Marry Me Marissa

“We’re through.”

It felt so good to say it. So good. Sam just looked at her. He could see her puny little brain processing what he had just said. She’s shocked, he thought. Never saw it coming. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped ever so slightly. Sam just thought it was funny. He never noticed how someone’s faced just stretched out when they were shocked. Interesting, these involuntary movements.

“We’re through,” he repeated quickly. “You’re an idiot, you’re obnoxious, you’re a sanctimonious bitch,” (he wasn’t even completely sure what sanctimonious meant but he knew she wouldn’t either) “and we’re through. That’s it.”

Now she just wilted. Like a flower. No, Sam didn’t like that. No need for romantic imagery now; he had done it and he never wanted to think of her in a complimentary manner again. More like a sock puppet if you could somehow yank the arm out of there real fast.

Sam was too happy to worry about his metaphor. Everyone in the café was staring at them by now which only made him enjoy the moment more. He saw her lip quiver and her hands shaking, but he only grew bolder.

“You know what? Give me five hundred dollars.”

She looked up at him, dumbfounded, unable to speak. Sam didn’t move. She saw he wasn’t joking and reached into her pocketbook. She started unrolling twenties (or were they hundreds?) on the table.

“You know what?” Sam said just before she finished. “Just empty the wallet.”

She looked up, pleading without words. Sam was unmoved. She pulled all the money out of her wallet; bills and coins. Sam just looked back at her. She looked down again and placed her credit cards, driver’s license, and even pictures on the table next to the money. She looked up at him, still unable to speak. She just threw her wallet on the table next to its contents.

“That’s a good girl,” Sam said.

“Hey, cutie!” someone across the café called.

“That’s for me, babe. I’d better go. Oh, and get hit by a bus, you horrible demon.”

Sam left her alone at the table. She put her head into her hands and started to cry.

_____

“Chiswick Road.”

The intercom crackled right over Sam’s head as the train screeched to a noisy halt. He jumped in his seat and rubbed his eyes. He realized where he was and got off the train. After it pulled away, he jumped to the other side of the track, waiting for a train to take him in the other direction.

_____

Sam saw Jill from a little down the road. He looked down quickly hoping she wouldn’t see him.

“Sam! Hi!”

“Oh, hi, Jill. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Well, last weekend.”

“Right, I guess it just seems--”

“On your way to see Marissa?”

“Yeah, she’s right over there,” he said, pointing at her building.

“I know where she lives, silly.”

“Oh yeah--”

“So are things going with Marissa anyway?”

Sam looked at her. He just stared at her with his eyes squinting a little bit and his mouth open. Several seconds passed. Jill looked across the street uncomfortably.

“Good.”

Jill wasn’t fooled.

“Oh--kay, well good seeing you.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, already several steps away.

_____

The buzzer made him angry every time he saw it. “S. Underwood” was typed nicely on the card and Marissa had pulled the card out of its holder (crumpling it a bit in the process) and had written “M. Gold” in blue pen underneath. Of course it had to be blue. At least black would match, but she had to use a blue pen.

He pressed the buzzer. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Who is it?”

Sam sighed. “It’s Sam, I don’t have my key remember?”She remembered of course, and she knew it was Sam. They had a huge argument that morning about the key (Marissa had lost her key and was using Sam’s; this was the third time this month).

“Oh right. The key. Sorry, forgot, come up.”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked towards the door. Then, he walked into the door. She hadn’t unlocked it.

He tried to control his voice. “You didn’t--unlock the door.”

“Oh, I thought you were going to say something else, like ‘OK I’m coming up.’”

Sam turned away from the buzzer and for a split second just thought about leaving.

“OK! I’m coming up!”

_____

Sam’s grabbed the knob of his door and found it locked. He knocked angrily.

“Just a second,” Marissa called. There was shuffling from behind the door for several seconds. It sounded like she was moving piles of paper around. Finally, she seemed to jump to the door. Sam could see the light behind the peephole being blocked for a second. She pulled away from the peephole and collected herself on the other side of the door.

“Who is it?”

She knew who it was, of course. Not only that, but she knew Sam knew she knew who it was. Sam was sure it was another one of her passive-aggressive games (and he was probably right).

“It’s me, Sam. Remember? The key?”

“Just a second.”

Marissa fumbled with the lock on the other side of the door. Maybe he was just being ridiculous now, but Sam was sure she was doing this on purpose. At first she thought she was just ditzy and a bit clumsy. But now he was sure it was all an act. He had known her long enough to see behind all her thinly veiled games. She was a fucking evil genius.

She finally opened the door. “Hey,” she said casually and walked back into the apartment leaving Sam standing in the middle of the hallway.

_____

Sam sat on a folding chair in the middle of the living room glumly. He would have rather sat on the couch but it was covered with garbage and clothes. Neither of them could keep the place neat. Marissa walked frantically back and forth across the room moving piles of things from one side of the room to the other, making remarkably little progress considering how much effort she appeared to be exerting. Another game, thought Sam. Keep up appearances and make me feel guilty about not helping without doing a single thing. Brilliant.

“So, how was your day,” she asked.

“Uh--all right, I guess.”

She paused and looked at him with a sly grin on her face. Sam hated that look. Like she was trying to figure him out when she knew damn well exactly what was going on.

“Just all right?”

“Yeah. Nothing--nothing too exciting to report.”

“Well I’m sure there must be something.”

Sam was less keen on hiding his annoyance than he originally had been. “Is there ever anything?”

“Well according to you, no,” she said. “But I figure you’re due!”

She really delivered that line with an exclamation mark. She thinks she’s on a sitcom, Sam thought. That’s a laugh line.

Sam chuckled mechanically.

Marissa went back to moving things from one end of the room to the other again. She looked like a hamster moving wood chips around a cage for no real reason. He imagined her spitting wood chips the size of her head out of her fat face into the corner. He never really thought she was fat, of course, but he just felt like she was fat.

