Just Bob

           They call me “Just Bob.”  Bob’s the name on my birth certificate – not Robert.   I did not like getting called that as a kid.  It felt like the kids were calling me “Merely Bob,” or saying, “Oh, it’s only Bob.”  Like I didn’t matter, you know?  Hell, maybe they were.  I’ve grown to like the name, though.   Now, “just” means righteous.  Yeah, I’m “Righteous Bob.”  I was always the guy that tried to do the right thing.  Even in the end, I think I did the right thing.

            My Mom and Pop were still in love until the day he died.  I always wanted what they had.  They raised me up as a strict Catholic.  You know – pray before every meal, don’t think dirty thoughts and any one single sin guaranteed you a spot in a hell.  Everyone I ever met is going to hell. 

            I met Kim in Philosophy 101 on my first day of college.  I remember it clear as if it were happening now.  I felt like God had put us together.  Anyway, I was late.  I mean, real late.  I ran full steam from my car to class.  When I got there, the lecture hall looked filled to capacity, but there was one seat left way in the back.    I needed to sit in the front.  I had to be able to watch the Professor’s lips, but I was out of luck that day.  This was before anyone gave a damn about special needs.  Anyway, I must’ve looked pretty shabby because she blurted, “You look terrible!”  Of course, I didn’t hear her and I wasn’t looking at her when she said it.  By chance, I looked up from my paper and a handful of my new classmates were staring at me wide eyed.  I just put my head back down.  I didn’t know what else to do.

            I managed to redeem myself unknowingly.  I got to school early the next day so I wasn’t dripping sweat from a half mile, full-on sprint.  She smiled at me when I sat down.  That was it for me, man.  I followed her out of class and stopped her in the hall.  I asked her point blank, “Would you go to dinner with me tonight?”  She looked confused at first.  I can still see the slow motion realization on her face – that dawning recognition I’ve encountered so many times.  She unconsciously covered her mouth for a moment then uncovered it and said, “Dinner sounds nice.”   Smiling, she scribbled her address and gave it to me.  I looked at her calligraphy-like writing for a second. I looked up and she was already walking away.  I guess she had said something like, “I gotta go,” but I missed it.

            At dinner she apologized for embarrassing me the day before.  I guess she saw the confusion on my face because she recounted the whole story from her perspective.  I told her it didn’t bother me even though it did.  I just thought that was the right thing to say. We spent the rest of the night talking about school and ourselves.  Occasionally, she would start talking with her napkin in front of her mouth and I’d have to gently push her hand down.  Kim was a philosophy major like me.  She grew up an only child in a devoutly religious home like I did.  She wanted to raise a family in the church like me.  Sometimes I’ve wondered if she had knowingly or otherwise committed herself to me because of that conversation.  Was it ever about more than commonality and shared ideals? 

            We got married April 5th and our son was born November 23rd.  We didn’t want to upset our families so we told them Nathan arrived prematurely.  As far as they knew, he was conceived on our wedding night.  I’m pretty sure that was the right thing to do.  The next twenty years went by and none of us was struck by lightning or swarmed on by locusts.  Nothing exceptionally good happened either.  We lived our life by the good book.

            Everything of any importance started a week ago and ended today. I was on my way home from work and traffic on the highway was crawling.  From God’s view, I imagine it looked like a very slow metallic caterpillar inching along.  I figured I should text Kim.  She was pretty serious about letting her know when I was running late and especially this particular night.  Nathan was home from art school and she had planned a feast.  I felt around the passenger seat for my cell phone, but it wasn’t there.  I glanced over to see it on the floorboard of the passenger side.  Funny, I couldn’t remember stamping the brakes hard enough to hurl it down there.  Clutching the steering wheel with one hand, I bent over the center console to fish the phone out.  I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. 

            I sat up.  The traffic in front of me had parted like the Red Sea.  They had piled onto the embankment and into the median.  Everyone stood outside of their cars, staring off with shock at something behind me.  I started to feel my car vibrate.  Numb and afraid, I unbuckled my seat belt.  I refused to look to see what was approaching.  I yanked on the door handle.  I forgot the doors lock when the car is started.  I yanked the handle again, this time hard enough to break it off.   My mind screamed at me, “DRIVE!” But, it was too late and the little plane was careening at me too fast.

