Working Man's Blues Ch. 03	

The phone scared me so bad I almost pulled the trigger. I sat there with the trigger half cocked, hoping the ringing would stop. With every ring the gun felt heavier in my hand. My concentration was completely broken. I sat the gun down on the table with a dejected frown.

"Fuck me." I said into the empty room. 

I stood and walked over to the phone, looking at the caller id. It was Ginny. I picked the phone up and tried to picture her on the other end of the line. It's Tuesday night, so she will be sitting there in her leotard and dance shoes. She's probably sitting cross legged in her big green chair with her cat Pixie in her lap, the phone cradled against her shoulder while she pets her. I hit the talk button and answered the phone. 

She sounded cheery as usual. Her voice and her body do not seem to match even though I think they both are beautiful. Her voice is feminine and masculine at the same time. It is strong and authoritative, yet very soft and sweet. I have never told her this but every time I hear her voice over the telephone I get this mental picture of her as Joan Of Arc. 

As we talked I was looking around my apartment, thinking what the first person to find my dead body would see. Someone would hear the shot and call the police. They would come and knock on the door. No one would answer. They would knock again and speak loudly to see if anyone responded. A little while later the maintenance guy would be unlocking the door for them. The officer would push the door open a bit and peek in. To his right he would see my splayed out across my kitchen table in a big splatter of blood. Maybe I would slide out of my chair onto the floor and ruin the carpet. I doubt this little pistol would knock me around any. I might just slump forward and smack my forehead on the table. A gunshot wound that tiny might not even bleed much. A couple of drops down my face and neck maybe.

I realized I had zoned out for a minute there. I snapped to when Ginny said 'Have you seen the weather?'. I hadn't, so I told her no and asked why. She just said 'You're not going to believe me if  I tell you baby so you better look for yourself '.

I turned on the tv. The last time it was on I was watching the disaster footage from Hurricane Charley. What I saw made me want to run and grab the gun then put the barrel right between my eyes and shoot.
At the top of the screen was a big caption in all capital letters reading 'Ivan The Terrible'. Below it was a satellite image of a huge swirling mass of white. I honestly couldn't believe it. I was within a short hair of recovering from the second hurricane, and goddamnit if there's not another one coming my way.  

"I'm sorry baby." Ginny said. "Do you want to come stay with me when it gets close?"

I was lost for words for a moment. 

"No baby, but thank you. I can't risk any more damage to my place. I'm going to stick it out." I replied.

In my mind I could hear my voice saying 'I have an appointment with a bullet Ginny. I'm too chicken to tell you, and I don't want to miss my appointment. Sorry honey, hope you have a happy life' .

"I understand. I love you baby." Ginny said to me. 

I don't know why, but when she said those three words I felt like the life was just ripped out of me. All I could think of was why? I wanted to yell into the phone. Tell me why? Take one fucking look at me Ginny and tell me why? I'm flat broke, I'm beat up and tired as shit. I get depressed and cry like a fucking girl and I just want to end it all. What is there left for you to love? 

I wanted so badly to charge over to the kitchen table and pick the gun up with my free hand, hold it hard against my head and pull the trigger. Only instead of that perfect peaceful blackness I keep thinking about, all I could see was Ginny's beautiful face on the other end when she heard the shot. At first she wouldn't know what it was. Then it would register and she would be completely shocked. She would be holding the phone so tightly that her knuckles turn white. She would be calling my name into the phone even though the dread and finality of that shot would have already set in as a fact. He's dead. 

She would be thrown into a maelstrom of emotion more painful and confusing than everything she's ever known before. She's a happy girl and goddamnit she deserves to stay that way. If I did that to her it would be like raping her. 

All I could actually say in response was the same. It's true, too. I do love the girl. 

"I love you too baby." I struggled with the last few words. "Talk to you later."

She said goodbye and hung up. I stood there for a few seconds with the phone still to my ear, listening to the dead monotone of a dial tone. I was holding the phone to my head like it was the gun, squeezing it tight. I heard the plastic creaking and realized I was about to break the damn thing. I tossed the phone onto my couch and went back to the kitchen table. I sat there and had a staring contest with the gun for about a half hour. It won.

