Bilbo Anderson believes his life truly began the day after his sister’s wedding, where he knocked a bridesmaid unconscious and overturned the wedding party table as Old Time Rock’n Roll played in the background. Today those thoughts are far away from him as he hangs by a coat sleeve from the second story gutter of his red and white suburban home. It was her eyes, her goddamn…her god blessed eyes that did it. While on the roof fixing the position of the digital satellite dish, he saw the Virgin Mary in the upstairs window of the house across the street.

Bilbo’s wife, the woman he knocked over at his sister’s wedding, was at the grocery store picking up a few things. Whenever this line came out, Bilbo’s checkbook lost a few digits. She would call him from the car phone and say, “Honey, I’ll be home in a couple minutes. Can you help me with the groceries?”

She’d swart in minutes afterwards with her arms filled with paper and plastic bags. They got paper because Bilbo’s wife was convinced they’d begin recycling. Bilbo’s response to this was always, “Whenever they make it cheaper to recycle than not to, I’ll make the effort.” This was a biweekly conversation.

And now, as he hangs from the roof, he wishes he had recycled these past years and the horrible thought strikes him that the Virgin Mary’s appearance was a sign for him to recycle. If so, then his fall might be the result of subconscious guilt and this was just karma coming around. He groans and looks to the hilt of the street, praying for his wife to return with her bags of groceries and that she got all paper bags this time. He closes his eyes. I will never throw away another can in my life.

“Bill, what the hell you doin up there,” his next door neighbor asked from the ground.

“Glen, Jesus Christ, Glen, get me down from here. I was, I was, and I fell, and I’ve just been, just get me down, Glen.”

His voice was hoarse. I’ll cancel every channel except that one with that guy that always talks about God, the asshole, I mean the preacher in the expensive suits who runs that church up north with the compound and the school and the car dealership, I wonder if they give special rates to church members?

“Jesus, Bill, what the hell were you doin up here?” Glen was pulling him back onto the roof.

“I was trying to fix the god da..the fu…the stupid satellite, Glen.”

He was back on his feet and grabbed Glen’s gloved hand and shook it. “Thanks, Glen, I don’t know what could’ve, well, thanks you know.”

“No problem, Bill. Just call me next time you have roof work. Jesus.”

As he was climbing down the ladder, his wife pulled into the driveway. The car sputtered and clicked. He looked at her through the windshield. She was smiling. He was sweating. He walked around to the back and lifted the trunk lid after it popped. He saw a field of double handled plastic. He thundered to her card door, opened it, and with a gargling gravel voice said, “Where the hell’s the god damn paper sacks.”

©2000 Joshua Minton

[Post to Twitter] Tweet This

If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to my RSS feed!

You Should Also Check Out This Post:

More Active Posts: