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Monk
Each morning during the work week, for example, after having breakfast with Ruby, his girlfriend of three years, Antonio leaves the massive but beautifully landscaped Summit apartment complex in Woodland Hills, drops by the Starbucks at Victory Boulevard on his way to the Ventura Freeway, orders a cup of coffee (grande drip, half-caf, a little room for cream, please), hops back in his white Camry, eases onto the freeway while drinking his steaming coffee carefully so as to spare his necktie, pulls into the downtown parking garage after an hour’s commute, grabs his briefcase from the trunk, and starts his day at the Caltrans planning department where he analyzes traffic flows in the south-east grid, and writes little reports (that he never sees again) concerning which of Los Angeles’ freeways within his grid needs tweaking to improve the average commuter’s life. At the end of the day, Antonio snaps his empty briefcase shut, ambles to his car, and, after settling into the driver’s seat but before shutting the door, he gently grabs the empty Starbucks cup, furtively looks around the garage, and, seeing that all is clear, places the cup on the oil-stained, gray-black asphalt. As he backs out, the tire pops the plastic top off the cup and crushes it along with the cup and the little, corrugated insulation sleeve, leaving behind road kill flattened in a puddle of brown blood. And, as his Camry slides past, Antonio smiles. In third grade, he’d made a poster of the Give-a-Hoot-Don’t-Pollute owl shaking his wing at a bad, bad littering boy. Sister Elizabeth gave him an A+ on it. Very nice job, she’d said. Antonio once made a list of his transgressions. One night while Ruby slept, he popped a Thelonius Monk CD into his computer and, to the boppy strains of “Well You Needn’t,” he created a document that delineated, in no particular order, each of his more recent sins. Before making his list, Antonio experimented with introductory symbols that he wanted to put before each item. On his first day at Caltrans, his new supervisor, Roland, told him his memos could be really “perked up” with such simple markings – bullets Roland called them. Bullets. Ever since then, Antonio used bullets in his memos. In fact, he became addicted to bullets, particularly because the more he used, the more compliments he received from Roland. This private memo needed bullets, too. So Antonio first tried a squiggly line: ~. He didn’t care for the look. Too informal. Then he tried a • which is what he used at work, but here, it didn’t sit right with him. Too dark, too serious, too Catholic. Antonio finally settled on a simple ° because it possessed the elegance of a ~ but with the determination of a •. In any event, after deciding upon the correct bullet, he completed his list:
° Left empty Starbucks cup in parking structure (each evening Antonio sat back and squinted at his screen. He smiled. “Misterioso” started up. He scratched his small paunch and then rubbed his large biceps to remind himself that he was in pretty good shape for a middle-aged man. When Antonio was satisfied with his list, he deleted it and went to bed. That night, Antonio dreamt that he was peacefully snoring next to Ruby. He lay on his stomach enjoying a delicious, deep sleep. Then he felt Ruby’s hand just above his tailbone. He grew hard as she rubbed his lower back. Oh boy! He hadn’t had a sex dream in years. He was more than due. But as Ruby rubbed, she began to hurt him. She was digging her thumb in between his vertebrae. Suddenly Ruby’s thumb punctured Antonio’s flesh as it would a succulent orange. Though it hurt terribly, he couldn’t move. He tried to move the index finger of his left hand, which hung over the side of the bed, hoping this