My apartment is pretty shitty. In ways it's ok, but for the most part I don't like it. I like peace and quiet. Most nights there is music and loud noise all around me til two or so in the morning. I have always wondered why people who like shitty music insist on sharing it with the world. It's like some pathetic and weak form of rebellion. I can't really do or say anything that matters to you, so I'm going to irritate you with Slim Shady all night long. 

There are rare moments when this place is graveyard quiet, like tonight. I went out on my balcony for a while and just sat there. Ginny bought me a little wind chime for my birthday. It has a small glass pane with Chinese ideogram for love on it. It's a small simple thing but I couldn't have been prouder of it even if it were a new car. It has five slender gongs on it. When the wind blows across my balcony the gongs sound off in a series of high, sweet ringing tones. Like tiny bells. When you live in a place like this you learn to appreciate anything that makes life seem more peaceful. 

I was thinking about work the next day. Working in a busy kitchen is always one of two degrees. Either it's great or it sucks. No in between. The floor in our kitchen is really hard to work on. The owner got the cheapest people he could find to build the place, and the floor is just as poorly built as the rest of the restaurant. The tiles on the floor weren't made for food service use. They look like they were meant for a sidewalk or maybe some kind of decoration. No doubt the construction guys had them stashed back somewhere for no telling how long, and saw this place as an opportunity to get them out of the way and make a buck at the same time. The end result is a kitchen floor that kicks your ass on a regular basis. The tiles are hard to clean. They have a coarse texture so dirt and oil set in and don't want to move. You can sweep and mop til your arms fall off and the tiles are still dirty. 

My first night there I was walking through the kitchen with a bucket of hot bleach water. I slipped on one of those fucking tiles and fell backward. I was saturated in hot water diluted with bleach.. My clothes were ruined and a few stray drops got in my eyes. It burned like hell and I had to buy new contact lenses. I was sore for three days after that. Busting your ass on a hard surface is a unique kind of pain. It makes you feel like your bones are all stuffed together in a tight knot.

Every morning when I get to work I have to pull the floor mats into the kitchen. They help some, but it is still easy to slip and fall. The mats are fucking disgusting. A kitchen floor can go from clean to landfill nasty in a heartbeat when the place is busy. I spray the mats down with hot water every morning to get the worst of the scum off, but some of that shit just won't come off no matter what. I know it sounds downright whiney, but dammit I hate to get dirty first thing in the morning then have to work all day feeling nasty. I'm picky about cooking food. If my hands feel dirty then I don't like to cook. When I go to a restaurant to eat, I like to go to places that have an open kitchen. That way I can see the cook's hands. If a cook has dirty hands, I'm not eating there. I guess that's one of the things you would have to be in the business to understand. 

I had to stop thinking about work. I think I was beyond the point of looking for something positive to think about. I just wanted something to think about in general to distract me. My mind kept creeping back to the gun and the wake I would leave behind me when I died. I tried convincing myself there would be no wake, but I knew damned well there would be. Losing a loved one suddenly is like dropping a stone in a big puddle. The ripples are big at the center then gradually fan out and slowly disappear. Finally the stone is sitting at the bottom of the puddle forgotten and the surface of the water is smooth. 

At first the shock and hurt is bigger than you are. The tears take over and the emotions come boiling to the surface. You say things you never wanted to hear yourself say. You say things you never before had the nerve to say. Then gradually the shock wears off and the tears don't come so often. The harsh words and the why's and when's don't bother you so much. Finally years later the sting is gone and all you have left is the memory of someone lying under the cold ground like a stone. 

I could hear the wind picking up a bit. The sky was full of big gray clouds. Ivan was crawling closer to me. This indecision is tearing at me. I've tried as hard as I can, and dammit I keep going from one extreme to another. One moment my mind is made and the next something happens and I think I can't do it. In the end all I have is doubt and I hate myself for it. That's worse than wanting to die itself. I want to be one or the other. I can't take too much more of this indecision. I've never had troubles making decisions before. So while I was sitting on my balcony listening to the wind chimes Ginny bought me, I decided I would tough things out til hurricane Ivan was behind me. The hurricane is two days away from me. 

The feeling of dread in my heart was almost overwhelming. I didn't want to try, didn't want to fight. I just wanted everything in the world to stop. So for the next two days I had to rationalize and make the hardest decision of my life. The decision would be my life. 

Fade To Black