“So I talked to Kristin today,” she offered. She left an ample pause for Sam to respond. Sam declined at first, but he soon realized she wouldn‘t continue unless he said something. Though the alternative tempted him, he gave in.

“Yeah--”

“Well anyway,” she said, pleased that Sam was listening, “apparently she’s dating this real jerk and I’m trying to get her to just end it before she gets hurt. What’s his name, Santiago? Brendan Santiago, do you know him?”

“Yeah--” Sam said.

“You know him?”

“What? Oh, no, sorry.”

“Is it too much to ask for you to pay attention?” She wasn’t really angry. More amused. Sam hated that about her. Why couldn’t she get angry when he acted like an asshole? She didn’t give him a reason to be angry and he wanted to be angry. Really really angry.

“Oh, sorry. I was just--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it is.” She hit him with a towel like they were buddies sharing a laugh. He flinched.

“Well anyway, this guy’s a real piece of work if you know what I mean anyway. He doesn’t open the door for her and she tells me ‘that’s not a big deal,’ but it’s the big things that matter, you know?”

“Was that a little snipe at me?” Sam fired back, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Excuse me?” Marissa asked, playing it a little too dumb for Sam to believe.

“Are you trying to tell me to open the door for you more or something? Is this another one of your little passive-aggressive hints you’re always dropping all over the place?”

“I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about,” Marissa insisted with questionable sincerity. Sam didn’t have the energy to pursue the matter any further.

“Right. Sorry. Go on.”

“Oh, we’re going to be late, our reservations are at 7:30. Get my coat.”

Marissa ran out the door and slammed it behind her. Sam stayed in his chair, sighed deeply, and pulled himself up.

_____

Marissa walked out the door and looked up. Her eyes widened, he jaw dropped, and she put her hands up to her mouth. She squealed and started jumping up and down. Sam came out of the door a few steps behind and shut the door. He turned around to find Marissa rushing into his arms. She grabbed him and held him as tightly as he imagined she could.

“Yes! Yes, I will!”

Sam tried to hug her back, but Marissa had clamped his arms to the side of his body. He looked up and saw a banner hanging from the third floor window across the street.

It read “MARRY ME MARISSA”

_____

“Mom! Mom, Sam asked me to marry him! Yes! Yes! OK, OK, I have to call other people. Yes! I love you too, bye.”

Sam sat in the chair in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. No one had bothered to turn on the light.

_____

“Sam!”

Sam looked up from his plate of pancakes and saw Ritchie. He sort of nodded then stared at his pancakes again. He got a piece on his fork, looked at it for a second and put it down. He grabbed a piece of toast and started chewing on it.

“Sam!” Ritchie sat down at the booth across from Sam. “Holy shit, man, you’re getting married to Marissa? Why did you tell me?”“Tell you what?” Sam asked. Ritchie was surprised how blank his voice was. He figured he was just tired.

“That you were going to ask her to marry you.”

“Because I didn’t.”

“Well I know you didn’t. That’s why I’m saying, it would have been nice of you to tell me.”

“I didn’t ask her.”

Ritchie was getting fed up. “What are you doing, trying to keep this a secret or something? Maryann told me all about it. You put the banner up in the other window--”

Sam woke up. “I never asked her to marry me. I never asked.”

“What do you mean you never asked? You had the banner--”

Now Sam was shouting. “That wasn’t my banner, man! I never put any banners anywhere. I didn’t have anything to do with any banners.”

“You had nothing to do with the banner?”

“What are you, dense? Didn’t I just say that, did I not just say that?”

“Well whose banner was it then?”

“I don’t know whose fucking banner it was. Obviously someone who hates me and wants to destroy my life because I was going to break up with her, like, soon. If I knew who put the banner up, I would wrap my hands around their throat and wring their necks.”

“So wait a minute then,” Ritchie said. “You didn’t put the banner up and then you just let her--you didn’t tell her it wasn’t your banner?”

Sam looked down at his plate. “I don’t know. It never came up,” he mumbled.

“Never came up?”

“Well when was I supposed to say it? When she was hanging over me and telling me how much she loved me? Or maybe when she was calling her mother, yeah, that would have been a good idea.”

“Well for fuck’s sake, it might have been a good idea to say something, you know? I mean you’re getting married now! Did you expect her to ask you? I mean she walks out of her building, looks up and sees a huge banner that says ‘Marry Me Marissa’ and she’s supposed to ask her boyfriend of how long ‘gee, is that your banner?’”

“Six months! We’ve been going out for six months and she’s already expecting banners? What is that?”

“You’re living together.”

“Yeah, but only because she can‘t afford to live alone. We don’t even sleep in the same fucking bed. Six months later, she’s already making assumptions about banners and whatnot. It’s not like her name is--Constantine! You know if her name was Constantine and she saw a big sign that said ‘Marry Me Constantine,’ then I could see it after six months. I mean I didn’t even have a ring!”

“Marissa is not that common a name. Besides, my parents only went out for seven and a half months before they got married.”

“Yeah well my parents went out for more than six years and they still got a divorce.”

Ritchie looked at Sam. Sam couldn’t stand it and looked down at his breakfast, now cold.

“So what are you going to do?” Ritchie asked.

“What can I do?”

_____

“Hi, sweetie!” Marissa’s greeting was much warmer now. She hugged him tightly and kissed him a few times on the cheek. Sam grunted but Marissa didn’t notice.

“OK, hi,” he said.

“We need to talk.”

“Yes we do.”

“Now where are we going to have the ceremony? We could do it at a church if you really wanted to but I’d really rather do it at a synagogue and I figured you don’t care so--”

“We can’t get married.”

