Fuckin' Fiction

The next day Marion wasn’t at work. He searched for her on the schedule but she must have been listed under her last name or something. The next day she wasn’t there either. He wondered if it was a dream. Marion was there the next day. As he was walking by her in the kitchen he waved and mumbled “hi”. Marion didn’t acknowledge him. This continued for the evening shift. He began to feel not only rejected, but just like a shit head, violating someone else’s privacy, someone else’s life. He served his shift, make less than meager tips, most likely because of his morose attitude…oh who the fuck was he kidding he always felt like serving her was like working at a shit hole, maybe just tonight it shined through more. At the end of his shift he went into a closet, it had racks of coke syrup boxes on shelves like the one’s Marion had been setting on the night that he met her, except these went to the ceiling, other than these racks and the ice machine, and himself, nothing else fit in this closet. He locked the door. He through his mandatory vest against ice machine then punched on of the syrup boxes hard…to hard, syrup spurted all over his shirt, he was stick and gross and full of hate for himself. He sat there with syrup squirting, then finally just dripping all over him. After he felt sorry for himself long enough he left the closet, calmly grabbed a new syrup box to replace the broken one. A cook asked “What the hell happened!!”, “It just exploded on me, I don’t know”. He replaced the syrup box, and through the old one away. He walked out the back employee exit covered in syrup caring his relatively clean vest. And Marion was standing there smoking a cigarette. He stopped stunned. “What you think just because you let me sleep at your place once, I owe you something” she paused, took a drag and continued “Cause that’s not the way it is”, “No I just, that’s..”, he sighed and started to walk away. “What the hell are you covered in?”, He stopped, “Oh it’s syrup, the syrup exploded.”. “That’s rough”, “Yeah, you know shit happens”.”Hey look, my roomies are at again, you mind if I stay at your place again….I’ll help you get the syrup out of that shirt, I know those tuxedo shirts we have to wear are expensive”. “Actually, I’d like that very much”. They took his car to his apartment. The car ride was awkwardly silent. Like awful awkwardly silent. When they got there he asked if she wanted something to change into, and she said she wanted a baggie t-shirt. So when he came back he had changed into an old black tee with a few holes in it. And through here a large T-shirt with a Bukowski print he had gotten from etsy. She pulled her tuxedo shirt off, and embarrassed he quickly turned around. She helped him through his sticky tuxedo shirt and black pants into the dryer. And they set down. He put some yo la tengo on the record player. And something happened. They started to talk. They talked about similar bands they liked. They talked about goals and the future. They talked about their parents….they both got upset. He shared about how his mom was delusional from drinking to much and taking pills prescribed from multiple doctors she had tricked. She talked about her abusive father. He started to tear up…..Then it happened. She told him about how, she didn’t feel like a woman at all, that she felt like she should be a boy, man. They both cried.

That night, they made love. Everything changed. Everything was different. Everything was odd. Everything was uncomfortable, but everything was better. And he loved Marion.

We lived in the city. I had lived there since graduating from a private University, the option was to go back home to the folks, or to get an immediate job and work towards something better. I became a server at a semi upscale restaurant, where the business people rolled on in a lil before five, to stuff themselves with fourteen dollar appetizers, martinis and imported beers. I had a nasty attitude about them with the other servers. I was polite to them of course, but as soon as I was in the kitchen I would make jokes about how they were getting plastered so laying down with their wives tonight wouldn’t be so bad. I really thought I was a witty guy. One night a lot of that changed. I was finishing up my shift I can’t passing someone who was sitting on the racks of soft drink boxes that feed into the carbonation machine. Their face in their hands. I asked one of the servers, “What’s his deal”.”I think she just got dumped or something, she’s been crying like that for an hour, someone’s covering her tables for an hour.” I approached …Marion, and I asked what was up. And could then here gentle sobbing. “I just want to be alone, just LEAVE”, “Woah, hey now  What’s up do you need anything?”. She quit crying, and she looked up at my face. her eyes were a little swollen from crying, but she was gorgeous, despite it. “Look, I can start doing my closing duties in a minute, and I’m outta here”. I suddently became aware that I was a “shift leader”, or some imaginary title that supposedly gave me power but no raise. “Oh no don’t worry about it, I’ll get those taken care of you, you have a car or a ride home”, she let out a single sob or a sign, I’m not sure which. “I..I walk.”, “Alright I’ll give you a ride home, you stay here, I’ll get everything taken care of”. I walked away into the dining area, and found my buddy Jimmy, he was from Boston, but you could only tell when he said “car”. “Hey Jimmy, you need some extra cash”, “Hell yea…err”, he paused realizing customers were around. “You do my closing and the new girls I’ll give you ten bucks”. “Dude, ten bucks?”, “Alright, 20″. “Sounds more like it, you do my closing tomorrow?”, “Don’t push it”,”Alright, Alright”.