would wake him up. Ruby now had her whole arm in his back and was reaching around his insides! He screamed, but either he made no sound or she couldn’t hear him. Ah! she finally murmured as she rested her hand on something. What did she have? A Stanley-Bostitch stapler (black, standard staple). Ruby slowly pulled it from Antonio’s back with a sickening slurp of torn flesh and spilled blood. What next? Dozens and dozens of smashed, empty Starbucks cups! The plastic tops scraped his wound as she slid them out. Then mounds of chocolate covered almonds and double-dipped chocolate peanuts. Several dog-eared Los Angeles Times. She pulled out each and every one of his little transgressions. Four packs of Post-its were the last to be salvaged. Antonio came with a heave of his groin as Ruby’s hand slipped out of the now-closing hole in his back. The next morning, before Ruby awoke, Antonio threw his crusty pajama bottoms into the hamper and quickly showered. At breakfast, he watched Ruby eat her granola and read the paper. She was so beautiful! How did he land her? Not only was she fifteen years his junior, she raked in 100k as a new, energetic attorney with a successful Woodland Hills law firm. Patent and copyright. Ruby looked up and smiled. “What you staring at?” “You, mi amor. You.” She laughed. “That’s what I thought.” She took a sip of coffee. “You’re dressed pretty casually today.” Antonio looked down at his waffles. “Taking a personal day.” Ruby smiled. “You state employees. Personal holidays. Telecommuting. Fat pensions. And we the taxpayers are getting hit in the wallet for it all.” “Yes, mi amor, but I make half of what you do. You can always become a state attorney, if you want. Fewer hours. Great benefits. The Ronald Reagan Building is only a few blocks away from my office. We could have lunch together every day.” Ruby inhaled her coffee’s aroma. “By the way, you have to drop by your parents’ house today. I finished reviewing their will. I’ve made some markings on it, issues they should raise with their lawyer.” Antonio rubbed his chin. “Where is it?” “By your keys.” “Does it have to be today?” “They’re your parents,” she said. “You’re a big boy. Do what you want. I’ve done my part.” “Yes, you have.” “They love me, you know.” “Yes, they do,” said Antonio. “Probably more than me. You’re perfect. Me, I’m an ingrate.” “No, Tony. You just don’t know how good they are.” “That’s what I mean. Nothing but an ingrate.” “Anyway, there are some pretty big holes in the will that should be plugged. I would have written the whole thing for them but they refused. Had to spend their limited money on some solo practitioner who goes to their church.” “Yes, my parents are stupid people.” “I’m not criticizing them. It’s actually very sweet.” “Sweet and stupid, then. And I’m still an ingrate.” “Yes, you are. But you’re my ingrate.” Antonio stood up and walked to Ruby. He leaned his chin on the top of her head. He could smell her strawberry shampoo. “Why do I love you, Tony?” “Because I’m a certified genius.” “No, that’s not it. Besides, I haven’t seen the certificate yet.” “It’s in the mail. So maybe it’s the massive slabs of muscle I’ve developed at the gym. That, and my huge schlong.” “Ah,” Ruby sighed as Antonio moved his hands to her breasts. “That’s the reason. Your huge schlong. I forgot about that.” “How could you?” he said softly. Ruby closed her eyes as Antonio rubbed her nipples through her silk blouse. His dream popped back into his head; he grew hard. “Can you stay a little longer?” Ruby pulled forward so that his hands slid off her. “I wish, Tony. I wish. But I’ve got this appellate argument in two days and I’m doing a little moot court today with the partners.” Antonio sighed. She stood up and snuggled into him. “Sorry, mi amor. Sorry.”
