Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

I go back to her house. Really got all the things from downstairs? Mug? Take it. What else? Fancy supply of marmalades and jams? Take the unopened ones. Paring knife? Cost a lot and the one in my apartment is only good for buttering bread. Antique colander I bought at a lawn sale? Nah, leave them all. Now upstairs.

She’s on her bed writing. Looks at me questioningly.

The time?” I say; I show her my watch.

“Good.”

“Sure you want me to go?”

“I do. I’m sure.”

“What made you finally decide? Because I thought we were all having a good time.”

“Reasons, reasons.”

“For instance.”

“For instance I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All I’m asking for is one.”

“Just that. That you won’t just drop it. Don’t persist. One of the reasons is that you persist too much.”

“Oh, I see. Nothing I say now will be right. It’ll all fall under the category of persistence. Okay. I’m going to get my clothes.”

“I’ll go downstairs,” and she gets off the bed.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I told you this isn’t easy for me either.”

That’s right. I remember. Must be tough, my leaving. Oh yes. Very tough. So tough, then why the hell did you ask me to leave?”

“Reason two. Cynicism. You can be very cynical. Believe me, it isn’t easy to take over long periods of time.”

“Better over short periods?”

“Cynicism. Persistence.”

“Any other reasons?”

“What do you want? I already gave you two.”

That’s it? Just two? There’s got to be a third. If not a third, then at least a fourth. Or a sixth. Skip the third, fourth and fifth and just slip me the sixth.”

That too. Reason three, or as you’ll have it, six, is your occasional crazy talk. And sometimes it’s not so occasional and seems truly crazy.”

“Maybe you’re only saying it’s crazy because you can’t understand it. But I don’t know any other halfway intelligent adult who wouldn’t get it and might even think it slightly funny.”

There’s another. Your arrogance. That you think you’re so funny and smart when you’re not.”

“Me smart? Oh no. You’re the smart one. Me, I’m dumb. Dumb because I hung around so long. I thought of getting out a few times, but then thought we could work it out. Well, up yours now. I’m glad we’re through.”

“Two more. That you lie. That you blow up so easily. And other reasons. Plenty. But especially the one I haven’t said yet.”

“What? That I get jealous because you see other men?”

That’s another. A very big one. Jealousy, which I can’t take. But it’s not the one I was going to give.”

“Don’t let me stop you. What is it?”

“Forget it.”

“But I want to know the big reason of them all.”

“Reason one. Persistence. Stop it. Leave me alone.”

She goes downstairs. I follow her.

“Reason ten or eleven. You hound me. Just what you’re doing. Following me, hounding me. Always on my back after I’ve said get off.”

“And one I have against you is repetition. You repeat things too much. You say something and then repeat it till it’s dead.”

“You don’t? You just did. Maybe it’s the one thing we have in common.” She looks around. “Good. You have all your things packed from downstairs. Now please get your clothes and bathroom things and catch the five o’clock bus.”

“Five after five. And reason two for me is your inconsiderateness. For you couldn’t have driven me? The last thing I asked from you and you wouldn’t? Well, thanks.”

“I’ve an appointment around that time, that’s why.”

“You could’ve called to delay it. But that’s only part of your inconsiderateness. And maybe you’re a liar too. Because before you said it would’ve been too sad or disturbing for you to be with me during the trip.”

That too.”

“Bull.”

She leaves the house. I follow her.

“Damn you, will you get your things and leave?”

“Right. One reason in my favor and which should maybe cancel out one of the twelve to fourteen negative ones is that I take orders well. Obedience. Yes, sir. At your command. Goodbye.” I salute her, go into the house, pack my things upstairs, stuff what I can’t get into the carryall into two shopping bags, and leave. She’s nowhere around. I walk up the hill and wait for the bus. It doesn’t come. I walk down the hill and knock on her door. She opens it. She’s been crying.

“Bus never came.”

“Is that true?”

“Swear. Got there before five. Waited for more than a half hour. I didn’t want to come back. Honest. You’ve been crying.”

“So?”

“Not about us, of course.”

“Don’t be reason number whatever it was before.”

“I’ve been crying too. Why are we doing this? Not the crying, but just this.”

“I’m not sure. Anyway, what we’re doing is right.”

“Right. Can I come in and call the bus company to see what’s wrong?”

“But be quick.”

The bus company man says “Because of road construction the route’s been changed from Sunset Drive to River Road on weekdays from seven-thirty to half past six. We posted a notice on the post office and community bulletin boards of all the towns affected.”

“You should’ve posted them at the libraries too, but thanks.” To Mona: “I’ve got to run if I’m to catch the five after six bus.”

She sticks out her hand. We shake. “No goodbye kiss?” I say.

“Wouldn’t do.” She goes upstairs.

“Last chance to keep me?” I yell.

“Bye.”

I go to River Road and wait for the bus. It comes. I don’t wave it down. I go back to Mona’s and knock on the door. Her son opens it.

“Oh, you got home,” I say.

“What are you doing? I thought you were already here.”

“Your mother and I had a little spat.”

“For good this time?”

“I think so.”

Then what are you doing back with your bags?”

“Burleigh, how can you be so insensitive? You’re supposed to feel relatively crumbled that I won’t be around anymore.”

“I’ll miss you, don’t worry, but what can I do? I got to go.”

He runs past me down the stairs. “Hey, what about a little kiss farewell from you, chump?”

“I don’t mean to be mean but I’m in a hurry, Bo.” We wave and he goes.

I call into the house “Mona? That changed schedule made me miss the bus again. Can I stay here till the next one comes?”

“No,” she yells from her room.

I go upstairs. “Just another twenty minutes or so.”

“You didn’t miss the bus. You let it go by.”

“Okay. I let it go by so I could see you once more.”

“Fine. Now that you’ve seen me, get out.”

“Give me a chance to get a good look.”

“Don’t be stupid again.”

“And don’t be so insulting,” I say.

“You’re forcing me to say these things and be this way. I’m getting angry. Frustrated.”

“What does that mean?”

That means don’t get me even angrier and more frustrated by acting even more intentionally stupid. That means leave this house. That means start now. That means go. Get lost. What do I have to do, call the police?”

“Last time I thought you were a little sorry I left and glad I honestly missed that bus.”

“Last time I might have been but I’ve thought it over and now I’m not. I don’t want you around anymore. Never again. Plain and simple — scram, stupid.”

I grab a plant off the washstand and throw it at her.

She ducks and it hits her chin. She screams. Blood comes out. She’s on the bed holding her face and screaming. I get down on the floor on my knees and say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She pushes me away and runs to the bathroom. I run after her. She has a towel to her face and I say “I should’ve done that. Got you that towel. I shouldn’t have thrown that plant. Tell me what I can do for you.”