I made my way back to the kitchen to find Marion and she wasn’t where she had been sitting I glanced around and didn’t see here, I hollered at a chef “Where’s the new girl”, he pointed towards the back employee exit. I ran out the exit. She was walking away from the restaurant through the massive parking lot. “Hey I yelled”, she didn’t respond. I ran after her. “Hey what’s up, I’ll give you a ride home, no big deal.”, “I don’t want to go home.”, “Oh where are you going?”, “I don’t know”, “Well why not go home?”, “I hate my room mates”, “Well you need a place to sleep, or somewhere to be”, “Just leave me alone” tears started to stream down her cheeks, though her facial expression was as stoic as I had ever seen. “Look this is weird I know, but you could sleep at my place”, “What are you some kind of creep”, “No it’s just that turnovers bad, and before you…quit serving tables, you were doing well, and I’ll sleep on the couch, I sleep on the couch anyway”. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU”, she screamed then slid to her knees bowing her head. At first he thought she was crying but she wasn’t. Apprehensively he bent down, grabbed one of her arms and slid it over his shoulder.He assisted her to his car, a beat up, 1987 Grand Marquis.He placed her gently. In the passengers side. He closed the door, and drove them to his apartment, he would glance over now and again, and just be calmed by her beauty. It was on the third floor and it was difficult to assist her walking to his apartment. As promised on entry she noticed the couch had full bed coverings including a sheet, a quilt, and several pillows. He walked her through the hallway to the bedroom in the back of the apartment, the room was totally sparse except and elegant wrought iron bed frame, and mattresses on top of it. He laid her on the bed, and left the room, He came back with covers and said, “My name is Tyler”, she responded “I’m Marion……Are you going to rape me?”, Tyler chuckled, and he said, “No, I’m going to love you, and that’s much worse.” Little did he know that statement very well might apply to both of them. He put the blankets at the foot of her bed and left the room.

He turned on some light music from a little stereo he owned, he  played something from the band “Low”. He couldn’t sleep for a bit, but eventually faded to slumber. A few hours later he awoke to Marion squeezing on the couch with him. He pretended to sleep, and once she was settled he put her arm over Marion’s stomach.

He awoke to Marion leaving, he had so much he wanted to say. He felt that someone had just disemboweled his emotions. He said nothing, because he had no idea how she felt. He hoped that she would be working tomorrow his next shift.

I’ve been dating her for about 7 months…maybe him, I don’t know. Hmm…You’re probably going to need an explanation on that. She was..he was… man this stuff makes me a little uncomfortable. Anyway Marion, feels that though she was born a woman, that her gender, her role, is that of a man. I don’t talk to my friends about this, I don’t know how Marion would feel about it, I don’t know how I would talk to them about it anyway. She has short hair, and wears t-shirts and shirts that button up. What you might imagine, I know. I have always been attracted to skinny women with short hair. I don’t know. Anyway today is worse than others. Sh…Marion is crying, she is confused, torn up that she doesn’t know herself , that she doesn’t know what to do or how to be…I guess, I’m inferring a lot, she tells me what she can, when she’s ready, I have to extrapolate a lot. It’s hard, it must be worse for her of course. I love Marion. It’s the only thing I know for sure anymore.
Sometimes after sex, s..Marion cries. Sometimes she just rolls over and doesn’t look at me. When she cries, sometimes I hold her because that’s what I think she wants, and sometimes I don’t because I think that’s what she wants. And sometimes I hold her, even though I think, I know, she doesn’t want it, but I need it.