An Overheard Story

“I love you,” she said, handing me the plastic handles of a grocery bag. I was thinking about the beer I had bought and how maybe it was time to chose bottles without expensive looking animals on them anymore; trout, retrievers, bears.

“Say what?” “I love you.” We had met a couple of weeks ago, before I had lost my job and the pale ale was not a problem.

I was going through the line and told her I liked the tattoo on her wrist, a blue outline of an old dial telephone.

“Thanks,” she said. “I used to work at a coffee shop where every year at the Christmas party they had three tattoo artists.”

“They made you get tattoos?”

“I wanted to get one anyway.” She reached for the next items on the conveyor belt and waved them past the laser.

I didn't care about the tattoo one way or another. “Thanks. I mean for the groceries.” “I didn't buy them for you. Have a good day.” The next time I went to Savmor, I picked out the most expensive bottle on the shelf, something full of hops and a label with a devil holding a staff and I chose her line. When my groceries were bagged I asked, “What about if I asked you to share that beer with me when you get off work?”

“I'm more a fan of vodka tonics.” “What about one of those then, Lisa?” Name tag. “What about at least two or three of them?” Her hair was black and straight like a black broom and out of her work uniform she dressed like a scarecrow. Denim pants frayed at the bottom and a straw hat. We walked down the street from Savmor to a place with really tall tables and what looked like a lot of lawyers at the bar. She sat down, removed her hat and looked around the room. “This doesn't look like the kind of place that will card me.”

“You're not 21?” “Sure. I just don't have my wallet with me.” My temp jobs were so boring I tried not to tell anyone else about them. I didn't do much else.

She drank really fast, and after three vodka tonics said, “You're really sweet. But I have a boyfriend.” “Serious one?”

“Yeah, very serious. We moved here from Wishram and he's just waiting on his settlement before we can move up to Seattle.”

“Settlement?”

“Got hit by a car the first week in town. Just walking across Broadway and some guy plowed into him and broke his leg.”

She got up and grabbed her coat. “You're really sweet,” she said. Before she wobbled out the door she turned back to me, “But did you know that everything you say is a question?”

“Really, I mean no I didn't.” I drank another beer and watched the lawyers drink. They watched the bartender pour drinksand he watched all of us. Behind the bar there was a big swirly painting of a guy playing a guitar. He had a handlebar mustache and reminded me of Rolly Fingers, the relief pitcher for the Milwaukee Brewers.

That was all that happened, all of it. Me and Lisa. Then I am walking through the line thinking about dogs and fish, blue herons, and she says, “I love you.” You could say it was unexpected. Apparently the serious boyfriend was not so serious after all.

A couple of weeks later she moved into my apartment carrying only one duffle bag. “That's it? everything you own?”

“No, my old boyfriend he won't give me back my other stuff. He sort of kicked me out.” “Do you want me to go get it for you? I could do that.” “If you wouldn't mind. That'd be great. You're still talking in questions, you know.” “Really? I mean no I had not thought of that.”

He was short and wide and his lower leg was wrapped in a dirty cast. He paid no attention to me and told her to make it quick. He had a knife, just held it in his hand closed to make sure we saw it. It was a big hunting knife, not really scary or anything. It caught my attention.

We hauled her clothes down in garbage bags, then a coffee table and some pots and pans. She told him to keep the bed, but he was eating some top ramen in the kitchen and paid no attention. We were walking down the hall with bags full of clothes when another woman turned the corner also with a bag of clothes.

“You bitch!” Lisa screamed. “I can't believe it. You really are moving in.” She set the bag down. “What do you care? I don't want to see you here again.” “You won't. You won't see me again. Get out of our way.” When we were past, Lisa turned around and swung a bag full of boots as hard as she could at the back of the other woman's head and would have clocked her a second time if she had not run into the apartment and grabbed the knife. She ran into the hall after us and sliced a garbage bag spilling shoes all over the corridor.

