Oh, Barb

“God damn it!”

The stink of motor oil kept my nostrils twitching.

It really was time to turn in that piece of junk.

Do you really think I am a piece of junk?

The old Buick’s headlights stared back at me and I sighed.

“Of course not, old girl. I’m just tired.”

Another twitch. Maybe a hint of diesel? How many leaks could a car have and still run? Well, all this sweat and other stuff sure are not helping either.

“Alright, Oliver. You can do this.”

Talking to myself in the third person? That was a new low.

Hard to believe, but it seems the loneliness was already settling in.

I grabbed one of the three remaining black bags and dragged it to the hard-shell suitcase near the Buick.

This thing was handy when traveling to all those conferences, but it sure would be nice if it was a bit bigger…

Black bag up, and black bag in the suitcase.

Splat.

My skin crawled with every bag.

“Man up, old man. We have to get going soon.”

I guess I really am just talking to myself now.

No matter.

As long as we can get going soon, there shouldn’t be any problems.

Only two bags to go.

Will they fit?

Fuck, the one on the right looks kind of long.

No matter, they have to fit.

I looked around the garage one more time.

Nothing.

There literally was nothing left to put this stuff in.

A box, even a cooler, would have helped.

No matter, no matter.

The bag on the right looked kind of light, let’s take that first.

It will fit.

Splat.

“God dammit.”

“That was a new jacket too…”

I rubbed at the spot, but the hungry fabric had already soaked in all the liquid.

Well, that’s what you get for wearing a white jacket.

Barb did warn me.

“You’ll only get it dirtier quicker, Ollie. Why do you want a white jacket anyway? Don’t you wear white enough at work? Or are you trying to look handsome for some young patient?”

God, her wink after saying that still made me smirk.

She really was something, my Barb.

Not a drop of jealousy in those strong bones.

Then again, what did she have to be jealous of? Everyone knew I was playing out of my league.

“Oh Barb.”

Loneliness really did hit quickly, didn’t it?

The Old fluorescent lights she had told me to change buzzed above, and I shook my head.

No matter, no matter.

Second-to-last bag up, and second-to-last bag in.

Splat.

Skin crawling.

It was all almost mechanical at this point.

I stared at the suitcase.

Then at the last bag.

It won’t fit.

It has to fit.

No way it will fit.

But it has to fit.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

I blinked and shook my head.

A small hammer was in my hand.

The beautiful wooden worktable I installed last year lay in front of me looking more like Swiss cheese than fine IKEA “oak.”

Splinters peppered the floor like the rice and confetti our friends and family had thrown at Barb and me when we left the church that beautiful June afternoon.

I touched my cheek.

Yes, I could still feel the warmth from the sun from that day if I put my mind to it.

And the joy.

Not happiness.

Joy.

The suitcase.

It was still there.

Sprawled on the wet floor. Five black bags packed neatly in it.

A sixth, longer bag lay half in and half sticking out.

Bang!

Jeez, Oliver, stop banging that hammer.

What are you? A damn judge?

Smoke came out of my nostrils as I huffed and puffed.

Had I turned off the heat? Or was it broken?

Barb must have turned it off.

Yes, yes. We sold the house. We need to get out of here. Of course, she turned off the heat. That would be the smart thing to do.

I am the dentist with a PhD, but somehow Barb was always the one doing the smart thing.

No matter. No matter.

We will be out of here soon.

We need to be out of here soon.

I looked at my watch.

It was almost 3 pm.

My fingers squeezed the hammer.

Stop.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The guest speaker in last year’s Dayton conference said three deep breaths should be enough to calm anyone down.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

I opened my eyes.

“Bless your heart, speaker lady.”

What to do now, though?

Everything needs to fit.

Half of the last bag stuck out of the suitcase like Jamie’s leg bone when she had that exposed fracture.

Barb really kept her cool that day. I was surprised she managed. Usually, she freaks out at the sight of blood from a little scrape.

The suitcase and the bags stared back at me from the floor.

No matter. No matter.

What to do, though?

“Hmmm… There you are!”

I grabbed the protruding bag and heaved it onto the splintered table.

Splat!

“This should do the trick.”

I dumped the contents of the bag onto the table and grabbed the rusty bone saw from its hanging place.

“God, when was the last time I used you? Last year, maybe? I didn’t get out hunting at all this season.”

Maybe now I will have some time.

After I am done with this.

I gritted my teeth and started sawing.

One, two, three—

Crack.

I lifted the bone saw and stared at a now broken blade.

Blam!

The bone saw smashed against the wall at the other side of the garage.

How?

How?

Wasn’t that a bone saw?

Why won’t it cut?