            It was only a small eight-passenger Falcon, but it hit hard.  It felt like my seat was trying to buck me from it like a cowboy from a bronco.  I felt my left femur explode on the steering column.  My leg went to mush and bent in a way God never intended.  I felt the cold glass of the windshield against my face for a fraction of a second before it shattered and I went through it.  I felt my head slam and grate against the pavement.  I did not feel anything else for some time.

            I am in the ICU for two full days before I become conscious again.  Well, not conscious exactly.  I can’t move my body. I can’t force my eyes open.  I am in a coma according to the doctors and nurses who are in and out of my room.  I have no brain waves according to the intermittently beeping machine with its tentacles suctioned to my skull.  Still, I can hear the people and the machines.

            This excites me, yet the machine rhythmically beeping out my heart’s activity tells me otherwise.  To me, my heart sounds bored.  Dr. Hemminger comes into the room and has no good news to tell my new ears: 

            “This is Robert,” he said to a nurse.

            It’s just Bob, dammit!

            “Extreme head trauma, broken femur, several deep contusions on his torso, and of course, he’s in a coma.  There is little to no chance he will recover.  We’re basically waiting on his wife to let us take him off support systems.  Just check in every two hours and make sure nothing has changed,” he said and then left.

            The nurse fluffs my pillows, takes a seat, and flips through a magazine.  I don’t know what turning pages sounds like, but I do know what a bunch of horrible perfume samples mixing together smells like.  Kim and Nathan arrive just in time to keep me from drifting into too much thought.

            “Hey Darlene,” Kim says, “Anything changed?”

            Now, I’m not the best guy to tell anybody what someone should sound like when their husband lies in a coma in front of them, but something really doesn’t seem right in Kim’s voice.  She sounds casual. 

            “No, he’s still unresponsive,” Nurse Darlene says, “You know, Kim, you can take all the time you need to make this decision, but every day he stays here is another day you have to pay for.”

            “I know.  All I’ve done for two days is think about it.  I mean, if he were going to come back to us he would have by now, right?  I just need some time alone with him to say goodbye.”

            It’s been two days, woman!

            “Me too,” Nathan says.

            Nathan’s voice doesn’t sound right either.  It sounds lilting, not masculine.  I can picture him standing with a hip jutted out like a woman might.

            Darlene leaves the room and Kim sends Nathan out.  I feel her leaning against the foot of my bed, but she doesn’t put a hand on me.

            “Bob, I know you can’t hear any of this,” she says, “And I’m not doing this for you anyway.  I’m doing this for me – for my soul.”

            Gee, that’s real nice, Kim.  I cannot believe she is behaving so selfishly.  Sometimes when she is really angry, she covers her mouth and says horrible things she doesn’t want me to see.  I imagine she is doing this now – just in case my eyes pop open while she paces the room and cleanses her conscience.

            And she does.  She lets loose all of her lies, betrayal, and misdeeds.

            “I’ve been sleeping with Tommy for fifteen years,” she says, “And he’s a wonderful lover.  I guess you don’t need to know that.  You can just go ahead and forget about him.  He has been sleeping with your wife behind your back so he’s no true friend.

            “And all the money you gave him to buy stock in his small businesses – not for that purpose.  He doesn’t have any businesses.  You’ve been paying for our damn near daily motel stays.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.  I didn’t want to sully our bedroom with that business. 

            “The week that I was supposedly spending with my parents last year?  Well, I was actually with Tommy in Vegas.  We made a small fortune at the tables!  Unfortunately, we decided to get some blow and blew it. Ha!  I made a funny.  You always did like my puns.”

            I feel like an empty confessional. Something is wrong with these machines.  I can feel my heart slamming in my chest.  I feel hot.  My muscles aren’t responding to the surge of anger I am sending into my fists.  They lie there, unclenched.  Who is this woman?  How could I be so blind?

            “Anyway, Bob, I feel just awful that I’ve been such a horrible wife to you all these years.  I guess it was never meant to be, but we pushed on with it anyhow.  Since you’re going to be leaving us soon, I’ve decided to make amends and get right with God.  I’m going to marry Tommy and be a good faithful wife to him.  I believe if my good years amass more time than my bad, I’ll be absolved,” she says.