The words just hung there in the room. Marissa looked up at him. Sam held his ground. Marissa realized he had meant what he said. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He felt so much better now that he had actually gotten the words out. A look of disgust crossed Marissa’s face.

“Are you serious.”

“No. I mean yes, we can’t get married. No marriage.”

No marriage. Just like that. Marissa had never been so angry. Sam slumped down in a chair like a boxer retreating to his corner after a brutal beating. Marissa paced around the room, picked up a bridal magazine someone had just brought by that day and hurled it against the wall.

“Get out.”

Her voice scared Sam. It was steely and cold and filled with a kind of anger he had never even imagined she could feel. Sam jumped up.

“Well wait. Let me explain first.”

“Get the hell out right now, please, thank you.”

_____

Sam stood at the bottom of the building. He tried to figure out what to say. As miserable as he had been, he never liked it when someone didn’t like him. He thought he could repair the situation if she would just listen to his explanation. It seemed reasonable enough to him.

“Marissa!” he shouted. “Let me fucking explain! I told you I could explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it. Go to hell,” she shouted back down.

“Oh come on!”

Sam’s shirts floated gracefully to the sidewalk.

“Oh this is fucking ridiculous,” he said to himself. “HEY!”

“I don’t want to hear it!” she repeated.

More clothes fell out the window. Sam ran around trying to catch everything before it hit the heavily salted sidewalk. He took advantage of a pause in the cascade of clothes to pick up a box that was sitting on the curb. He packed what he had into the box and tried to catch what else she threw down inside. Marissa threw a heavy book down. He threw the box where he thought it might land (he was pretty close) and backed away with his hands over his head.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Marissa threw more books and heavy objects. Electronics rained down around Sam as he frantically tried to catch them in the box, and when they started coming down too fast, he tried to break their fall with his body.

“Come on! I’ll come up--”

Sam saw his Playstation take flight. He jumped into the street and watched it explode on the sidewalk. He sighed and put his hands in his pockets watching more of his belongings plummet from the window.

_____

“Marissa kicked me out, can I stay with you?”

Ritchie looked behind him, as if there was something in the room that he had to make sure of before he made a decision. Sam hated that.

“Yeah sure, come on in and put your stuff anywhere.”

Ritchie’s apartment was a mess. None of it was garbage, he just had more things than he had room for. Sam had to tiptoe through the room. He put his box on what looked like a solid surface, but it slid and spilled a few of its contents on the floor, mixing with Ritchie’s.

“I guess you can sleep in here. Do you have a sleeping bag?”

Sam looked in his box.

“No.”

“Uh, did you bring sheets or anything?”

“No. I just have what she threw out the window.”

“All right, let me see what I can do for you.”

Ritchie retreated into his room to find something. He came out a few seconds later. “You want dirty sheets or I have some towels and washcloths.”

Sam sighed. “I’ll take the sheets, thank you.”

“So how did she kick you out?” Ritchie asked, heading back into his room.

“Uh, well I told her I couldn’t marry her and she started shouting at me so I just wanted her to--shut up, so I left. And when I got onto the street I tried to explain and she just dropped my shit out the window.”

“How can she kick you out? You pay for the place, she’s supposed to leave and give you the apartment back.”

Sam paused. “I guess.”

“And why are you just realizing this now?”

“I don’t know. She was just shaking and crying. I just wanted to get the fuck out.”

“Shaking and crying? Jesus, man, what did you do to this girl?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shaking and crying? Did you even try to be a decent person and let her off gently? Or did you just walk in there with both guns blazing and just tell her you to cancel all her plans and tell her mother not to buy that plane ticket because you weren’t getting married.”

“Well it wasn’t that bad, but it was more like the second one I guess.”

“Oh come on, you owe her better than that.”

Sam got agitated again. “Well I just said we couldn’t get married and then she got all mad and kicked me out before I got a chance to explain about the banner.”

“So she just flipped out immediately.”

“Well no. I guess I probably could have said something in the time I was collecting myself.”

Ritchie peered out of the door. “Class.”

“Hey, fuck you, man. When you have to tell a girl that you never really proposed to them, then come back here and we can compare stories and you can give me your great strategy.”

“Well are you going to deny that to her you look like a total shithead right now?”

“How so?”

Ritchie walked out of his room like he was angry. “How so? Are you out of your mind? Two days ago, she walks out of her apartment and sees that her boyfriend hung a banner in the window across the street proposing to her. Then two days later he tells her they can’t get married and just marches right out. Don’t you think she has a right to be upset?”

Sam squirmed. “I don’t know about ‘right,’”

“Of course she has the right! Don’t you see what you’ve done to her? You owe her an explanation.”

Sam didn’t like the idea. He looked at Ritchie like a dog hoping a little pity will get him out of his veterinary appointment. Ritchie sighed. “And then when you explain you can get your apartment back.”

Sam considered this and started to think that Marissa really was owed an explanation after all. Meanwhile, Maryann walked in through the unlocked door. She glared at Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Marissa kicked him out of his apartment,” Ritchie explained.

“Kicked out of your own apartment. Bravo.”

“Thanks,” Sam whispered.

“Sam needs to spend the night here, is that cool?”

“Not really,” she shot back.

There was an awkward silence at the room. Everyone just looked at each other waiting for someone else to make the first move.

“No?” Ritchie asked.

“No. You know how I feel about this guy.”

“Look, Maryann, I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done that’s made you so--hateful--”

Maryann hit Ritchie and pointed at Sam. “You see? Here he goes again with that passive-aggressive shit he’s always pulling--”

“I don’t do that,” Sam yelled.

“Oh yeah. The first day, the very first day you met me I told you I didn’t want to have kids and you asked me what I’d do if I accidentally had one someday--”

“Look, that’s a real concern! I’m not making this up,” Sam shouted back.

“And there you go, continuing to insinuate I’m a whore.”

