know that, to her it felt like days, while she drifted in and out of consciousness, the moment of her death growing ever closer. For a moment, she felt as though she wasn't alone, someone else was there, watching over her. There was no comfort in this presence, she realized, not the way an angel's nearness would feel, soothing away the ever increasing fear of the end. But she realized, she could not feel fear, she was numb all over.
Through that hour, she realized how this was Bob's fault. If only he had come to the diner on time, she wouldn't be lying here now, her very brain matter seeping into the carpet of her dark, attic apartment. If there was an afterlife, she decided, cynical even in her last dying breath, she was going to find a way to come back and haunt that bastard for all eternity.
Hovering over her, closer now than before, was that silent presence, as though waiting for her to take her final breath. She thought she felt the warm certainty of breath on her skin, and though she longed to move away, to hide from whatever apparition lingered close, she couldn't move because her brain couldn't remember the signal to send to her body that would make it respond.
Shallow, empty, her breath was becoming more and more difficult, her lungs no longer capable of carrying the task the body knew as respiration. As she drew in one final, labored breath, a spark of light illuminated a dark, masculine face above her, and then she died.
Exhaling cigarette smoke over the corpse of his employer's wife, the hired assassin rose from his hunkered position beside her, stepped carefully over her lifeless body toward the door.
"Wow, that was just too easy!" he guffawed, "What an idiot."
Without looking back, he left the apartment where Rocky Banta's body would begin to decay, eventually seeping through the ceiling of the apartment below her's and dripping into Mr. Lee's breakfast of champions nearly seven days after her death.
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