Author's Note
I go to Facebook every day. I had heard of how some people became blocked by others and wondered about the psychological fallout from such an action.
CHAPTER SIX
The morning Steve got sucker-punched was when Manny was in town, unnanounced, and using his sister's house to get cleaned up after his trip.
Peggy was at work.
Fresh out from a shower and wrapped in his damp towel, scoundrel that he is, Manny could not help himself but to snoop around the house. He found himself lingering near Peggy's computer, intrigued by a yellow stick-em he noticed attached to the monitor frame. Written on it appeared to be a shopping list, however, the last item was not avacados or lemons, but the words, "MUST BLOCK from FB - Steve Evans". It was underlined twice and highlighted in neon orange marker. Manny laughed with a short grunt as several water droplets splashed down onto the keyboard. "Humpf" he mumbled, "Must be a real bastard."
Dressed in the latest sweats and exuding the annoying aroma of the Aqua Velva he was saturated in, he placed his Bono-style shades up onto his head, and determined it was time to leave. He gathered his Fossil Estate Leather Portfolio briefcase, duffel bag and Kendo shinai case and got ready to leave. A thought popped into his mind, making him snicker. He hesitated at the door and opened the briefcase. Laughing to himself, he pulled out an 8"X10" color glossy of himself. With a Sharpie he quickly scribbled across the chest area-
"Thanks for the use of your shower sis.
Your Big Bro-
The Mansta."
He leaned the photo carefully against a bowl of apples on the kitchen table, grabbed an apple, and almost choked while taking a bite and chuckling to himself. He was about to exit when he heard footsteps on the porch.With a sticky, wet hand, he slowly moved aside the curtain to see out the front door. There was a man standing there with a box of flowers.
Steve e-mail - Mon, 11 Jun 2012:
"I know you won't answer this, and I've told myself I would respect your request to discontinue communications, however, I made the mistake of trying to apologize in-person and was wondering if you would kindly explain what happened. Just who was that guy that smacked me down on your porch? He sounded like he knew me? What made him so mad to do that? I really would like to know.And since I have your attention, I just want to say here that I really miss you. Steve
P.S. "It's such a shame our friendship had to end." Prince - Purple Rain"
Peggy e-mail - Mon, 11 June 2012: "After I blocked you, you gave up so easily, not even a verbal fight to defend yourself, to win me back. I do care. What guy? My porch? When?"
Steve gasped aloud, shoved away from the computer, and stared at her words with his mouth open. A gurgle erupted from his stomach. Acid rose to his throat.
He headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.
What the fuck!?! "Steve, get a grip. End the obsession", he told himself. He reached into the vegetable drawer, grabbed Tofurky slices, then rye bread, Veganese, a tomato and a beer. He rubbed his chin and discovered he hadn't shaved in days.
The rain outside peppered his aluminum patio awning with apocalyptic resonance, pissing him off and creating more reflective thinking. He began to shake. He added a shot glass to the lunch and filled it with his favorite 1800 tequila. He cut the sandwich. The aluminum bullets grew louder. He sucked off something from his thumb. Blood? No, the fake mayo stuff. Pausing, he dropped the knife and leaned heavily on the cutting board. Bending forward, head down and closing his eyes, he felt himself welling up.
The tears rolled down like heavy agave nectar slowly entering into the corners of his mouth. The rain, in contrast, shouted with noisy insults, arrogant, bullying, punishing. Unnerving him. Steve could not help thinking of the words he just read, going over and over in his head: "...not even a verbal fight to defend yourself, to win me back?" He turned to the sink and threw up.
Deciding instead to get cleaned up, he went into the bathroom to shave, turning on the radio for some music to chill with. But his thoughts still rambled on.
"I was the one who foolishly told myself she really loves me every time I got "poked". I was the one who became addicted. Maybe I'm crazy? Maybe she's crazy! It's all folly!"