“I’m not insun--insinuating any--”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“All right, look,” Ritchie finally interjected. “He just needs to stay here tonight and then tomorrow morning he’s going to go get his apartment back because he’s paying for the place and you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Don’t you have another dirt bag friend you can crawl to?” Maryann asked, not even looking at Sam.

“Ah ha! Now you’re insinuating Ritchie is a dirt bag!”

“What? Do you see? Do you see what this kid does? The constant mind games?”

“Mind games? You’re out of your fucking gourd!”

“Out of my ‘gourd,’ am I? My ‘gourd?’”

“Yes. Now, I’m insinuating that you’re fucking nuts.”

Now Ritchie was shouting. “Come on, you two, come on! Look, Maryann, Sam will just lay here on the floor, he’s going to sleep now. He won’t bother you a bit. Is that all right?”

“No,” she answered immediately. There was another silence. Finally, Sam sighed and got up. He threw his things and Ritchie’s sheets into his box and stormed to the door with his head down, muttering to himself.

“Those are my sheets,” Ritchie said sheepishly just as Sam was about to cross the threshold into the hallway. He paused and turned around. He stared at Ritchie for a few seconds. Finally, he grabbed the sheets and threw them into the room forcefully. Being sheets, they didn’t have the dramatic effect Sam had in mind when he wound up and hurled them into the room and Maryann barely stifled a laugh as Sam walked down the hallway.

“Get a good night’s sleep,” she called to him.

_____

Ritchie wandered around for an hour or so looking for a place to sleep. He wandered up to a college and found the building unlocked. He walked through the empty corridors and walked into a classroom just in front of the door. He turned his box over and went to sleep on a pile of his clothes.

_____

He awoke the next morning with sun shining in his face and the tapping of chalk on a blackboard in an adjacent classroom. He squinted in the sun and looked at his wrist, expecting to see his watch. He dug around in the pile of his clothes and found that his watch had stopped during the night. He turned around to look at the clock and saw fifteen or so students standing in the doorway behind a professor. They stared at him with blank looks on their faces. Sam shook his head and collected himself, packed his belongings back into his box and walked towards the door. He paused a few steps away waiting for a path to clear. The professor moved to the wall anxiously, never turning his back to Sam. The students moved quickly to either side of the door. Sam left with his head down.

_____

Sam returned to his apartment and had to press the buzzer again.

“Who is it?” Marissa asked coldly.

“It’s me.”

There was silence. The intercom clicked as Marissa pushed the button a few floors above him. There was a short pause.

“Go away.”

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. Can you please just let me up and let me explain?”

There was another short pause.

“No.”Sam was angry. He slammed his finger on the button about as hard as one could slam a single finger on a small button.

“That’s my apartment! I had to sleep in a classroom last night! I pay for the place, my name is on the lease!”

Marissa responded quickly this time. “Your mother’s name is on the lease.”

“It’s my last name!”

“Well you can forget it mister, all right? You lost your chance.”

“Come on, I need a place to sleep, I have work in the morning. Be reasonable. You can stay with Jill or something. Please. I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

There was no response. She didn’t accept his apology, she didn’t shoot back at him with another immature attack. There wasn’t even the click of the intercom button. Just silence. Any goodwill Sam felt towards Marissa in that second evaporated and Sam jammed on the buzzer several times. He held it down and pushed it over and over again in rhythm.

“You can press the buzzer all day long if you want to, I can’t hear you!” Marissa mocked from inside the apartment.

“You can obviously hear it if you respond,” Sam shot back.

Marissa pushed the intercom button. Sam took a step back, waiting for the response. There was a long pause.

“Shut up.”

Sam cursed to himself and walked outside with his box.

_____

“HEY!” he shouted seven floors up. “Hey, I can see your window’s open! And it’s actually my window since, you know, I’m paying for the place and all! So I can see that my window’s open!”

Marissa pressed her face up to the screen to make sure she could be heard. “You know what? Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because you deserve an explanation and I--” Sam paused for a split second and already regretted that he would finish the sentence “deserve the apartment since I pay for it.”

“Oh good one Sam. Way to win me over, ‘oh, you deserve an explanation, give me the apartment back.’”

“Well both are true!”

“You’re wasting my time, Sam. Do you think I spent six months with you for nothing?”

“Well I’m sorry I wasted all you precious time!” Sam spit back spitefully.

“It was a sorry thing to do,” Marissa called. “Tell me you wanted to marry me and then just cutting it off like you did. It was a sorry thing to do.”

“That wasn’t my b--”

Marissa slammed the window shut.

_____

It was raining now. Sam was freezing and desperately trying to keep his clothes dry as water soaked through the thin cardboard box. He stumbled up to a payphone and found two quarters and dialed his boss’s phone number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Cote, this is Samuel.”

“Samuel, why are you calling me at home?”

Sam swallowed nervously. He certainly wasn’t intimidated by Mr. Cote, but he still dreaded this conversation.

“I was wondering if you could open up the office so I could--sleep there tonight.”

There was a pause. Mr. Cote exhaled on the other end of the phone.

“Well don’t you have an apartment?”

“Yes, but my girlfriend kicked me out and I don’t have any friends who can take me in so I was just thinking I could sleep in the office tonight because it’s raining very hard and--”

“Calm down, Samuel, calm down. You don’t have an office though.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“I mean we can’t have you sleeping in the middle of the floor, if someone comes in early and finds you--”

“I know, I know, but I’m desperate. I’ll sleep anywhere. You can lock me your office or the supplies room or something and then wake me up when you get in.”

There was a pause.

“I know this is a lot to ask,” Sam continued. “But I need a place to sleep. I slept in a classroom last night. I’ll find somewhere else for tomorrow night and I’ll come into work on time and you won’t have to worry about it.”