            My mind starts racing with murderous thoughts.  I want to stand up right now and strangle her with my bare hands.  I want to stare deeply into her eyes and watch as the blood vessels burst open one at a time.  My wife!  My wife of twenty years and I don’t even know you!

            “All that aside, Bob, you were a good person.  Or at least you tried to be.  I’ll miss you, I imagine.  Only time will tell.  I really wish that you could hear this.  I’m not sure it counts if you can’t.  Anyway, Nathan has some things he wants to say, too, so I’ll go get him.”

            I wish I couldn’t hear you.  I wish I could have died without ever knowing what a deceitful whore you are.  Thanks for absolutely nothing!  If by some miracle I wake up, I will kill you.  No.  First, I’ll torture you, then I’ll rape you, then I’ll kill you.   Screw it.  Screw everything!  Please God, let me wake up so I can decimate every cavity of this woman’s body.  I’ll skip down the path to hell, I don’t care anymore.

            I hear Nathan’s footsteps.  He always did drag his feet.

            “Hey, Dad, it’s me.”

            Yeah, I know.  Lay it on me, kid.  Not sure it could get a whole lot worse, but give it a try.

            “I want you to meet someone before you go.  Dad, this is my boyfriend, Tyrell.”

            Boyfriend?  Tyrell?  What kind of name is that? 

            “We met at art school.  We’ve been seeing each other for about a year now.  I haven’t been able to figure out how to tell you I’m gay.”

            Gay?!  No, no, no!  Those were just phases.  This is just a phase!  You aren’t gay.  No son of mine is going to be a gay.

            “Honestly, I can’t believe you never knew.  I mean, the gymnastics classes, my obsession with Madonna, and the label whoring.  But, then again, you did always try to put a thick coat of glossy perfection on this family.  Maybe you just ignored it.”

             What?!  You and your Mother hid everything from me!  Don’t blame this on me, you little bastard.  Besides, when you left, you weren’t this effeminate acting, hip swiveling queer this art school taught you to be.  Bullshit!

            “I guess I could have just let it go, never told you, but I just wanted to be able to tell myself that I was honest with you in the end.  It seems like the right thing to do.  Dee and I are really in love, Dad.  We’ve been thinking about moving to one of those states where we can get married.  Isn’t that great?”

            Oh yeah.  Just.  Great.  Wait, what’s that slurping sound?  Oh God, you’re kissing.  Take that out of here!  I don’t need to hear this!  Stop that!  Why did the door close?  Oh my god.  No!  I won’t listen to this.  Stop moving my bed.  I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THIS!

            I’m waking up again.  I must have passed out from the shock of all this new and disgusting information.  I can’t believe any of this.  This seems like some horrible nightmare.  I’m crying.  I can feel my cooling tears running down my temples.  I feel so stupid.  I tried so hard to make it right for them.  I was a good husband and loving father.  Where did I go wrong? How could this be happening to me after everything I’ve done right?

            Wait, I don’t hear the machines beeping and pumping.  She unplugged me!  Couldn’t wait another damn minute, could you?  I’m feeling my face flush with anger again.  My heart is beating out of control and my mind is racing.  I wipe the tears off of my face.

            I rub my eyes for a few moments before I realize that I’m moving my hands and arms.  I realize my eyes are open and it’s just the room that’s dark.  I snap my fingers.  I can still hear.  I cry some more.

            I cry for hours.  I fall in and out of sleep.  I dream that I’m barbecuing Kim’s genitals on my patio.  I dream that Nathan’s lifeless corpse is floating on a raft in the pool with a Mai Tai in his hand. 

            I dream that we’re all together again.  They keep revealing themselves to me and I pretend that I cannot hear.

            I dream I’m alone in a place I’ve never been.  I’m happy.             I wake up again.  I tie my gown shut.  I find crutches leaning in the corner of the room.  I hobble down the hallways, following the red line on the floor.  The front doors whoosh open.  I signal for a taxi.  Get in.  Shut door.  Leave town.