They stood there yelling at one another, flip-flops and Converse, one high heel, surrounding them. “Just get out of there said the other woman. It's mine now.”

When we got to the street, Lisa says, “Let's go get a drink to celebrate.” “Just a second. Was that his new girlfriend?” “Oh no. That was my sister.” “Your sister? Seriously, your sister is moving in with your boyfriend?” “Yes. There's nothing going on with them though. She's a dyke.”

I waited for more explanation but she gave none. “Let's go get a drink. I'm so glad to have all my shoes back.”

We bought a bottle of Stolichnaya and bag of ice and went back to our apartment with all the shoes.

She made a couple of vodka tonics in big mason jars and we sat on the bed talking about how we would decorate the place. “We need to get an iron for your shirts,” she said, “and a good frying pan for making quesadillas. Do you like apples in your quesadillas?

“I've never thought of it before.” “It's the best. You wouldn't think so but it is delicious. Here I'll make you one.” She downed her drink and began to root around in her bags for a frying pan. She threw books and shoes, pans all over the kitchen until she found what she wanted. She rooted around in the fridge for some yellow cheese and an apple, sliced everything up and threw it in the pan. While the stove heated she poured us more vodka and tonic.

The quesadilla was not very good but my head was spinning half way through it and she was watching me eat. “It's, um, interesting,” I tried.

“Interesting? That's all.” She took the other half and ate it big bites, smacking her lips and when she finished lay back on the bed and patted her stomache. I was pretty drunk but it looked like tonight would be the night she would let me make love to her. We hadn't done that yet, but when I reached out to her she was asleep.

I lay down beside her and woke up later to the sound of a loud crash and when I opened my eyes it was dark. I didn't see her but there was a light in the bathroom.

“Are you okay in there? What was that noise?” “Yeah, I'm ahh good.” I could hear her breathing in with a little gasp.

“Well okay, as long as you are alright.” I lay back on the bed rubbing my throbbing brain and the next thing I knew she knocked the door open and was holding her leg. It was gushing blood and she limped to the kitchen and got a towel. The bathroom was a mess of red and broken vodka bottle. She tied the dish towel tight around her bleeding thigh and lay down on the bed with a smile on her face. “Go back to bed baby. We can sleep now.”

I woke up the next morning with a headache and ran around the apartment putting on the cleanest clothes I could find. It was the third day of a temp job, and the manager had been emphatic that I was to wear a clean white shirt at all times. I couldn't see why I needed to look like anything to answer phones and staple together reports on mortgage statistics. I got myself together and down to the bus, she had not stirred.

That was my first mistake, getting drunk like that. I'm not myself when I drink vodka and I should have seen that she needed more than a drunk boyfriend at that moment.

I like temp work, the smell of white out and hi-liter. I like how the regular people think you must do something more interesting with the rest of your life. I like telling small lies to give them something to talk about. I like wearing white shirts and having to keep them clean, even when I don't understand why.

At lunch i went to the bento place with Bill, the other temp, and he asked me what I was going to do next.

“My brother programs educational software. I want to learn computer programming,” I said. “There must be good money in that. I don't know what I want to do. I'm thinking about getting a car.”

“A car?” “For the winter. It really gets me down and I think that if I could drive around I wouldn't feel so bad.”

“I've got a car. I don't think it makes me feel any better. You could borrow it sometime.”

What a dork. The rest of the afternoon I kept spacing out looking at the stapler and thinking my future should have more oomph to it than a beater car. But it was just a phase, something I was doing since I had gotten fired from my last job. I didn't think it would last.

When i got home, the apartment was spotless. I had not really noticed before that the walls were a nice yellowy color instead of the usual white or beige. She had made the bed and done the dishes, mopped the floor even, and left me a note.

hey! I get off late tonight. I cleaned, how bout you cook something nice?

