“What did the court decide?”
“The lawyer showed pictures of my broken fingers and showed the hospital records. And they dropped the charges. But what the fuck is that? She brought me to court for pushing her.”
“She never mentioned breaking your fingers.”
“Of course she didn't. She also said that all you guys hated me for being a violent woman-beater.”
“I never hated you.”
I honestly couldn't remember ever thinking about him. But I doubt he cared about hearing that.
Tom looked stressed out, like he was in Iraq and had to enter the house of a known insurgent and kill everybody in the house before they killed him. I wasn't sure what he was so stressed about.
Tom said, “Look at her now, all drunk. Broken up with another guy. I'm happy about it. She deserves her life. She's alone over there, drunk, and no one cares. It is so predictable.”
“The desire for self-destruction is stronger in some.”
“Yeah, that's what I'm saying. She's self-destructive. She doesn't care who gets in the way. She builds up her life. Then destroys it.”
“She's bored. There isn't anything to do here.”
“I don't know why she does it. Everybody has their problems.”
“True that.”
“I gotta get back to work. I just wanted to find out if you hated me.”
“No, I don't hate you Tom.”
Tom went back to work. I stood at the bar drinking my Captain and coke. Tom, like Sarah, was a person with a dead father. It was always the same stories: these patriarchs who had left, these patriarchs who didn't love, and these patriarchs who died. Western civilization was dominated by these patriarchal influences. There was God and Jesus, Mars and Romulus, Mohammad and Fatima, George Herbert Walker Bush and George W. Bush and finally God the Father. Our fathers weren't much. They would come home from work and take naps. They would bring us to a baseball game and not talk to us while we were there. Sometimes they would beat us for being annoying. Over half of my generation's fathers had left them with their bitter mothers. It wasn't terrible. We were Americans and had food, air-conditioning, and indoor plumbing. But people for whatever reason like to have their fathers around. And they like their fathers not to be jackasses. Which was a problem because consumerist attention deficit disorder based societies produce in mass jackasses. But we still like our jackasses to be around. Tom and Sarah's jackasses died. Neither of their fathers were around and then they died. They were reared by sad bitter women who never remarried but had a thousand boyfriends over their lives. Women who constantly showed a sense of disdain for the opposite sex who left them to die with their children.
Went up to a girl that Amanda worked with named Marissa. Marissa was a small white girl that looked like she was from northern Europe. Like she was from a tribe that herded Reindeer. I wanted to call her Ingrid or Olga.
I went up to her and yelled, “Marissa!”
“Hey, what's going on?”
“I feel very happy right now.”
“That's good. So am I. I'm drunk.”
“Good, we are equals then.”
“Yes, unity through alcohol,” Marissa said excitedly.
“Are you looking for romance?”
“You are so silly.”
“No, I'm serious. Romance. Like in a Jennifer Aniston movie. I'll be that guy you know that isn't perfect but can be fixed. And you can fix me. Don't you want to fix me.”
“I do enjoy fixing men.”
“I'm a total fixer upper. I need a good woman to make me right. To make me into a man. To make this pile of human waste to a functional adult that produces and feeds his babies.”
“I've only met you twice.”
“Twice is enough for love. Doesn't anybody believe in love at first sight anymore? This would be love at third sight. But still it would be love. And the production of babies.”
“I haven't considered reproduction. I just graduated from college.”
“That's perfect. Now that you've graduated you can reproduce. I'll work at Indelex and you can stay home and watch the babies.”
“They just closed Indelex.”
“I'll work at Craftmaid.”
“They laid off everybody there.”
“Goddamn woman, how are we supposed to reproduce and carry on the human species if there are no jobs?”
“I don't know.”
“People without jobs have babies all the time.”
“I don't wanna raise my babies on welfare,” said Marissa.
“You're right. What degree did you get anyway?”
“Criminal justice.”
“Oh, that's a good one. You can become a detective. You can be like those people on Law and Order.”
“I don't know, I'm not a very dominant person.”
“You can shoot people. That would be awesome. You can scream at them things like, 'I know you did it, you child-fucking bastard!' And then punch them in the cock. Imagine it. That would be so fucking sweet. And you have the certificate that allows a person to do that.”
“I know. That does sound fucking awesome.”
“Seriously. You could be out there shooting the bad guys, sticking them in jail. All kinds of crazy fun adventures a person with a criminal justice degree can have.”
“I was thinking of working for Homeland Security. I would protect us from terrorists.”
The word “terrorists” flashed through my drunken brain. It sent Dick Cheney and Bush's face to the forefront of my brain. I could see Dick Cheney and Bush's face saying things about evil, danger, horror, mass-murder, chemical, biological, Hitler, Saddam, all of that shit flashed through my mind. All that crazy shit that crazy bastard said to this crazy country. All those beautiful Platonic Noble Lies that fucker told us to get Iraqi oil so we could drive our cars, make cell phones, computers and garbage cans out of petroleum.
I said, “You're going to catch terrorists?”
“Yeah, terrorists. Doesn't that sound exciting. I wouldn't personally. I would work in intelligence helping to track them down. Maybe working for the Pentagon.”
More images flew through my head, of Abbie Hoffman and Norman Mailer circling the Pentagon trying to elevate it. Then of the thing on fire, burning. I had seriously never met anyone in my life that wanted to work in the Pentagon.
“Obama is president now. He's going to make friends with the terrorists and we are all going to be in love and have sex and cake.”
“No, Obama hates the terrorists. He always says we are going to 'defeat you.'” She said “defeat you” in a very serious tone while pointing her index finger at my chest.
“You're right. He does want to attack Pakistan.”
“Yeah, he's going to need intelligence for that. And I want it to be me.”
“Does that job pay well?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Does it offer good health care and a 401K?”
“I'm sure they offer health care, but I think the government supplies a pension. Which is better than a 401k. My mom's 401k is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah, she came home yesterday after work crying and said it was all gone.”
“What's her plan?”
“She doesn't have one. She just sat in the kitchen and cried.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn't do anything. It made me feel confused. Like what is the point? A person works for years and sees their retirement disappear. She's like 55. She doesn't have enough working years left to make it back.”
“Your parents are divorced?”
“Yeah, my dad left when I was nine. He just moved across town though. I did that two-weekends-a-month thing.”
Monica came running over and yelled at us, “Monopoly at my house after.”
Marissa screamed, “FUCK YEAH! MONOPOLY!”