Being blocked had tested Steve on many levels; spiritual, emotional, even physical. Her withdrawal from him was teaching him a lot about himself. After all, he reasoned, it started as an accidental, new, different, exhilirating experience. "But...
...if I could've made her stay I wouldn't be wandering, lost, in search of some coherent meaning to my place in life. The fact is, this situation needs closure if I'm going to keep my sanity, my mind and yes, my wife. This new turn of events demands a response. Begs for one! It was as if she had now teased me by confessing there actually was the potential for us to get closer. It's arousing a deeper desire for her friendship."
He lathered his face with shaving cream, picked up the razor and, turning up the volume to a Michael Jackson song, he stared at his image as though for the first time. "Who is this man in the mirror?"
As he uncovered his face with each stroke, he began to recall what a co-worker had said some time ago, and yes, he had to agree with him, that he very much did pass for a clone of Phil Dunphy from Modern Family.
He decided to wait before responding to her questions.
On her belly in red dirt, on the morning she went out on her photo safari, Peggy manually focuses her lens to capture the native state bird, a black and white Lark Bunting. "SO elegant!" she thinks, "His call seems to say, "hey-hey-hey-hey-I'M-A-PRETTY-bird-I'M-A-PRETTY-bird-AREN'T-I-AREN'T-I??"
Nearby, out of sight, a deer watches her. Taking a few shots of the bird, Peggy then gets up on her knees to rise just as the deer attempts to leap over her body. They collide, sending Peggy tumbling twice over in pain as the dust cloud above her face is pierced by the ghost-like, firm, taupe-haired belly of the animal sailing over her body. Peggy wasn't afraid; only startled, yet disappointed her camera might have been harmed. Her ribs ached sharply for a split second, then not, then nothing...
Peggy's dream...
I guess it's been a long time in coming she thought. Rising carefully and slowly, she looked in the direction of the deer. Gone. Turning ahead, Peggy took several steps and was at the edge of the canyon. One of her favorite overlook spots. Holding out her arms she yelled out, "But I'm alive! I'm alive!"Her echo made her smile. Other birds scrambled out of the nearby brush and life was vibrant once again. She turned to checking her camera for damage. Zooming in on the last image revealed a blurry face behind a bush of screaming deers. The image suddenly transforms into a slow-mo video re-focusing the almost-hidden, mysterious face. It was Steve. He fell down, mixing deep into the layers of forest duff. He began to sink. Peggy screamed in horror. Steve vanished.
She woke. A film of sweat coated her forehead. She felt a lump under her chest stabbing her. It was her camera, now painted in smudges of red clay, dust, and weeds. It was intact. The deer had run off. Peggy was pissed.
After their Craiglist purchase, Sarah and Steve stopped at a nearby yardsale.
As Sarah lifts a framed print of a bird signed "P. Irish, The Dryad" out of a bin, Steve sees someone in the distance who looks like Peggy leave a hardware store in a burgundy Jeep.
"Steve, this is the one I saw before. I think I want to get it. Do you like it as much as I do?"
Sarah holds the framed print of Colorado's state bird up for Steve to judge, completely blocking his view of the Jeep.
"Steve? What do you think?"
Moving his head slowly to one side he focuses on the Jeep pulling away. The rear window has the Sea Shepard decal. It is confirmed. It is Peggy.
"Steve, I'm waiting. What are you looking at?"
"Oh yeah, love it. Let's get it."
Steve sighs and tries to remind himself that at the end of the day, family is everything. Sarah is the love of his life. She's promised to give him a lifetime supply of happiness. He walks towards the disappearing Jeep, mulling over the words in the Panic Disorder brochure he picked up the other day:
" ...strangers you interact with in passing may have lasting impressions and even change you as a person."
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Excerpt from Chapter Seven
Steve attempts to take pictures and also gets arrested. The cops put them in choke holds while Peggy's eyes and Steve's eyes are pepper-sprayed. Blocked becomes "Jailed!"