I made sure there was nothing to drink in the fridge and went down the street to get stuff for cooking a chicken. Rosemary and fresh tarragon. I like to cook when I get the chance. Over the next week or so I cooked:

roast chicken

beef stroganoff

bread

a cherry pie

She never said anything about drinking and kept a rag around her lower leg. As long as I made a big meal and she washed the dishes we didn't drink. As long as we did not drink nothing bad happened. She even ironed my shirts at night, hung them on the door with little funny notes in them for me to find on my way out the door.

On Friday my temp gig was out and the other guy invited me out for a drink afterward. We had a beer, a really yellow one that smelled like coriander or cloves or something. Bill had a black looking stout and toasted our week together.

“My brother is going to give me a job. No more paper clips, at least for awhile.” “I like paper clips. Maybe I should go into office supplies.”

“That's not a bad idea. No seriously, delivering office supplies to these places that are too busy to go get their own.”

I pictured myself wearing my white shirt and pushing a cart full of reams of paper, boxes of paper clips, hi-liters. I am pushing it down the hall and the sound of the wheels on carpet, pictures of oceanscapes on the wall. It looked pretty good in there, like a good way to spend the day.

“To paper clips!” Clink. After a second beer we were old friends and I called Lisa to meet us at another place down the street.

I could not find a good way to tell Bill how Lisa and I had met until we started into our third beer waiting for her.

“That's amazing. She just told you she loves you out of the blue?” “It was unexpected but then she can be pretty unexpected.” “But just like that, you guys move in together a week later. That's really crazy.” “It was the right thing to do. She said she loves me and at first I just needed a roommate, with my work situation and all.” “Still, that's just, wow. Bold.”

I convinced her to have a beer, something not too strong. It didn't work, she just drank faster. Every time I would turn to her, another half pint would have disappeared. Bill tried to keep up but it was no use and he pulled out his wallet and settled up. “So long man, it's been good working with you. “And you,” he turned to her, “you two take care of each other.”

We drank our beers slower and she asked me, “So what do you really want to do? You can't like being a temp all that much.”

“Actually I do. What I want to do now is buy a car and drive around a lot. There are a lot of places I have never been.”

“I want to move to Europe. Paris maybe. As far from Wishram as I can get.” “That's really brave. I suppose Wishram is a good place to get away from.” “Oh yeah. I'm not going back there. Not ever.” She was wearing a pair of what my mom would have called hog washers, faded overalls, and it was the only thing about her that could have come from a small town. But Wishram is just a rail side town; I don't imagine they raise any hogs there. We were both feeling relaxed from the beer, and she was not drifting into anger. She put her arm in mine and when we got to the apartment finally let me kiss her.

It's a little prickly, having sex with someone with so many fresh scars. There is a lot of real estate to avoid, if you catch my drift. But she was very eager and we were soon sweaty and laughing.

Afterwards, I told her I needed to walk to the store and get some tortilla chips. “Some what?” “It's something I have to do after sex. I can't help it. “That' s pretty rude, don't you think. You're going to just walk out on me for some corn chips?” “It's not personal.”

The Savmor had just expanded into a bigger health food section and I bought a bag of those blue corn chips that were dusted with red pepper. I ate them all before I got back to the apartment and felt bad I had not gotten anything for her. I should go back and get some beer but I just kept eating the chips. I really should have something better to say about my future than that I like temping and I want to buy a car.

I do want bigger things, but for now I cannot really remember what they are. When I got home I did not see her. “Lisa?” No answer and then I saw the broken beer bottle on the table. I knocked on the bathroom door and her stir in there but no response. “Lisa I know you're in there. What are you doing?” “Leave me alone. I need some time to myself.”

“I don't think that is such a good idea. I'm coming in there. Open the door. Please.”

There was a sound like she had fallen in the tub. I shouted her name and got no response so I took a step back and shoved the door open with my shoulder. The door busted and then bumped hard against her. She was squatting on the floor and when the door hit her she fell forward bumped her head on the toilet.

“What the hell?” she said and then fell on the linoleum. There were deep bloody gashes on her legs and a broken beer bottle. She groaned on the floor and then pushed up, sprang at me with the shard of glass.