I looked at the watch.

Five minutes until three.

We need to leave. We need to leave.

It has to fit.

My fingers felt numb.

I looked down, and they were white as I squeezed the desk.

I let go.

My hand hovered over to the hammer.

“When in Rome…”

Blam!

Blam!

Blam!

The hammer sang with every hit. And most importantly, it did not break like that damned saw.

Crack!

I stopped.

I looked.

It worked.

It worked!

Ok. Ok.

I need a new bag.

No, I don’t have any more bags.

No matter. No matter.

It can fit in one bag.

It will fit.

It will fit for sure.

I carefully placed the contents back in their rightful bag.

Now that they were halved, it should be ok.

Squeeze them side to side—

Yes! Perfect!

Now I just have to put it in the suitcase, and we can get the hell out of here.

Ding Dong.

I froze.

No way.

I looked at the watch.

Two minutes past three.

No way.

I looked down at my hands.

They were so dirty.

Quick. Need to wash.

I ran to the utility sink.

My right foot slipped.

Bam!

“Ouch.”

Hip first, of course.

“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.”

God, that hurt.

Did I break something?

No, Oliver, of course not. You are not that old.

Well, I certainly hope so.

Ding Dong.

“Fuck.”

I struggled up.

My hip screamed. Maybe I was that old.

One step.

Two steps.

I was fine. It just hurt a bit.

No matter. No matter.

The water came out of the faucet in a rush.

Cold. So cold it hurt.

Hey, at least I am not focusing on the hip anymore, right?

Barb always did say I should focus on the bright side.

It was never too late to start.

That was also something she always said.

Oh, Barb.

I missed her.

Ding Dong.

Shit.

“Coming!”

Could they hear me from back here?

Wait. Would they come around to the garage?

No…

Speed up. Speed up.

I stared down at my hands.

Squeaky clean.

Good.

I caught a glimpse of my clothes in the mirror.

God damn it.

Shirt off.

Pants coming off as I walked to the garage door.

Thank god for Barb.

“Always keep a change of clothes here, Honey. You are always so dirty after you do anything in this garage.”

I slipped into the fresh clothes and went into the house.

Ding Dong.

Ding Dong.

“Coming!”

“God dammit.” I kicked off my shoes two steps into the house.

“No shoes in the house, Mister.”

Oh Barb.

I reached the door and turned the handle.

Nothing.

“Coming, coming,” I said, unlocking the deadbolt and finally opening the door.

“Heya, Neighbor!”

I had never realized how punchable Michael’s face was.

“Hey there, Mike. How can I help?”

He cocked his head.

“What do you mean, O?” Michael shook a pastry box in front of my face. “I told you I was bringing goodbye cannolis. At 3 pm, remember?”

He looked at his watch.

“Oh! Yes, yes! Of course,” I did my best to squeeze out a smile. That was why I kept looking at my watch. “Cannolis at three. Of course I remember.”

We stared at each other, the cold October breeze blowing past us and into the house.

“Are we eating on the sidewalk, or are you inviting me in?”

I shook my head and moved to the side.

“Of course, of course. Come in, please.”

Risking a look at the garage door, I watched Michael scoot in.

“Everything ok, Oliver?”

I just stared at him.

“Oliver?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Everything is fine, Mike.

“Sorry, I have just been a bit all over the place today.”

“I can imagine,” he said, eyes appraising the mostly empty house. “How long have you guys lived here?”

“Almost 25 years, I think. Barb is the one who keeps count, you know.” I gave him a pat on the back and walked ahead. “Here, let’s go to the kitchen.”

“It’s the same at home,” he laughed. “I could not tell you how old our dog is without Miranda correcting me.

“Hey, speaking of Barb. Where is she? I have enough cannolis for everyone.”

“Oh. Barb was right here—” The rest of the phrase faded back in. Never making it to my lips.

“Great! Let’s get her down here so we can eat.”

My eyes drifted from him to the stairs, and then to the garage.

“No, I meant she was here in the morning, sorry. Barb went ahead to the new apartment to get things ready.”

“Ok, but you just said—”

“Let me make some coffee,” I stumbled to the counter. “We can’t eat cannolis without a little espresso, am I right?”

“Okay,” Michael laughed. “You sure are a specimen, Oliver.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned back and shot me an incredulous look.

“Are you serious?” He waved around to the empty house. “You are all packed up, but the espresso machine is still plugged in?”

“Oh,” I chuckled and pushed a few buttons. “Us Italians, right?”

“Us indeed,” he said.

We waited in silence for a small eternity until the espresso machine dinged. Was it just me, or was the stank from the garage drifting in?

Nose twitching once again, I went and poured two espressos.