“Today, I’m going to be the sunshine that isn’t out there,” the trainer said in a too-loud chirp. She was right, thought Antonio. Not that she’s going to be a little ray of sunshine for the sweaty patrons at the Spectrum Club, but that it was rather cloudy outside, which he hadn’t really noticed before this. Antonio broke into a jog just to escape her voice. Once safely in the weight room, he scanned the area where stationary bicycles stood like squat, metallic soldiers in front of enormous overhead TVs. Too damn crowded today. But there was a bike for him, at the end by the StairMasters. Antonio settled into a cushioned seat with a sigh. He programmed the bicycle for thirty minutes at a level grade, level five resistance. He cracked his book and started to read Raskolnikov’s rant about his sister’s suitor. But Ruby’s question from this morning ran through his mind. Why did she love me? Why would she ask? Antonio looked around. He saw a few young, handsome guys who could easily steal Ruby away, provided they had a steady job and some kind of college degree, things that were important to Ruby. And why shouldn’t they be? When she’s thirty-five, I’ll be fifty. When she’s forty-five, I’ll be sixty! Lost in his own thoughts, inadvertently he’d kept his gaze on one particular young man doing a military press. The guy now noticed Antonio, and smiled very, very broadly. Antonio dived back into Raskolnikov’s troubles. Antonio went home and showered. He usually felt refreshed after a good workout, but right now he only felt drained. After drying and dressing, he saw that the answering machine flashed at him. “Mijo,” the thin, old voice said. “We’re home now. Come on by anytime. Your father and I would love to see you. And thank Ruby for all her hard work.” Antonio sighed. He grabbed his wallet and car keys and the marked-up will and drove in a sulk to his parents’ house. On the way there, he felt as if a chunk of the freeway sat on his chest. He tried to calm himself by breathing deeply the way Ruby taught him. Imagine a peaceful scene whenever you feel stressed out, she had told him. Like what? he had asked. Imagine you’re lying on a blanket on a deserted beach, the wonderful warm sun is relaxing every muscle and the waves are hitting the sand in a perfect rhythm. And her simple little idea had worked! So, as he got on the freeway and headed to his parents, Antonio thought about this peaceful scene, and he breathed deeply. He imagined, as best he could while driving, a deserted Venice Beach, the one he always went to when he was young. With each deep breath, the image of the stretch of perfect, peaceful beach became clearer and clearer until it stood in his mind in sharp focus. He saw himself lying on his belly soaking up the warm, loving sun. The waves licked the sand in an almost erotic way. Ah! The weight on Antonio’s chest began to lift, ever so slowly, and easy breathing became his friend, his confidant, his lover. But something was wrong. The waves came closer with each crash on the shore. The warm foam touched his hand. Now the water consumed Antonio’s arm, embraced his shoulder. The water now tickled his ear. In no time, the Antonio’s head was submerged! Despite vicious honks from a black SUV, he pulled over to the freeway’s shoulder. Screw the beach, he thought. Screw it. Antonio pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house, got out, and peered about the old neighborhood. There were not many changes since he was a kid except it all felt so crowded and somewhat dingier. He worked his way over the unevenly-laid brick walkway that his parents had put down with their own hands when he was no more than ten. Antonio had not even rested his foot on the cement porch’s first step before his mother opened the heavy oak door. “¡Mi cielo!” she cried in what sounded to Antonio like a dog’s yelp. “Hi Mom.” “Come, come. I have some nice albondigas for you.” She gave him a tight hug and kissed his chin, which required her to stand on her toes. I hate albonigas, thought Antonio. “Thank you Mom. No one can make albonigas like you do. Not even Abuelita could.” They entered the kitchen and the soup’s heavy aroma overtook Antonio’s senses. He felt dizzy. “Please, sit,” his mother said. “Your father will be down in a second. He was napping.” Antonio sat at the round table and immediately grabbed a paper napkin to fiddle with. “He’s napping a lot these days, isn’t he?” “Mijo,” laughed his mother, “he’s almost eighty. What do you expect?” She walked over to a steaming pot and ladled out a massive serving of albonigas into a brown, cracked bowl. With great care, she brought it to Antonio. “Mom, he’s only seventy-four. He’s not almost eighty.” “He’ll be eighty before you know it,” she answered as she poured three cups of coffee in such rapid succession that Antonio was taken aback for a moment. She stirred in a large helping of cream and handed him a mug that had a