More of This World or Maybe Another by Johnson Barb

Author:Johnson, Barb [Johnson, Barb]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

Killer Heart

Dooley and Tina are fighting. Or not fighting, Dooley guesses, but discussing. That’s what Tina calls it, anyway. They have most of their discussions while their three-year-old daughter, Gracie, is at her grandmother’s across the lake. Today Dooley decides that if he shows a positive attitude and keeps his comments to a minimum, they might be able to wrap things up in the next little bit. There’s a show about the Louisiana black bear coming on in half an hour, and Dooley hopes he won’t have to miss it.

“It’s just that you’re so impulsive, Dooley,” Tina says, shifting to the general list of his faults. She’s pacing back and forth, back and forth, like a little engine that’s powered by fussing.

Tina keeps a record of old mistakes handy on a constant loop, one finger always hovering over the play button. During any dispute, when she’s through with what is currently troubling her, she presses that button and everything stored on the loop begins to replay. In their house, the past is never over. The good news, though, is that once Tina gets to the Great Loop of Faults, it usually means the discussion is coming to an end.

“You never think things through,” Tina goes on. “There’s never a plan for anything.”

“Maybe so,” Dooley says in his upbeat, fight-ending tone, “but everything in the world can’t be planned out, Tina. Gracie wasn’t planned,” he says, “and aren’t you glad we have her?”

Instead of ending the discussion, this seems to wind Tina up even more. She starts back in with his faults, reciting one after another as though she’s building a case. Dooley leans back in his big blue recliner and goes on clipping his toenails. He wonders if maybe he can get one of those prefab storage sheds for the backyard. He needs a place he can go to be alone and play his guitar as loud as he wants. If he soundproofs it, he can use the little shed as a recording studio.

Dooley misses his music, and he hasn’t been able to make Tina understand that driving a forklift all day, picking up crates and moving them from one place to another, makes him feel trapped and lonely. He didn’t move to New Orleans to drive a fucking forklift. A couple of months ago, for his twenty-second birthday, Dooley sat in with his old band. He told Tina that he wanted to start playing with them again, and the selfishness of this wish is one of the many items stored on the playback loop.

Tina heaves a sigh, and Dooley imagines that she’s finally going to put the brakes on. That’s when he’ll get up from his recliner and go to her. He’ll pull her close, hug her head to his chest so she can hear that his heart is still full of love for her. “Baby,” he’ll say. “I’m not built for arguing. You know that. I’m built for love.” And he’ll say he’s sorry if he made her sad or mad or frustrated, depending on which she is.

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