James Adcox - Does Not Love

“That’s ridiculous,” Robert says.

“I don’t want to be in a car with you right now,” Viola says. “I don’t want to share so little space.”

“I came down here because that’s what we do,” Robert says. “We support each other. That is how this is supposed to work.”

“This doesn’t work,” Viola says. “Jesus, Robert. None of this works.”

They are standing near the edge of Moore Square Park, near the City Market. Just as Viola’s starting to walk off, a man in a bomber jacket with a raw red face comes up to the two of them, waving like they were all old friends. “Hey. Hey I need to talk to you guys for a minute.”

“Jesus,” Viola says. “Not right now.”

“You’re the one who gave up,” Robert says. “I never fucking gave up. You have no idea.”

“No, listen: I need to talk to you,” the man

says, and shows them the pistol underneath his

jacket.

“Jesus,” Viola says.

“This all you’ve got on you?” the man says, looking through Robert’s wallet. “What about her earrings? Give me her earrings.” His eyes dart continuously from Robert to Viola, as if expecting one of them to tackle him. Cars drive by from time to time without stopping. Robert is trembling. He’s ashamed and angry. He’s thinking, Why isn’t anyone stopping this? Can’t they see what’s going on? Viola hands over her earrings with a strange smile, as if she found the whole episode more awkward than terrifying.

The man tucks the earrings into his pocket, pushes the gun into the waistband of his pants, then takes off running through the park. Robert screams and runs after him.

“Robert,” Viola yells. “What are you doing?” She’s trying to follow after him, but not doing much of a job in it in her heels. She kicks the heels off, but that’s even worse, because now she has to watch where she’s putting her feet.

Robert keeps screaming. He doesn’t think about what he will do if he catches the man. He doesn’t think about the fact that the man he is chasing has a gun and he, Robert, does not. He doesn’t think about what he would do were the man to turn and pull his gun. There’s something furious and red in Robert’s brain that blocks out the possibility of all other thought, so that all that is left in the world is a single thing made of running and screaming.

The man trips himself up on something or another and Robert’s on top of him, catches him by the collar of his jacket and jerks him into the dirt. There’s a wrenching sensation as Robert collapses on top of him. Then, hugely, the pistol goes off. Robert and the man look at each other, surprised, for a moment, as if neither had ever expected to hear such a sound, so close, in his life. The man studies Robert’s face. Robert studies the man’s face. Both Robert and the man are thinking: Which one of us was it? Robert feels himself for a wound. The man does the same. “The fuck,” says the man. “The fuck.” Both are unhurt.

Robert pushes the man’s face to one side and scrambles on his belly for the gun, where it’s fallen, a little over an arm’s length away. Robert pushes himself to his feet and aims the gun. The man sits cross-legged in the dirt, looking up at him.

“I wasn’t going to use it,” he says. “Don’t you see? What we’ve just been through is a miracle. You and me. You see what I mean? I’ve always wanted that, my whole life. I’ve always wanted to experience a miracle.”

“Get on the ground,” Robert says. “Face down. Into the dirt. Good. Now: my wallet. My wife’s earrings.”

“Here,” the man says, flinging away the earrings and wallet. “Take it. Take your stuff. Don’t you see what we’ve just been through?”

“Robert, what are you doing?” Viola says.

“Face into the dirt,” Robert says to the man on the ground. “Give me your fucking wallet. Give it to me.”

“Robert wait a minute, the police will be here—”

“I’ve got like three dollars on me,” the man says.

“Give me your fucking three dollars then.” Robert presses the barrel of the gun against the man’s jaw. His entire body is trembling. The barrel of the gun, where it presses against the man’s skin, moves as though trying to burrow itself inside.

“I’m reaching for my money,” the man says. “Don’t shoot me. Please for the love of God don’t shoot me.”

I want him to cry, Robert thinks. How do I make him cry.

The police show up and say “You two were very lucky. Normally we don’t recommend that citizens attempt to apprehend an armed perpetrator. However, we cannot conceal our glowing respect when they do.”

“The local news is coming by,” one of the officers says. “Would you two like to be on television?”

“I think we ought to be on our way,” Robert says.

“There are normally forms to fill out,” the officer says. “But you know what? We’ll take care of that.”

“We recognize a kindred spirit,” says his partner, clasping Robert by the shoulder.

“I don’t knowwhat I’m going to do,” Viola’s uncle says. Viola is packing. Her flight is in a couple of hours.

“Are you going to keep the house?”

“Vivi, don’t leave me here. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The distant cousins promise that they have space for Viola’s uncle at their house in Zebulon, if need be. Viola’s uncle and the distant cousins see her and Robert off at the airport. At the security check, her uncle hugs her close and says, just loud enough that she knows Robert can hear, “Vivi, when are you coming back home for good?”

The distant cousins try to comfort him. They assure Viola that he’ll be alright. Viola keeps playing with the tag on her suitcase, nearly twisting it off. Her uncle doesn’t smile or tell her anything’s okay. Robert puts out his hand to shake and her uncle doesn’t appear to notice. The distant cousins both give Robert hugs that go on a little too long.

The security personnel spend several minutes sorting through Viola’s badly packed suitcases. “Ma’am, if you folded your clothes in an orderly fashion, and put all electronic devices near the top of your luggage, you wouldn’t be holding up this line right now.” Viola’s uncle stands just outside the security checkpoint, longing after her like a ghost.

Robert drivesto the west side. Where the self-storage facility once was, is a pit, and a sign advertising new developments. Robert gets out of his car and hoists himself over the fencing into the pit. He looks out over a long stroke of nothing that has been cut into the earth.

Viola keeps expecting the FBI agent to reappear at the library, to call her, to materialize out of the shadows as she goes to unlock her car some night. It is like a long pause after a note, when you can’t be certain another note will follow. Finally, she stops waiting.

Robert wants Violamore than he can remember wanting Viola. And yet he’s so angry at her that he can hardly imagine having sex with her. When he sleeps next to her, he keeps turning towards her and grasping her tightly around the stomach, then turning away from her so that they’re no longer touching. Eventually one of them gets up to sleep in the guest room. If it’s Robert who’s left alone in their bed, he masturbates, still smelling his wife on the sheets.

Viola thinks of what it means, that she wants someone to hurt her during sex. Does it mean that she’s a bad person? Does the fact that Robert is unwilling to hurt her during sex mean that he is a fundamentally good person? Will he stay always by her side? Is he true? Is he chivalrous? Is he well-mannered? Well-heeled? Will he defend her against the evils that arrive time and time again in life? Or is he lacking in backbone? She thinks about when they were in North Carolina, when he chased and tackled the mugger. Was that backbone? Or was that an attempt to redirect other, overwhelming frustrations in his life, and hence (perhaps) a lack of backbone? Does she want backbone? Does it take any backbone to hit her during sex, when she so vocally wants to be hit? And what does any of this have to do with her upbringing?