*12*

It had been a rough day at work. Bob just felt happy to be pulling into the alley in back of their apartment. He put the keys in the front door and walked in. He put his laptop down on the floor next to the couch. Thirsty, he headed for the kitchen. Denise, there by the sink, prepared something for dinner.

"Howdy," Bob said, reaching up into the cupboard for a glass.

Denise didn't answer; Bob looked over at her and realized that she was talking to somebody standing outside.

Bob stood next to Denise to fill up his glass with tapwater, and glanced up to look out the window. It was their neighbor Tom. He drove a tourist bus between L.A. and Las Vegas. They were chatting about something ... Las Vegas maybe? Bob turned off the faucet and took some sips. Denise seemed lost in her conversation with Tom.

Bob took his glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table, taking occasional sips, still watching Denise. Whatever they were discussing, she seemed pretty much immersed in their talk. Bob leaned forward and peered out the window at the neighbor again.

Damn, Tom is actually flirting with Denise. Shit. Bob picked up his glass of water, walked back and picked up his laptop from the floor and walked back into their bedroom. Shit, fuck, what the hell was that all about?

Bob felt angry, lost and bewildered. All this sweat and toil, putting up with hours upon hours of boredom and bullshit from work, buying her food, helping pay the rent, pretty much supporting her, and this is how she pays him back? Shit. He grabbed the remaining talons from his brain, Lord, release me from Denise. He struggled, turned a reverse flip, twisted. Temporarily free, ah damn, confounding forces. Parents, relatives, cousins. He put his whole spirit into it.

Give me back my fucking soul!

*13*

The overcast sky, completely gray, had patches of lighter slate, and lacked even a glimpse of blue. Bob finished reading the Sunday paper. Denise answered the phone in the upstairs bedroom, yelled down to Bob: "Bob - it's for you." Even though mentally separated, they were still following old habits, somehow acting as if nothing had changed. They would come home from work, they would eat dinner apart, and then Bob would watch TV while Denise would read in the bedroom. They led an artificial version of their relationship: the packaging without the substance. It was a life-size stand-up cardboard cutout of a famous person. One you can stand next to for a photograph: here's me and Elvis. Bob picked up the kitchen extension.

"Hi Bob." His mom had sadness and distress in her voice.
"What's wrong?" Bob asked. During the few second pause, his mom decided how best to break the bad news. Bob could hear her swallow, five hundred miles away.
"Dear ... Dad died."

"What happened?" Bob asked, immediately feeling disembodied. His Dad is ... how old is Dad ... how did he die? What happened? Heart attack, tennis court, sudden. Is Dad dead? On the tennis court.. "When did it happen?"
"A couple of hours ago."
"Oh dear." Bob sighed.

"Your brother and Missie are flying up tomorrow," his mom said. Bob tried to grasp onto anything. Nothing was there. Just his mom's soul, and his brother Greg's soul. And his soul. Greg and Missie are flying up tomorrow.
"Yeah, I'll catch a plane up there too," Bob said.
"I'll see you tomorrow."

He hung up the phone. Wow, Dad died. He tried to reach for his dad's soul: it felt occupied, busy, still engrossed in the process. Denise came down the stairs.

"My Dad died," Bob said simply.
"I'm sorry," Denise said, and turned away.
"I'm flying up there tomorrow ... can you give me a ride to the airport?" With her back still toward him, Denise nodded.

That night, Bob went to Mass. The spirit and sorrow of parishioners swept over him. At a point in the sermon, the minister said a benediction to relatives of the recently deceased. Bob said a silent prayer to himself and to God. Tears came to his eyes. After the service, he walked home alone. Tears came and went away, came again. Lord, take away my sorrow. Bob looked into his heart and felt a tiny tug from his dad, and followed the lead. It was his dad. I love you, Dad. Silently, without replying, his father showed Bob where to find his permanent "Dad" connection, always, in his mind, to his soul. The tears went away.