picture of a happy Santa Claus on one side and a smiling reindeer on the other. “Before you know it!” As these last words fell from her mouth, as if by magic, Antonio’s father appeared. “Before I know what?” said his father. Antonio stood and hugged his father. He felt bony and small to Antonio and smelled slightly sour, unwashed. He didn’t hug Antonio back. “Sit, Tony. Sit.” Antonio released his father and sat, pulling the papers from his shirt pocket. “I brought the will,” he said, sounding somehow apologetic. “Ruby made some comments in the margins.” “Ah! Ruby!” exclaimed his father. “How is that pretty lady?” Antonio looked down at his cup of coffee. The cream still swirled about. “Fine. Making big bucks.” “The money’s not important,” said his mother as she sat down. “You make plenty.” Antonio didn’t like the direction of the conversation. His hands grew moist and he could feel the perspiration beading up on his scalp. “So, Pops,” he said, “the car running okay?” “You certainly do make plenty enough money,” said his father. “Enough to buy a nice casa, enough to start a familia.” “Your Papá did it on a lot less,” offered his mother. “He drove a bus his whole life and we never wanted, did we?” “I want a family,” Antonio almost whispered. “El que mucho habla, poco logra,” snorted his father. “You have to act if you want something.” Antonio took a great gulp of coffee and burned his mouth in the process. Ever since his divorce from Leticia six years ago, which required the selling of his small but beautiful North Hollywood home, his parents never lost a chance to push for another stab at marriage because, after all, what is old age without the joy of grandchildren? The responsibility weighed heavily on Antonio’s shoulders since his baby sister, Ana, died as a sophomore at Brown. They called it an accident but Antonio never had figured out how someone could accidentally wash down a whole bottle of sleeping pills with a tumbler of Jack Daniels. “Look,” Antonio began, “she’s not ready.” “She?” said his father. “You’re the hombre.” “If you asked, she’d say yes,” smiled his mother. “How could she not?” Antonio looked around the kitchen. The back of his shirt was drenched. He noticed Diablo, the old Siamese cat, dozing on the TV while Oprah mutely discussed a novel with its author, a white, bald, bearded man who smiled and nodded just a bit too much. If only I could be Diablo and sleep the day away, he thought. What a perfect existence. “Leticia was a mistake,” continued his mother. “We told you that from the beginning but we stayed out of it after you made up your mind. Ruby, on the other hand. ¡Ay! We couldn’t ask for a sweeter girl!” Antonio wanted to tell his mother that Ruby was indeed a sweet girl. So sweet that she let him have anal sex every so often. “Yes, she’s sweet,” he said instead, keeping his eyes on Oprah. His mother tapped his arm. “We only want the best for you,” she said. His father nodded. How could they know what’s best for me if I don’t know what’s best for me? He let his eyes wander first over his mother’s face, and then his father’s. Who are these old people? His father was never very imposing physically, he was always small-boned, waif-like, and age only exaggerated this trait. His mother was built similarly though she had large hands and feet, too large for her little frame. From the beginning they looked like fraternal twins, with large, brown eyes and perpetual half-smiles that looked like they had just been crying but were trying to be good troopers. Standing together, they reminded Antonio of novelty ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers. There was nothing stupid about them, of course; Antonio just liked to say that to push Ruby’s buttons. The most embarrassing thing about his parents was that, in the end, they were remarkably ordinary when compared to the characters who inhabited the old neighborhood. Antonio simply didn’t understand how he came from them, out of their love-making. They tried to raise Antonio to be a good man, a man who would do what they’d done: marry and raise a family. But in this one true mission of their lives they seemed to have failed. “Leticia was not right for you,” his mother repeated. She was right, of course. Where Leticia was small-minded, voluptuous and content to work at the Ralph’s checkout stand, Ruby was well traveled, petite, on the fast track to partnership. Leticia’s clever and energetic ways in bed had made Antonio stupid so that when the marriage finally fell apart under its own weight, all he could think about was not being able to sleep with her again. “How you married her we’ll never know,” said his father. She screwed my brains out, that’s how, Pops. “Nobody’s perfect, Pops. Especially me.” After a silence, his mother said, “Please, eat your albonigas. They’re getting cold.” “Yes, Mom,” Antonio said. He took a spoonful. “Delicious.” “Anything for mijo,” she said. “Anything.”
