The Break - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 The phone rang again. It was the eleventh time this morning and it wasn’t even 9:30. Anita did not want to talk to anyone right now. She was so angry that she actually had a bitter taste in her mouth. Since she lost her job two months ago, she had not left her apartment. In fact, she had barely gotten out of bed. Her fashionable Lodo loft looked more like a flop house than an upscale residence. There were takeout containers strewn across the kitchen and dining room. A few cartons from Chinese take out even made it into the bedroom. She felt awful. After over sixty days of junk food and excessive sleep, he body felt bloated and weak. Her typical day had been lying I bed occasionally punctuated by eating food delivered from a randomly selected restaurant. The first time she walked in after Cord had fired her, she expected to have some sympathetic messages on her answer machine. But no lights were blink. She assumed that some of her friends would come by to lift her spirits and tell her things would be okay. No one had stopped by for a visit. In fact, nothing happened at all. It was like she had dropped off the face of the earth. She thought about calling her mother or one of her three sisters, but she just couldn’t force herself to do it. It had been so ugly when she left New Mexico for her anchor position in Denver. They were jealous of course. She may have been a little full of herself, but she vowed that she would never speak to any of them again until they apologized for their unforgivable behavior. After its six-week hiatus, the phone began ringing. At this point, Anita was so bruised from the complete isolation she had fallen into that she was unable to answer the phone even if she had wanted to. It rang twenty or thirty times a day, but by the third day, Anita didn’t even notice. The darkness that encompassed her was almost complete. It was so prevalent that Anita had no idea what day of the week it was let alone what date it was. To her, it seemed as if she had only been in the apartment for a week or so. Suddenly, two thoughts ran through Anita’s mind. First, the phone was very annoying. Second, she was angry. It was something new. Something else was different as well. There was light in the room and she heard movement in the kitchen. Tentatively, she crept out of bed and walk to the door. Peeking through the door, she saw a familiar shape quickly picking up containers and placing them in a large trash bag. “Mom?” Anita asked as she rubbed her eyes as if it would rub away the apparition standing in front of her. “Close.” Said the woman as she turned to face Anita. “Elena?” Anita managed completely shocked to see her older sister standing in her kitchen. “What … how …? “Shush, Nitti.” Elena started in a matronly tone. “I came to Denver to help my Jorge’s sister have her baby. I watched your news program and when I didn’t see you, I called the station. They told me you don’t work there any more.” As she explained, Elena continued picking up the refuse that littered the kitchen. Her mouth curled up in disgust, but her eyes betrayed her concern for her younger sister. “I called a couple of times.” Elena continued. “When you didn’t return my call after three days, I decide to come over.” Elena picked up a towel, sniffed at it, briefly considered it and then threw it in the trash. “Looks like a good thing I did.” She said firmly. “Uh…what…” Anita started. “I mean, how long have you been here?” “Long enough to know that you need me.” Elena said tenderly. “I was still a little angry with you for ignoring the family. I thought you were just blowing me off. But when I came in and saw … this.” She waved her arm around to illustrate that she was talking about the whole apartment. “All I could think was my poor Nitti, what has happened to you.” Elena said as tears welled in her eyes.” Seeing the tears form in her sister’s eyes was too much for Anita. She simply ran to her sister and fell into her open arms. The hug lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. The five years of familiar isolation melted in the warmth of the loving hug that can only be transferred by individuals that share common parentage. Anita became aware that the almost animalistic sound which was assaulting her ears was actually the sound of her sobbing. For the first time in months, she let go. All of it. All of the days of pain, isolation, self-loathing and self-doubt poured out in a torrent of tears and snot. As she became aware of the sound, she felt herself calming. The sobs that moments ago wracked her body had subsided to gulps of air. Soon, she caught her breath and backed away from her sister. “I am so glad you are here, Elena.” Anita said. “I’ve just been so …” “I know, honey.” Elena interrupted. “Can you sit? Tell me?” “Yes, I think I can.” Anita said. They turned, walked into the living room and sat down on the luxurious, leather, Restoration Hardware supplied couch. Anita told her sister everything about the night of the explosion, the unprofessional performance of her co-worker, the ugly scene with Jim and finally, Cord firing her for some obscure reason. “He probably felt threatened by a strong woman.” Anita said with finality as if the words would end the subject. “Nitti, you know I don’t know anything about your … this … profession.” Elena spat the final word out as if it were poisonous. “But it doesn’t sound like that’s everything.” “I swear Lena, that’s what happened.” Anita said solemnly. “I wish I’d of seen it.” Elena said. Pausing for a moment, Anita thought. “Hey, they gave me a tape when I left.” Anita said. “Cord said something like ‘In case you ever have any doubt why I made this decision.’ Whatever that means.” “Let’s look at it.” Elena suggested. Anita got up, searched through the mess and found the tape. She walked directly to the entertainment center. Opening the cabinet, she flicked on the power switch for the TV and VCR. Quickly, she put in the tap, pressed play and rejoined her sister on the couch. “Oh my god, Nitti are you …” Elena said as the conversation with Bobbie played out in front of them. “Smiling? Smiling like a ghoul.” She asked dejectedly. “Yes, I am. I am …” Her voice trailed off. She sat mute for the rest of the tape. ----------------------------------------------------------------- For the first time in an eternity Frankie felt something. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t quite place. It had been buried for so long. As he struggled to identify the feeling, it came to him – he felt ALIVE. There he was, sitting in a bar in Saigon, freshly showered, one day and a wake up from heading back to the world. “I fuckin’-A made it.” He said out loud to no one in particular. “Bedda knock on wood, mutha-fucker.” An anonymous voice replied. “Shit, was that out loud.” Frankie thought. “Can’t believe I thought that, let alone said it out loud.” Frankie had spent the better part of the last three hundred sixty three days slogging through the shit, keeping himself alive. He knew better than to jinx himself like that – way better. “Fuck me.” He thought as he laid down a nervous staccato rap on the wooden table in front of him.” “Shit man, I’s just fuckin’ witcha, man.” Continued the voice. “Don’t be lisnin to ole Skeebug about nuttin.” Turning his face to the voice, Frankie saw the face of a battle hardened veteran. They were easy to spot. “Second tour?” Frankie asked. “Fourth.” Skeebug replied flatly as he slid effortlessly into the empty chair at Frankie’s table. “Guess I’s jus one gung ho mutha fucker, man.” “That’s not it.” Frankie said knowingly. Skeebug looked away and firmly rubbed his shaved head with his left hand. “Ever been back ta the worl’, man?” Skeebug asked after an awkward pause. “Nah, man.” Frankie replied. “But I just have one and a wake up.” “I feel for ya, man.” Skeebug said as though he was talking to a relative of the deceased. “Wha…” Frankie tried to say, but he was to taken aback to finish the word. “Why would you feel bad for me? I’m … I … am going home.” “The worl’ ain’t the same no more, man.” Skeebug continued. “Why you think I’s here? Couldn’t handle it back there, man. I ain’t never goin’ back - never. “Let me buy you a drink.” Frankie offered. “Sure, coo’.” Skeebug replied. The two continued talking and drinking for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. After the initial conversation, neither man brought it up again. They talked about music, politics and finally girls. “Yo, you gots a woman back in the worl’, man?” Skeebug asked. “No.” Frankie replied flatly. Skeebug noticed the crestfallen look on Frankie’s face. He waited a moment for it to really sink in. ‘She-it, man. Das coo.” He continued. “Look, I knows this ho dat like the bang-bang. I mean, she fuckee-suckee long time. She good. Bes’of all, she clean.” “Uh … I don’t know …” Frankie started. “Shit, man.” Skeebug badgered. “You done said yosef that you ain’t gots no woman. And this honey is fine. I mean it.” “Ah, all right man.” Frankie replied. “Guess I haven’t gotten laid in awhile.” “Das ma boy.” Skeebug said cheerfully. “Fina up dat drink and les go, man. My balls feel like melons, man.” The new friends got up and left the bar. Skeebug slung his arm over Frankie’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Almost as soon as they were on the street, Frankie began to feel odd. It felt as if all the energy was draining from his appendages. At the same time, Skeebug’s grasp tighten on his shoulder as if to steady him. The street lights seemed to blur in and out. “Is coo, Frankie.” Skeebug’s words reverberated in Frankie’s head as if he had been sucked into a storm drain. “Keep walking. Skeebug will take care of everything.” It occurred to Frankie that Skeebug’s words were spoken crisply, minus the country bumpkin accent. “I said, keep walking soldier.” Skeebug’s voice commanded. “Do NOT fall behind.” “Something very strange is going on…” Frankie slurred. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.