Janet

She wore blue jeans and a rosary.
Believed in God and believed in me.
All her friends thinks she's a little crayzaaay!
She wears a smile, heart on her sleeve
"I don't give a damn what the world thinks of me"
She tells me it's all good.....

"I'm happy with a bad seed!
Happy to be misunderstoooooooood!

Hank whipped around, startled.

"How long have you been standing there?" He felt his heart pounding in his ears.

"You're so cute when you sing."  she giggled to herself.

Janet stood at the bottom of the stairs leaning against the support pole, smiling the way she did.


"What are you up to?  All tucked away in your basement on a Friday night." 

"Refinishing the baseboards for the bathroom.  You scared the shit out of me."  He walked over to the stereo and turned it down, Kid Rock fading into the background.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I thought I'd come over to hang out with you and Phil for a bit.  It was too quiet at home.  The walls didn't have anything new to tell me.  I was curious what the old codgers were getting into."


"Phil's out.  He took Cheryl to dinner."


"That psycho?"


"Well the ladies aren't exaclty bangin' down his door.  Not that they'd find him at his place.  He's always over here."


"Think he'll get any?"


"I fucking hope so.  Either way I wouldn't hear the end of it.  At least if he gets a little quim, he won't be so fucking crabby."


He usually didn't do the potty mouth around women.  Janet wasn't women, though.  She was Janet.  He'd known her since her and Frank moved to town.  Hank had worked with Frank until he went on sick leave.  Janet & Frank, and Hank & Jen, and Phil & 'Whoever-He-Was-Trying-To-Bed-At-The-Time" were often found hanging out.  Whether it be building a deck at one of the couple's homes, a fishing weekend, or just having a beer on Thursday pub nights, they seemed to be inseparable.


Frank never did come back from sick leave.  That fucking disease.


"How are the kids?" Hank asked.


"They're good, as far as I know." A half smile made an appearance.


Janet and Frank had two kids.  They grew up well, considering their dad was ill most of their pre-teen and teen years.


"Sarah is still on maternity leave.  And Billy, well, he's working and still chasing women.  He complains that he never finds Ms. Right.  He sure seems to hold a lot of tryouts! Her smile widened now.

"Ah, well.  He's young.  He's got urges." Hank laughed.


"Don't we all!" More of a lament than a question.


"It takes more and more of my batteried boyfriend.  Soon I'll have to go down and use the paint-shaker at Home Depot!"  They both laughed.


"So Hank, you getting any?"


"Hell, I don't even think about it." he lied.  The truth is, Hank hadn't been the same since Jen. He'd not go down that road again, he promised himself.

Malaika, nakupenda Malaika.
Malaika, nakupenda Malaika.
Nami nifanyeje, kijana mwenzio.
Nashindwa na mali sina, we,

The acapella lyrics wafted through the air.  

"What the hell is that?" queried a puzzled Janet.


"Soweto Gospel Choir." said Hank as he turned it up.  The song had a primal feel to it, yet soothingly so.


Janet straigthened herself and started to sway with the song, holding the pole at arms length, though not as a prop, but as a partner that was no longer with her.


Hank watched and remembered her and Frank, many times at the Thursday pub night, dancing together, like they were the only ones in the room, no drunks or harlots carousing about.


"You miss him, eh?"


"I do. Hank."


She swayed and closed her eyes to the music.  Or in this case the voices, making music.


"Kid Rock, then african Jesus music?  Are you getting all holy roller on me?"


"Ha!  Just ecclectic." laughed Hank.


"A regular Howard Hughes, you are!" she taunted.


"He was eccentric, weird.  I'm eclectic, I like different things."


"I think I was right the first time."  She stopped swaying to the song as the voices faded.  


Some familiar 80's bubble gum song started up, waking her from her reflection.  She looked at Hank.


"You miss her?" she asked.


"Not really.  After what she did, I don't have any desire to see her again."  


He thought for a moment.  That was the most honest way he could put it.  He missed how he felt when he was with her.  He surely didn't miss how he felt when she left.  He missed laughing.  He hadn't had an honest to goodness, clutch his belly, tear roller since Jen.  He had become quick with the snide snickers though.  His inner cynic was alive and well.  The romantic was resting still, it had suffered a sound thrashing.


"That's a gift you know.  Not missing her.  That 'hate-on' is a gift."  She let her words settle on Hank.


"Frank didn't want to leave.  I didn't want him to leave.  I sometimes wish I hated him.  I wish he would have fucked some ditch slut and hurt me bad.  I wish I could fuckin' hate him.  But he loved me.  I loved him. Some nights I wish I didn't.  Anger is easier than this.


Suddenly, Bruin barked.


"Phil!" they said in unison.


She gave him a quick thank-you-for-your-ear peck on the cheek and headed up the stairs.


"Back so soon, Phil?  Hank told me you'd be tongue punching Cheryl's fart box tonight!"


"Oh, Janet!" He silently thought to himself, and headed up after her.