The sweet aroma of fresh coffee purged everything else, and even my shoulders relaxed.

“So, what’s next for you?” Michael asked, opening the box of pastries and placing it between us on the kitchen island.

What was next for me?

Loneliness, probably.

What would Barb say here? Something clever. Something hopeful.

Yes, something hopeful. God, I need to try to be more like her.

Oh, Barb.

“Oliver?”

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking,” I took a sip of the espresso. “It is a new beginning, I suppose. Full of new experiences and opportunities.”

Michael raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his face.

“Or that is what I am supposed to say, right?” I rubbed my forehead and shoved a cannoli in my mouth.

He laughed. “God, this move really is messing you up, isn’t it?”

“I guess you’re not wrong there.”

I was messed up.

I mean…

I have been talking to myself this whole time, right? Only, if I had to guess, it probably wasn’t the move messing me up.

“How’s Barb feeling about it?”

“Uh—” I stuttered. “You know… It’s always hard to tell with her.”

“I bet. My wife is the same. Outside the glass is always half full, but who knows what is going on in their heads? If only we could take a look, right?”

He motioned as if he were opening up a box and laughed.

“Yes, yes… I wonder…”

Another long silence as we chewed through a few more cannolis and finished our espressos.

“Sure you’re ok, Oliver?” Michael leaned forward, trying to keep eye contact.

My eyes darted away from his.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a lot of stress with moving and all.”

I picked up the cups and took them to the sink. The porcelain tinkled as my hands shook ever so slightly.

Michael waited.

Silence.

He sighed.

“Alright. I won’t pry anymore.

“But you know, even though we will not be neighbors anymore, you can still give me a call anytime. We will miss you around here, bud.”

My fingers tightened around the edges of the sink, and I took a deep breath.

A smile forced itself onto my face before I turned to face Michael.

“Same here, Mike. And we have to hit the golf course from time to time, right? I will only be an hour away.”

That prospect seemed to cheer him up.

“That’s right! I will hold you to that one!” He said, getting up and starting towards the door.

I followed right on his heels, the forced smile plastered on my face like a bad Botox treatment.

Michael opened the door, but stopped.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Do you want some help to finish painting the garage?”

My blood ran cold.

“What?”

“Painting the garage,” He pointed over my shoulder to the garage door. “I saw your shoes had some red paint on them.”

I tasted iron as my teeth dug into the inside of my lips. Meanwhile, my brain went into overdrive.

“Oh, yes! Painting the garage!” I half laughed, half yelled. Way too loud.

Michael took a step back.

“Sorry, sorry, my head is everywhere, you know,” I knocked on the side of my head twice. “Don’t get old, Mike. It does weird things to you.

“But no, thank you. I am almost done there. No need to take any of your time.”

“Are you sure? It’s no bother—”

“Yes! No need. No need, my friend,” I said, still way too loud. Why was my chest hurting?

Michael took another, smaller, step back.

He raised both hands.

“Alright, alright. I promise I won’t ask again, please don’t shoot me,” he laughed.

Silence.

I laughed. That was what I should do, right? It was a funny joke, right?

Please just go away.

“You’re a good neighbor, Mike. I will miss you too.”

He flushed. “Alright. Don’t get all sentimental on me now, old man. I’ll see you out on the green!”

He waved and walked down the driveway.

I stared.

I kept staring until he was on his driveway.

He looked back.

I waved.

Was I still smiling?

He waved and walked into his house.

I closed the door.

My head slumped onto the door.

Close.

I knocked on the door twice and pushed myself back upright.

Close, but still ok.

I took a few steps in and stopped.

On my tipsy toes, I snuck to the window and took a peek.

Nothing.

No sign of Mike or anyone else.

I let out the biggest breath of my life. God. How long had I kept that one in?

“You’re ok, Oliver. We’re ok.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right of course.”

My eyes wandered to the kitchen, where the two empty cups sat on the sink.

I shrugged.

No matter. No matter.

Someone else can pick that up.

I walked back to the garage, slipped on my dirty shoes, and went to finish the job.

The last bag seemed a bit lighter now.

Up, and into the suitcase.

It fit.

Perfect.

Who knew how hard it would be to fit your whole life into a suitcase?

“Well, all that matters is that it is done.”

I zipped up the suitcase and dumped it into the trunk of the old Buick.

Sinking into the driver’s seat, I turned the key. The exhaust spat a couple of times, but the engine started.

One click on the remote and the garage gate opened.

My eyes drifted to the empty passenger’s seat.

A sigh escaped me, and my stomach clenched.

“Oh, Barb…”

I put the Buick in gear and drove out into my new life.