Mr. Goodbar

Maggie looked at her eyes and winced at her reflection. There were puffy bags under them and she didn't like that tired look on her face. It made her look 10 years older and the guy at the counter hadn't even asked her for her ID when she was buying her morning pack of cigarettes earlier. What an asshole. But, now, as she looked at her eyes, she forgave him.

She had already had two cigarettes from her way back from the corner store and now she had to take a shit. Because that what cigarettes, along with many other things make you do sometimes--have to take a shit.

She sighed and splashed water on her face.

*************

The day was hot and the sun beat down hard. Maggie wondered where all her neighbors were. She lived on the second floor of a dingy apartment complex and still considered it a temporary abode even though she'd been there 5 years already. She leaned over the railing and exhaled. The cigarette shone in the glare of the sun.

Maggie looked left.

#213 usually left their door open and whenever she'd pass she'd see a 300 pound (in reality, probably 400 pound but who was weighing?) woman seated on the floor watching Jerry Springer with a banana in one hand and a candy bar (usually a Mr. Goodbar) in the other. But the door was closed today and you couldn't hear any wailings from the television.

Maggie looked right.

Benson and his current gay lover, Morad, was not to be seen either. Benson was from El Salvador and was teaching Maggie some Spanish. But since Morad had come into the picture, the lessons had become fewer and far between. One afternon Maggie had seen Morad knocking on Benson's door.

She'd said, "Que paso, hombre?" trying to be polite.

But Morad rolled his eyes and spitted, "Don't talk that broken Spanish with me, sister. You don't even know me." Benson opened the door, looked Maggie up and down and didn't say a word. He pulled Morad inside by the collar and Maggie listened to their sexual escapades through the thin walls for the rest of the night. How could she sleep with all that wall banging anyhow. Benson was probably coked up which reminded Maggie to ask him for another hit next time around.

******************
Maggie sat on the spinny bar stool and sipped her beer. Three guys had tried to hit on her.

#1: Hey beautiful. Want another drink cause I can't wait to see you hammered.

Maggie gave a polite smile and moved to the other side of the bar.

#2: Are you here alone...cause um..I'm here alone too. And since we're both alone why should two alone people be alone...

He continued on like this for another five minutes and he was just so pathetic Maggie couldn't cut him off in mid-depression. For a moment she thought he would break into sobs. She smiled and excused herself to the bathroom and found a booth in the corner.

#3: Wana dance? You look like a dancer? Do you play sports cause you have the biggest thighs I've ever seen.

Maggie decided to call it a night after that. When she got home she did an hour worth of squats and vowed to go on a diet.

**********************

It was a Sunday morning and Maggie was outside smoking. #213 had her door open and Maggie could see a big fat foot with five big fat digits wiggling whenever Jerry Springer introduced the next transvestite.

Maggie contemplated having another cig when she saw Mr. Goodbar wrappers being thrown from #213.

She heard a deep throaty androgynous voice. "Hey."

Three more wrappers tumbled through the threshold followed by more yelps.

Maggie walked closer and peered in. She waved at the mass on the floor and thought that #213 would make a killer Java the Hut for Halloween.

The mass spoke to her. "Hey I need more Mr. Goodbars, but my sister hasn't got back yet. Can you go buy me some from the corner store. I'll pay you."

Maggie contemplated and thought what a sad existence to live for Mr. Goodbars and talkshows. How could she say no. She nodded. #213 pointed to a jar of nickels on the television.

#213: Take that. It should buy you alot of them.

Maggie walked down the steps slowly with the heavy glass jar of nickels. People that passed her probably thought she was crazy. How embarassing.

******************

It was a big decision looking down at the box of Mr. Goodbars and wondering how many she should get. For one, she wanted to do a good job since #213 had put her trust in her to go on this independent mission. But on the other hand, she wondered how many more candy bars it was going to take for #213's heart to stop. Maybe she should just buy her some peanuts. That's like a Mr. Goodbar...but without the "good", she supposed. If she were a bad person, Maggie would have bought one candy bar and spent the rest of the money on cigarettes and lottery tickets. But she decided on 5 Mr. Goodbars, a lighter, and one $2 lottery ticket instead.
******************

She got back and #213 had dozed off but when Maggie set the half empty (or half-full) jar of nickels back ontop of the tv, the mass awoke.

"Thanks." She wiped her eye crusties away and proceeded to devour two candy bars at once.

Maggie handed her the scratch-off. "Here I bought you this too. Maybe you'll have some luck." She turned to leave.

"Thanks. Wait. Lemme scratch it and we can split it if I win." She dug her chocolaty nails into the ticket playing area. "Hey, I won $2 bucks. That's three Mr. Goodbars."

Maggie smiled. "Yea, hey keep it."

#213 smiled. "Come by whenever you want."

"Ok." Maggie decided to have another cigarette. She sat on the threshold of #213's door and listened to the chomping of candy and television, strangely taking comfort in the sound.