“Well it’s a Monday night, Samuel, for all I know someone could still be in--”

“I’m here now and no one is.”

Mr. Cote exhaled again. “OK, I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cote.”

_____

Sam shivered under the meager overhanging awning of the office building. Mr. Cote finally pulled up, fifteen minutes later than promised. He rushed out of his car when he saw Sam in such a pitiful state.

“Thank you, Mr. Cote, thank you. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Don’t mention it, Samuel, are you OK?”

“Yes, sir, yes, I just need a good night’s sleep.”

Mr. Cote opened the lock and let Sam walk in first.

_____

“OK, you can just move these boxes of paper out of the way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cote, this will be great.” It certainly wasn’t great, but Sam was just grateful to have a room to sleep in.

“OK, I’m going to lock you in so no one wanders in on you in the morning. Mr. Kannberg and Mr. Malkmus both have keys, but they’re not coming in tomorrow so I’ll come in a little early and get you out.”

“Thank you, that will be fine.”

“By the way, can you work Friday?”

Sam thought about it. “You know what? I’ll let you know for sure on Thursday before I leave, but I’m going to have to say probably not.”

“OK. Well, get a good night’s rest, Samuel and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right, thank you, sir.”

Mr. Cote locked Samuel in to the windowless supply room from the outside. In the pitch black Sam lay on some clothes and fell asleep right away.

_____

Sam woke up to the sound of a jagged key being jammed in a lock. Mr. Cote opened the door. Sun poured through the open window.

“It’s time for work, Samuel.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cote.”

“I’ll give you a minute to get dressed.”

Mr. Cote shut the door. In the paltry light that slipped underneath the door, Samuel dug around his box for some work clothes.

_____

“What’s with you?” the secretary asked. She had been working at the company longer than anyone and had met two of her three husbands here. She hated Sam since the first day he arrived.

“Excuse me?”

“What happened to you? You fall in a washing machine?”

She was referring to Sam’s clothes. His black undershirt was clearly visible through his white dress shirt. His dress shirt had been balled up at the bottom of his box, and it showed. It was still visibly damp from the night before. Sam didn’t have any khakis and Mr. Cote had a strict no jeans policy so he was wearing bright blue sweatpants which were just as damp.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Samuel? Could I talk to you in my office?”

“Yes sir.” Sam followed Mr. Cote out of the break room into his office.

_____

“Somebody dropped this box off for you,” Mr. Cote said.

“Oh, thank you.” Sam looked in the box. In it were a few more clothes, his cell phone, and a couple other of his belongings; by no means everything that he was missing. He took out a pair of crinkled khakis and took off his sweatpants and quickly pulled his khakis up. Mr. Cote averted his eyes.

“That’s not all, Samuel. I’m afraid that we’re laying off some employees.”

Mr. Cote paused. Sam looked up with his mouth open. Mr. Cote waited for Sam to say something.

“What?”

“We have to lay you off, Samuel. I’m sorry, my hands are tied.”

Sam sighed. He walked out the door and back to the supply room. He found it locked. He dropped Marissa’s box in front of the door and trudged back to Mr. Cote’s office to get the key to open the door so he could get his other box and leave.

_____

Sam still had $4500 in his bank account, which he figured would be enough to get him by for a little bit while he found a new job anywhere. Especially if Marissa didn’t let him back in his apartment and he didn’t have to pay rent anymore. He sat in the diner across the street from his office and contemplated his options. His phone rang. He looked at the screen. It read “M” for Marissa. He put it back in his box, but changed his mind and pulled it back out of the box. He answered.

“Hel--”

“You’re really pathetic, you know that?”

Sam exhaled deeply. Neither of them spoke for two seconds.
“Is that all?”

“Goodbye, Sam. Stop bothering me.” She hung up the phone.

_____

Newly motivated by Marissa’s call, Sam marched back to reclaim his apartment. He defiantly strode all the way there with a renewed sense of purpose. He felt like the victim now and any guilt he might have carried in the back of his mind had disappeared. He was going to do whatever he had to do to get his apartment back. He didn’t know quite what that was yet, but he just knew he would do it.

As he walked down the street, he could see the back of his building and the front of the building across the street. There was another banner hanging from the same window. He walked faster until he got close enough to be able to read it.

It read “TAKE ME BACK MARISSA.”

Sam dropped his box and ran.

_____

He charged into the building. Someone was just returning home. Sam pushed past them and walked up the stairs, completely oblivious to their yelling. He walked up to the third floor and stalked down the corridor. He didn’t know which room the banner was from so who knows what he would have done if he didn’t find an open door.

He looked inside the apartment. He saw a man about his age looking out the window with a pair of binoculars looking at Marissa’s building. Sam burst into the apartment, walked right over to the window, and grabbed the banner.

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked the larger of the men, named Brian. He was about six five and weighed almost three hundred pounds. Sam ripped the banner out of the window and began walking towards the door. A smaller man, the same age as Brian and Sam, walked out of the kitchen. His name was Mickey. He was drinking a cup of coffee. When he saw Sam walking away from the window with the banner, he was furious.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked as well. Sam kept walking. Mickey rushed after him and grabbed him by his shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. Sam spun around.

“What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are you two doing? What is this, a fucking joke?”

“Fucking put the banner down! I’ll fucking knock you out, I swear to God,” Mickey yelled. Brian rushed over to them.

“Mickey, Mickey, stop,” he warned.

“What do you care about the banner? Do you hate me that much?” Sam stuttered. “Is my misery that--”

“Mickey, just calm down. Sit over there,” Brian ordered. “Let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about this, all right? OK, now what is--”

“Why did you put up the banners?” Sam asked.

“What the fuck do you care why I put up a fucking banner?” Mickey shot back, already standing back up.

“Hey, fuck you, prick!”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s right, stop fucking around with my life!”

“Me fucking with your life? Oh, that’s fucking rich!”

