Reed Coleman - Hose monkey

“There’s only two things ex-cops go into with any chance of success-bars and security.”

“Go home, Bob. In the morning we’ll flip a coin.”

Marla, her face still slightly puffy and bruised, sat in the darkest corner of the bar, nursing a light beer. In some bizarre way, she almost dreaded the doctors clearing Joe. Then she would have no more excuse to hold on just one more day. Dentists get cavities and doctors get cancer. Marla knew a Ph. D. in Clinical and School Psychology was no defense against Post Traumatic Stress. Already, her guilt over Kenny’s death had prevented her from paying a shiva call and the nightmares had started. Even now in a near empty bar, she felt as if all her nerves were firing at once, but this was an appointment she needed to keep.

“Doc? Doc is that you?” the woman asked, hesitating before taking a seat.

“Corral.” Marla brightened, leaning over and kissing her dark brown cheek.

“Hell, what happened to you, honey?”

“The night Kenny.”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. How stupid a me. I read all ‘bout that. You okay?”

“I will be.”

“So what you call me for, Doc, not that I ain’t glad to see you or nothin’?”

Marla slid the VHS tape across the bar. “That’s yours to do with whatever you want.”

Corral stared at the tape, not wanting to touch it for fear of reliving the horror Toussant had inflicted on her all over again.

“He’s dead, Corral. He can’t hurt you anymore. You can have a small part of your life back. It’s over.”

Corral began sobbing quietly. “I know you meant well, Doc. He may be dead and all, but it ain’t never gonna be over for me. Some shit people take from you, there ain’t no gettin’ back. You take that tape and you burn it.”

The group home driver stood up and ran out of the dark bar.

“What got into her?” the barman asked.

“My wishful thinking.”

She tossed a five on the bar, put the tape back in her bag, and left. Outside in the parking lot, Marla sat in her locked car and wept for what felt like hours.

In early July, Marla and Joe made their way through the beautifully trimmed hedges and fresh cut grass. Joe’s limp was better and he had finally switched from crutches to a cane. The sun was bright but not blinding, warm on their faces but not burning. On days like this it was easier for Marla to believe things really could be all right. Her body had healed months ago, but she had come to understand Corral’s reaction that night in the bar. There are parts of your life once taken, that can never be taken back.

Cemeteries are supposed to be peaceful places, but in New York they always seem to be beneath the glide paths to airports. That was okay with Joe. Vinny had always been fascinated by planes. Now, after all these years, with Marla at his side, Joe Serpe was grateful there had been a body to bury. It was the first time he’d been to the grave since the day of the funeral. He crossed himself, uttering a prayer he thought he had long ago forgotten.

“Vinny, I’d like you to meet Marla. You’d really like her.”

Marla placed flowers on the grave and gave Joe some time to be alone with his brother.

About ten minutes later, she interrupted their reunion.

“Come on, Joe, we don’t want to miss your flight.”

In the car, he turned to her. “What do I say to him?”

“He’s your son, Joe. You’ll figure it out.”