“You tried to kill me! Get out of here, get out of here now!” She was yelling, her forehead bloody, and she swiped at my arm with the shard of glass. She looked terrible and I managed to bear hug her before she could swing again. After awhile she quit struggling.

“Look I'm going to let you go now and get a towel to clean you up.” She groaned again. “Just take it easy, are you going to cut me again? She said no and when I let her go she went and slumped on the bed. “I can't believe you tried to kill me. I should never have left him for you. I can't believe you would do this.” I wiped up the blood as best I could and looked in the bathroom for bandages. All we had was half box of band aids so I wrapped a towel around my own arm and waited for her to fall asleep. When I thought she looked safe, I ran out to get some gauze and tape at the Savmor.

When I returned the door to the apartment was open and there was big cop standing in the room with a note pad. “What's going on? I have bandages.”

The cop said, “ She needs to go to the hospital. And you are going to take a ride with me.' He handcuffed me and pushed me down the hall to his cruiser. “Is this really necessary? What did she tell you? I didn't do anything. Anything.”

“Let's just wait until the ambulance comes and gets her and then you can tell me what you think happened here tonight.”

“Let me talk to her. She is just confused, I was trying to help and she thought I was trying to kill her. She needs some help, she's just not well.”

“Calm down and sit in the car for awhile. I'll be back when the ambulance comes.”

I spent the next three days in jail on a charge of assault II. Fingerprints, mug shot, the whole nine yards.

Jail was a big round room where all of the cells faced into the center. It was not as grim as I would have thought, there was sunlight and it was not too dirty. There were lots of paintings on the wall, like at a grade school. My cell mate was a crackhead who mumbled a lot but was otherwise harmless.

During the day I sat and watched teevee or played cards with some of the other guys. My partner was mild mannered junky named Ruby whose skin was an orangey yellow, like a carrot almost. When I knew him a little bit, I asked if it was from heroin.

“No it's from all the carrot juice I drink.” “Now that is not what I would expect a junky to drink.” “Beta carotene is very important. The more so for people like us. What kind of supplements do

you take?”

“Does aspirin count?”

Ruby was concerned about my welfare and in between games of gin he would make me go over and over the details of how I had arrived in county jail. “This is very important. Keep repeating the whole thing until you can find where you did something wrong.”

“I think it was the drinking. I really should not have let us both drink so much.” “Didn't you say you tried no to let her get into the booze?”

“Yes.”

“Well then that can't have been the real problem. Try again—anything you can remember like suspicious phone calls or weird omens. Maybe you weren't getting enough sleep. Pay...very..close...attention...now.”

But Ruby was no help. I did as he told me to, put the pieces together in different orders and ways. There was 1) her saying she loved me 2) us moving in together, which Ruby pointed out had to be the most random 3) the drinking 4) the cutting 5) Jail.

It made no more sense the more I looked at it. I think it was just too much drinking and I sat in the quad when the sun would come over the wall and wondered where she was, whether she was okay. I could not help but feel that I had let her down somehow, that she was out there and needed my support.

After a few days I went to my arraignment and Bill showed up to bail me out. I pleaded not guilty and was given a couple of weeks to get my shit together. My lawyer told me my best bet was to talk to her, try to smooth everything out. But when I called the apartment, she yelled at me never to bother her again and that she had a restraining order. “You so much as think about calling me again and I will call the cops!” She hung up. It was good to hear her voice.

I told Bill what she said. “Isn't it your apartment?” “Yes. But I cannot go over there.” “Look at you, you don't even have a change of clothes. What do you mean you're not going over there?' “Well what should I do?”

That is why I am in the hallway of my apartment building with a big yellow screwdriver. It's not to hurt her obviously, it's just to pry the door open so I can get some pants and socks, maybe some of my books. But what if, after I break in, something has happened to her? What if she is all cut up on the bathroom floor and I am standing there with a sharp object and a broken door? I sure will have some explaining to do.