“Calm down, calm down! Mickey, sit!” Brian shouted, getting in between the two fearing they were coming close to blows. You, just don’t say anything and answer Mickey’s question.”

“What’s the question, why I’m taking your banner? Because I don’t know who you are, but your fucking banner mind games are getting on my nerves. Now will you please tell me why you put up the banner in the first place? I mean did I do something to make you angry? Did I offend you somehow? What did I do, huh?”

“How are you affected by our banners, you ass,” Mickey shouted. Brian forced him to calm down. Mickey seethed and could only look out the window with his cup of coffee to calm himself down.

“Hey, big guy, before munchkin comes over here and cuts me, can you please explain to me why you put up the banners?”

“Because Mickey wanted to propose to his girlfriend, so he put up a ‘Marry Me Marissa’ banner and she said no, so now he put up this banner to try and win her back.”

There was a long silence in the room. Brian looked at Sam, puzzled. Mickey looked at him with contempt he could barely control. Sam looked up at Brian for a second, then looked down at the floor in embarrassment and confusion. Finally, he spoke.

“Is your girlfriend Marissa Gold?”

There was a short pause. “No, Marissa Nastanovich,” Brian answered. There was another long silence. Sam tried to think of what he should say.

“I’m dating Marissa Gold. She lives across the street as well. When she came out of the building the other day, she saw your ‘Marry Me Marissa’ banner and thought it was for her. She said yes and then the day after I told her we couldn’t get married. So now she hates me and she kicked me out of my own apartment. (the phone rang in the background) And then she saw this banner today and she thinks I want her back when I really don’t. So your banners are destroying my life. Your banners have destroyed my life.”

“Shhh, it’s picking up,” Mickey said, not listening to Sam and completely focused on the answering machine.

“Hey, this is Ben Ibold, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” The machine beeped.

“Mickey, this is Marissa. Look, I know you’re over there. I saw your banner.” Marissa Nastanovich sighed. Look, I told you, I’m just not ready, OK? I’m just not. Let’s just leave it at that. I’m sorry.” She hung up.

Mickey and Brian stared at the answering machine. Sam was looking at Mickey.

_____

Mickey, Brian, and Sam sat around the round table in the cramped kitchen drinking coffee.

“I asked her and she just started shaking,” Mickey explained. “She put her face in her hands and she sobbed and then she locked herself in the bathroom and the whole time she was just saying ‘I can’t do it, I’m sorry but I just can’t do it.’ So I left and I’ve been staying here every since.”

Mickey sighed and stared blankly into his cup of coffee.

“So what happened when your girlfriend saw the banner?” Brian asked. Sam looked up.

“Well she thought it was for her, naturally. And she was very happy. Then the next day I told her we couldn’t get married, that I wasn’t ready for it, and she kicked me out. Last night I slept in a supply room at my office and the night before that I slept in a classroom.”

“Why couldn’t you marry her?” Mickey asked.

“I’m just--I just get bored,” Sam answered. “And worried. Worried too. But mostly just bored and irritated. I mean, we have nothing in common, she can’t even focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time, she blows her nose in the shower every night, she--”

Mickey cut him off. “Does she care about you?”

“I think so.”

“So what more could you ask for?”

This kind of thing made Sam furious. He thought it was just naïve and oversimplifying a complicated situation. What good is it if she cared about him if he couldn’t even stand talking to her? If he couldn’t even look her in the eyes without resentment rising up in the back of his throat?

_____

Mickey gathered his things and left at about two in the morning. Sam sat across from Brian, watching him struggling to keep his eyes awake. “I guess I’d better get going,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Sam looked out the window. He shrugged. “Well then you can stay here if you want to.”

“Really?”

“Well I’m not going to let you go to sleep on the street.” Sam looked up at him gratefully.

_____

Sam bolted up at five thirty in the morning. Mickey’s questions echoed in his head. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds and then rustled around his box. He picked his phone out and dialed Marissa’s number, the number that used to be his. The message they had recorded together had been erased and now the answering machine just beeped after four rings. Sam was taken off guard.

“Uh, Marissa, it’s me Sam. I just--” he paused and almost hung up. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Sam paused again. “You know, I really just didn’t treat you well. You deserved better, and I’m sorry for everything that happened. You don’t have to accept my apology or let me back into the apartment, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry.” He looked at his phone for a second or two, then hung up.

Across the street, Marissa lay in bed awake and listened to the voice over the answering machine.

_____

Marissa found him inside the book store. Sam was just killing time browsing the racks because he felt bad sitting around Brian’s house all day. She walked up to him and acted like she was looking at a book on the same rack, glancing at him. Sam noticed her and turned towards her. She continued looking at the books, caught up in the fantasy of the moment she had seen in so many movies.

“Hello,” Sam said.

“Hello,” she said, not looking up from the rack.

“You got my message,” he said.

“I did.” She looked at him. “Thank you.”

“I just think I’ve been unfair to you,” he said quickly. “And if you’ll take me back--I’d appreciate it. I understand--” She hugged him before he could finish his sentence.

WEEKS LATER


Sam was miserable. Every morning he woke up next to Marissa he hated himself for crawling back to her--and why? Because of some stupid thing Mickey said that sounded profound? He had been afraid of losing something he didn’t understand or appreciate. He had bought into Mickey’s vision of the world lining up and pairing off at the first opportunity and felt absolutely stupid for it.

The resentment was back. Everywhere he went with her and every time he spoke with her he noticed all the things that had annoyed him for so long. How could he have forgotten about her self-centered rants? That she never ever listened? That she was an idiot? It all came rushing back to him quickly and he wished he had never called her that night, had never tried to explain himself in the bookstore, had never moved back in when even that day he knew he was making a mistake.

