An aroma glides through the air teasing the senses like a belly dancer wafting her scarves around the olfactory leading a blind man back to the kitchen. Dinner was on the stove. Carne Asada with tortillas and fresh Pico de Macho fill the air. Rosalina had been there. Trudy despises Mexican food! She can't even say jalapeño, much less know what the hell it is! Rosalina...sweet Rosalina...a savior for his moment. A hot meal not out of a foil tray with the dessert slot cut out. To think he missed her. She had to be here three or four hours. Disappointment showers his soul. Visions of her standing in front of the stove. . stirring carne. . in a tight, low cut, denim shirt. . . spilt cotton skirt. . .her rose tattoo winding around her ankle. . .to think he missed her.
A letter on the table:
"Mr. Jerry,
Call me before it gets like this again. Come visit me and I'll give you a good haircut and hot shave. We can enjoy tequila from the bottle of Tres Generaçions my sister brought back from Juarez last week.
Love,
Rosalina Gonzales"
Lenae said he should ask her to move in. He wouldn't be lonely and the house would stay clean. She wouldn't worry about him so much if he had some company. Old dog. Rosalina is a good lady. Lost her husband in a training exercise out in the field at the fort. She decided to stay in Leavenworth cause her sister was married to a Major stationed there. She was the only family in the states.
He fixes a plate, grabs two beers, and moves to the living room. Turning on the tube, he melts in to the lazy boy and kicks his feet up.
"Damn good", He mumbles as he sops up the last bit of sauce.
He drains his second beer and heads to the kitchen for a refill.
Leaving the dirty plate and fork in the sink, he starts the cycle over again. Grabbing two more beers, he melts in to the recliner. Posturing for an evening of surfing, he glances at the couch and notices a lonely shawl draped over the back waiting to warm chilled feet. The glare of the TV and the fake sincerity of the game show host amplify his solitude. No one to share in his "Wheel of Torture" answers. He catches a glimpse of the telephone next to the couch.
He hadn't heard it ring in months. What the hell sound did it make anyway? The need to hear the voice of another human lured him to the phone. He didn't know whom to call, but his ears begged to hear a voice, a whisper, or syllables of civilization. Even a recorded operator would do. Flipping through the Rolodex searching for a voice to listen.
A beacon in the darkness...
Ah! Hadn't heard from Bob in years....
Wonder if he's....
He dials in excitement but hesitates on the last number . . .
then pushes it...one ring...two
"Hello", a woman answers.
"Hey... uh...Bob in?", unexpectedly mumbling.
"Just a second...here he is...", she passes the phone.
"Hello?" wondering whom it may be.
"How ya' doin'?", with a sure Midwest draw
"Fair. And you?"
"Not bad, not bad. You don't know who this is do ya?", slow and slightly slurred.
"Sure I do...what ya' up to Jerry?", inquisitively. Hadn't heard from him in four years.
"I was lookin' for a number, an uh, yours...it was on top."
A long silence follows.
The tension crawled in his throat.
"How's that new out fit treatin' ya'? They still a workin' ya' like a hoss?" His voice wavered on every word.
"Na, this is a good bunch to work for...Reasonable...They think you should have a home life."
"Well that's mighty decent of'em." His mind searching for the next words to say.
"You still playin' with the cars? Thought I might run in to ya' down here lookin' for parts."
"Yah...I was in Waco last May pickin' up my "New Baby".
Thought about stoppin' in and seein' if you'd like to slam a shot or two. Figured you'd be too busy."
"New baby?"
Yah...a rare 62 caddy...drove her on a flat bed back ta Kansas and got her lookin' cherry now...she runs like there's no tomorra!"
"Great! Hey...how's your wife doin'? How's Trudy?"
"I...", a waver in his voice, "I'm sorry...she...passed...", tears drenching every syllable. "She finally called it quits in June...She couldn't fight it anymore..."
"I'm sorry to hear that Jerry..." A long silence falls over the line.
"It's ok...you didn't know...."
The cat strolls across the side board knocking over a fresh vase of flowers left by Rosalina.
"I gotta small accident to take care of Bob...the cats done left me in a mess.", breathing a sigh of relief.
"Take care Jerry...call any time."
He slowly cleans up the broken vase and water on the floor. He throws away the glass and flowers as he passes the empty garage sale dish of food on the floor. Picking it up, he rinses it clean before filling it with a fresh can of nine lives. He turns out the lights and heads upstairs.
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