“Get up, you bastard!” cried a hard, familiar male voice from behind. Antonio realized that the handles were those of some kind of wagon. He tried to turn but couldn’t move his neck. Another crack of the whip made Antonio stand and start pulling the wagon. “You lazy bastard!” yelled the unseen man. Antonio lifted his head and saw his parents, Ruby and his late sister standing in a huddle at the side of the road. “Don’t hurt my boy!” yelled his mother through tears. “Antonio, my love! Don’t lose your spirit!” Ruby cried. “Listen to Ruby!” his father said. Antonio’s sister was the only one who didn’t say a word. She simply stood there, smiling faintly, looking radiant. CRACK! This time Antonio fell to both knees. “Get up!” yelled the man. “Get up or I’ll kill you!” “You can’t!” cried his mother. “You can’t!” Antonio heard the man jump from the wagon and land on the asphalt with a loud thud of work boots. “He’s bought and paid for!” answered the man. “I’ll do what I want!” The man let Antonio feel his fury with a rhythmic whipping that, with each contact, made Antonio shrink further into himself. Though near death, Antonio wanted to see the face of his torturer, his killer. With great effort he turned his head. After a moment or two, through blood that ran down his forehead, he could make out the man’s features. “You!” yelled Antonio. “It’s you!” The man who stood over Antonio was Antonio himself. A younger version, yes, but clearly it was his own face that he looked into. With a last crack of the whip, Antonio woke. Ruby stirred beside him. The blue light of the clock showed that he had been asleep no more than an hour. Antonio could see the soft outline of Ruby’s face. He touched it gently before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom. He shut the door before turning on the light. He closed the toilet seat, sat and rubbed his face with both hands. It was a warm night so they’d kept the small, high bathroom window open. Antonio looked up and, even without his glasses, he could see a bright moon hidden by a bit of cloud. He stood and walked to the window. The crickets were so loud they could have been in the room with him. A faraway ambulance rushed to its destination. Antonio reached to scratch his chin but stopped short with a sharp pain that ran from the middle of his back to the top of his shoulder. He slowly continued the movement of his arm until his hand eventually reached his chin. Antonio scratched hard. “Tony?” Ruby stood in the doorway wearing only a very short T-shirt. “You okay?” she said without moving into the bathroom. Antonio closed the window and walked to her. “I’m fine, mi amor. Perfectly fine.” He slid hands around Ruby’s tiny waist and rested his open palms on the small of her back. He smelled her tousled hair before kissing her head. “Thank you,” she said. “For what?” “For seeing your parents. Your mother called after you left their place.” Antonio opened the window and searched for the moon but the cloud had completely devoured it. “What did Mom say?” Ruby rubbed her red eyes. “Oh, that you’re a wonderful boy and when are we going to get married and give them grandchildren.” Antonio turned to her. “What? She said what?” She laughed. “Well, she didn’t say all that exactly. But I could read between the lines. I’m a brilliant lawyer, remember?” Antonio let out a little laugh. “And what did you say?” “I told her that you were wonderful and that I loved you.” “Let’s go to bed.” Ruby put her arm around Antonio’s waist and guided him towards the bedroom as if he were a child. “Bedtime for Bonzo.” “Bedtime for Bonzo,” Antonio said. “Bedtime for Bonzo.”
When Ruby had finished filling Antonio with his transgressions, the hole slowly closed until he felt nothing but a burning sensation. In his dream, Ruby kissed the small of his back and then rolled over to sleep. Antonio awoke. Ruby lay beside him in precisely the way she appeared to sleep in his dream. He touched her hair; it tickled his fingertips. Antonio smiled and nestled his head deeply into the pillow but kept his eyes on Ruby. He murmured, “Ruby, Ruby,” like a mantra. Within a few minutes, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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