The situation was made even worse for Sam by Mickey. He was now a regular visitor to his newfound friends across the street, often bringing Brian along with him. He gave himself credit for bringing Sam and Marissa back together, which of course only made Sam like him less. The more Sam got to know him in general the more he disliked him. He was shallow and pretty dumb and he spent far too many hours sulking and whining on Sam’s new couch. Brian was harmless but he could grate on Sam’s nerves too.

Suddenly one day, someone pounded frantically on Sam and Marissa’s door. Sam saw Mickey jumping up and down through the peephole with Brian standing behind him, a big dumb grin spread across his big dumb face.

“How’d you get in here?” he asked a little annoyed as he opened the door.

“The lock downstairs is broken and I’m getting married to Marissa.”

“I’ll have to ask the super about that,” Sam said. Behind him, his Marissa rushed to the door and hugged Mickey tightly.

“That’s wonderful! How did that happen? I didn’t even know you two were back together?”

“Well I’ve been calling her every night but then Brian told me to stop calling her for a little bit so I stopped for a couple of nights and called her last night and we got to talking and I convinced her to take me back and she said she’d marry me!”

“Isn’t that something,” Sam said, retreating into the living room, looking for the potato chips he was eating before he was interrupted.

“That’s so wonderful, Mickey, I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“You know, Mickey, I hate to be a downer,” Sam called from the living room, greatly enjoying his role as downer, “but don’t you think this is moving too fast? I mean shouldn’t you get back together first, get back into your roles before so you make sure everything’s how you remember it. I mean you don’t want to regret locking yourself into something because you think you remember what it used to be like.” Sam hoped that Marissa noticed the obvious reference, but knew that his obvious references were never quite as obvious to her as they were to him.

“Don’t worry about it, but I thank you for your concern,” Mickey shouted louder than he needed to. “You’ve been a great friend, Sam--”

“Sure.”

“That’s why I want you to be an groomsman. Brian’s going to be my best man but I want you to be one of my groomsmen at our wedding.”

“groomsman?”

“Yeah.” Sam looked at him. He pitied him a bit but disliked him much more.

“Well I don’t know if I’d be good at groomsman.”

“What’s there to be good at? You basically just have to stand there.”

“But what if I bring someone to the wrong side of the chapel or the church or whatever? I mean I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, that’s a lot of pressure.”

“It’s a piece of cake, I promise you.” Sam looked at Mickey long and hard, trying to find a way out.

“Don’t you have some other friends or a brother or something? I mean, I haven’t known you that long and I wouldn’t want someone to get mad at me--”

“Well if someone gets mad at you that’s their own problem. You really helped me win back Marissa, just like I helped you win back Marissa.” Sam effectively concealed the grimace he felt inside. “So how about it?”

Sam really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

_____

Mickey and Marissa were planning on getting married within two weeks. Sam almost felt bad for Mickey, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to talk any sense into him anyway. Sam’s Marissa looked forward to the wedding like it was her own. She dragged Sam to every dress store in the area. She ended up buying three, deciding that she would choose which one she liked the best at the last possible moment and return all three the day after the wedding.

Mickey was ecstatic in the few days in between his reconciliation with Marissa and the wedding. Sam was significantly less excited. He wished he were driving to the chapel so he could crash into a tree on the way and at least buy some time. Instead, he and Marissa rode the train to the chapel in full formalwear. Mickey had decided on white tuxedos to symbolize something or other. Sam had been too busy thinking about how stupid he would look in a white tuxedo to catch exactly what Mickey was going for. On the train, Sam looked for some gum or mysterious liquid to sit in, but was unable to find any. Marissa kept him occupied by badgering him about wearing a brown belt with black shoes from the time they stepped on the train until it screeched to a halt at their destination thirty-five minutes later. Sam insisted that it was an accident and no one would notice even though it was completely intentional and designed to attract maximum attention to himself.

Sam and Marissa arrived at the church two hours before the wedding was scheduled to begin. They were the first to arrive except for Mickey who was standing in deep contemplation on the front steps of the old chapel. As he saw Sam and Marissa approach, he rushed into the church. Sam and Marissa wandered into the lobby and saw Mickey cowering behind a small screen.

“Hello, Mickey.”

“Hi, Sam, hi Marissa.”

“Why are you back there?” Sam asked after he stayed behind the screen.

“Well it’s bad luck to see members of the wedding party before the ceremony, so could you go somewhere else please? At least for a bit so I can get in my dressing room back there?”

“I think you’re just not supposed to see the girl you’re marrying,” Sam said.

“Could be, but I don’t want to take any chances. Can you wait outside for a second? I promise it’ll just be a second and I’ll duck in my dressing room, it’s right behind you.” Sam sighed. Marissa thought this was sweet, of course, and took Sam’s arm and led him outside.

A few minutes later, Sam and Marissa sat in some uncomfortable chairs in the lobby. When Marissa wasn’t talking about Sam’s belt or her dress, she was making remarks about the decorations or something Sam was equally indifferent about. About ninety minutes before the wedding, Sam excused himself to the bathroom, saying he needed to get ready.

Fifteen minutes later, people finally started arrive at the chapel. Sam stayed in the bathroom, leaning motionless on the wall across from the door as countless uncles and cousins and a few friends bustled in and out of the bathroom. Eventually, Brian came into the bathroom and acknowledged Sam with a nod and a tightening of his lips in a half-smile. Sam responded by raising his eyebrows. Brian tapped the wall nervously and watched an elderly man dry his hands delicately and walk out of the bathroom. When he left, Sam could sense Brian wanted to talk to him and tried to quickly leave. Brian grabbed his arm tightly, wrenching his shoulder.

“I need to tell you something. I’m sorry,” he said, seeing Sam wince in pain.

“What’s that, Brian,” Sam said reluctantly.

“I just need to get this off my chest. This is a deep secret and you’re the only person I can trust with this information.”

