Yeah, but you have Rita to spill your heart to. Remember, I’m just some guy you shoot guns with.
I can’t talk to Rita about this. She doesn’t even know how Adeleine died.
She doesn’t know? How can she not know?
I’ve never had the courage to tell her.
Well you got to tell her, Art, it’s been five years. And how long have you guys been going together?
Almost as long.
That’s what I thought. And you haven’t told her?
No.
He slams the steering wheel with the palm of his hand and laughs in incredulity.
How can she not know how your wife died, Art? And I thought I was non-communicative. I thought I had a hard time opening up. Art you have to tell Rita how your wife died.
You don’t understand, I tell him. She doesn’t want to talk about Adeleine.
What does she want to talk about?
Anything but.
Why would she, I suppose.
Exactly. Why would she, and to be honest, I don’t blame her.
I suppose I wouldn’t either.
I also worry if I told her she’d just think I was feeling sorry for myself.
Why would she think that?
I don’t know.
We drive on.
Can you slow it down a little? I ask him when the car veers into the gravel around a bend in the road.
No problem, Art. The thing is. I want to get to the range and start shooting. I promised my mom I’d be home in time to take her shopping.
What time did you say?
That I’d be back by seven.
That gives us forty-five minutes, Cal. Hardly enough time. You may as well turn around.
Nonsense. Forty-five minutes is plenty of time. No need to turn around now. We’re almost there.
At the gun range, he pulls his Uzi out of its case and starts unloading it full-auto at a paper target. BLURT. BLURT. BLURT. He shreds the target. I press the electric switch and bring it back and change targets.
He leans into his gun and his eyes crunch in focus and a small grin hangs in the corner of his mouth as he lets go again with that damn Uzi. He shoots that thing like he’s one with it, like it’s an extension of him. It’s the only time I see him entirely at ease with himself. His body vibrates and shakes with recoil, but his focus remains unfazed. It’s at moments like this when I feel an almost inexplicable admiration for the man.
It’s my turn. I step into the lane, unpack my pussy gun, my .22 with the suppressor. I take aim and go: Pop. Pop. Pop. And what I aim at I invariably miss.
It’s his turn. He steps forward and off he goes again. BLURT. BLURT. BLURT. And again, BLURT. BLURT. BLURT. We put another target out and he shoots it down.
God that feels good, he says stepping back from position and letting me come forward. What a stress reliever.
Now my turn: Pop. Pop. Pop.
You have stress. What kind of stress can you possibly have, Cal?
I change the target and we fire off another series of rounds.
My mom stresses me out. Not having a job stresses me out.
BLURT. BLURT. BLURT.
But this makes me feel a world better.
I should have your problems
Pop. Pop. Pop.
What problems do you have, Art? You’ve got a woman.
BLURT. BLURT. BLURT.
Yeah, and what’s your point?
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Well, it’s more than I ever had. So count your blessings and stop complaining.
I offer to change the target, but Cal flags me away.
Not necessary, buddy, he shouts. Then he goes again. BLURT. BLURT. BLURT. Shredding the target this way and that until there is nothing left but a few tattered pieces hanging and a pile of shell casings at his feet.
Ah, wonderful, he says packing up his Uzi. Nothing like it. I feel a million times better.
Then we hop in his car and he drives like nuts to get home to his mom by seven.
He drops me off and smiles. Thanks for coming out old buddy, he says, slapping me on the back. I grab my gun and barely have time to get the door closed before he’s off at full speed to his mom.
?
When Cal disappears around the corner, I feel exhausted all of a sudden. I unlock the door to my place. I can’t believe Adeleine is dead. That’s the whole point. It’s not just the dying that gets you. It’s the fact that they stay dead. That’s what I can’t abide. Even after all these years I keep expecting her to show up any minute. I keep walking into my place expecting her to suddenly be there. The whole problem with this thing is she was taken away so abruptly I can’t believe she’s gone, and now I feel all I do is wait for her to return even though I know in my heart of hearts that she never will.
It’s this not being in a routine, I tell myself. That’s what’s gotten the better of me. There’s something not right with me. There’s been something not right with me for so long I don’t even remember when things were right for me. Whenever I try to remember back to a time in my life that was normal I always go back to my life with Adeleine. Adeleine is my Eden. My eighteen-year marriage to Adeleine was my heaven. I’m afraid to say I’ve been kicked out of Eden with her death and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to return.
Since I’ve been kicked out of Eden I’ve been searching for a routine. At night if Rita and I aren’t together, I head on down to Murphy’s. It’s the only bar I ever go to. I know just about everyone in the bar. I don’t consider myself a regular at Murphy’s just because I know there are problems once you start admitting these kinds of things to yourself. You are better off telling yourself you are not a regular, even though you go to the bar on a regular occasion, than you are admitting you’re a regular. I like not being a regular, even though I come here all the time. For one, by not being a regular I can always say to myself: at least my life is not so lonesome I have to spend it night after night in a bar, like these guys. At least I’m not like all of these guys.
I like coming to this bar because it is a nice comfortable place. What’s more there’s a steady stream of women who come in because across the street is a theater and often women will come in after the show for a drink and it’s a nice place to be if you want to see new faces from time to time. Occasionally I talk to one or another of the women. I smile. I try to be happy. I try to imagine if this is the place I’ll find my next one. That is, if things go south between me and Rita.
The other night, for instance, there was this woman who stepped into Murphy’s. She was a sparkling soul. I don’t remember the last time I saw a woman so full of energy and life, such a light, and here she was swimming into Murphy’s. I even bought her a drink, and then she was gone, just like that. One drink, a bit of small talk, and then she was gone into the night never to be seen by me again. A stain on my memory. A bit of brightness. And where…where did she go?
?
One night some guy is sitting next to me talking my ear off. He’s a bouncer who follows strippers around on their jaunts. He’s telling me about one, and as I listen I order up another round of beers.
He says: There’s this one woman I drive around, her name is Flower.