“You know, Brian, maybe telling me isn’t such a good idea.”

“But I need to tell someone.”

“Okay, but isn’t there someone else you can tell? Someone you know a little better? Plus, I work at a newspaper, if this is newsworthy I’m going to have to print it. Or tell someone--”

“I slept with Marissa.” Sam was stunned for a second, but caught himself.

“Wait, which one?”

“The one getting married. Nastanovich.”

“Oh,” Sam said, simultaneously relieved and a little disappointed. “When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“Last night,” Sam said to himself in disbelief. “Well have you told Mickey?”

“Oh no. There’s no way I could ever tell Mickey. That’s why I had to tell someone else.”

“Well I really think you should tell Mickey.”

“It’s his wedding day! I can’t ruin his marriage.”

“I think you already have,” Sam shouted. “Do you think these two people should get married when you slept with one of them the night before the fucking marriage?”

“And three times before last night too. One of the times they weren’t together though.”

“Before they met?”

“No, after they broke up,” Brian said, looking at the ground. Sam just stared at him for a few seconds.

“Well look, you have to tell him.”

“How can I tell him? He’d have to cancel the wedding. I don’t want to be the one responsible for that.”

“Well has it ever crossed your mind that maybe these two people shouldn’t be getting married if one of them is sleeping around? With the groom’s best friend?”

“I can’t do it.”

“All right, here’s what you do. Go in there and talk to Marissa Nastanovich and tell her that she needs to tell Mickey what happened.”

“I don’t want to do that either.” Sam looked at Brian, furious.

“So why the fuck did you tell me if you weren’t going to take my advice and were just going to let this sham of a marriage go on anyway?”

“I wanted to tell someone,” Brian shrugged. Sam started to walk away in frustration but walked right back up to Brian.

“All right, listen to me. It is important that you friend not marry this woman until he knows this information. So when the priest says that bit about any objections, you need to speak up.”

“I’ll try,” Brian said, trying to sound strong which only made him sound twice as pathetic. Sam sighed and gave an unconfident nod and walked away.

_____

The chapel was almost filled to capacity. Marissa Gold beamed proudly at Sam as he walked down the aisle and took his place next to the other groomsmen in front of the altar. Sam was originally third in line, but he shuffled around the round awkwardly to give himself a place next to Brian. Brian nervously eyed Sam who glared at him sharply.

Soon, Mickey was walked down the aisle. Sam felt bad for him, taking his place next to the place with his stupid grin and humming the Wedding March like an idiot. Mickey straightened up and jumped when Marissa was led down the aisle in her grandmother’s wedding dress. Brian started shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot and clenching and opening his sweaty palms. Sam watched him intently.

The vows were unnecessarily long. Sam began to panic and wonder if that objections line was only something they did in bad romantic comedies. He wondered if Brian had lost his opportunity.

"If anyone here has any objections to this couple getting married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace!" Sam breathed a quick sigh of relief as the priest’s voice thundered through the chapel, but he quickly panicked when he saw Brian’s eyes darting across the ceiling nervously.

“Then by the powe--” Sam cleared his throat loudly. The priest looked up for a second and smiled apologetically for being caught off guard. “By the--” Sam cleared his throat again, even louder than before. The priest looked up at him a bit disturbed. The priest tried to continue but Sam cut him off again with full, violent coughs. Just as the priest was about to start again, Sam jabbed his elbow into Brian’s ribs.

“Ow! Dammit!” Brian shouted. “That’s my bad rib,” he said to the priest who by now was glaring at him.

“Then by the power vested in me, I declare you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Finally, Mickey and Marissa kissed. Sam winced as Brian grinned broadly.

_____

The reception was in a Marriot hotel a few miles from the church. The only public bathrooms in the hotel were at the back of the reception hall so people kept wandering into the reception from the lobby wearing tee-shirts and shorts. One little girl even came in soaking wet in her bathing suit and sandals.

Sam was outside on the patio looking out into the city behind the hotel. Mickey walked up to him and affectionately patted him on the back. Sam muttered a congratulations.

“Thanks.” Mickey looked out into the city with Sam. Sam wished he would just leave him alone. “It feels strange to be married, let me tell you.” Sam just nodded. Mickey laughed nervously. “It’s weird, you know. I thought I’d feel better but I still don’t,” he said, laughing harder the more distressing his thoughts became. “Because Marissa cheated on me--” Sam suddenly jolted to attention.

“What?”

“Oh yeah. At least once that I know of. And I think more.” He bit his lip and looked down.

“How do you know? Did she tell you.”

“No, no.” Mickey took a sip of his drink. “I think that’s what bothers me the most. The fact that she hasn’t told me and for all she knows, I have no idea.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“Well it happened just after we got back together and I think before then as well but I can’t be sure.” Mickey sighed. Sam was now agitated to the point of anger?

“So what are you doing marrying her? This is not the kind of thing that should be floating above a healthy relationship. You can’t ignore it forever and the longer you wait to get it out in the open the more damage it’s eventually going to do.” Mickey looked down and kicked a stone, forcing a smile. After a false start, he finally spoke.

“I guess I just hoped she’d stop once we got married.” He paused. “I just don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have her. I’ve invested so much in her, I don’t know if I’d be able to just drop her and move on, you know?” He walked away before Sam could put any more doubt in his mind.

_____

Sam had been looking for an opportunity to break up with Marissa since the wedding. He wanted to do it gently this time. So he waited and waited but never felt right.

One day, they walked out of their apartment and her eyes caught another banner from the other side of the street.

“Is that one for me?” she said. She was trying to sound like she wasn’t expecting anything, but it was impossible to hide her excitement. Sam looked up. The banner read “MARRY HIM MARISSA.”

Sam would break up with her later that afternoon. First, he needed to kill Brian and Mickey.