8 Mile

I was at work when it happened. Actually, I'd been trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Betty.

My secretary came into the room, and she looked upset. She led two policemen into my office.

"Mr. Hale, I'm afraid we have some bad news to deliver to you," he said. "Approximately two hours ago a woman was killed in an accident on Eight Mile road. We need you to come with us to the scene to look at some evidence."

I was in shock. I couldn't think of any reason for Betty to be back on Eight Mile. But during the long drive to the scene, I thought of two reasons. One was that Betty was trying to help other homeless women.

The other was that she'd left me. Maybe she just couldn't face me and had decided to try to make it to Florida on her own.

When we arrived, the road had been blocked off and traffic was rerouted while the CSI guys did their duty. Fortunately, the body had already been removed.

From what the witnesses said, two men chased a woman into the oncoming traffic on the busy road. My heart started beating louder. It sounded exactly as Betty had described her ordeal with those two assholes the day we met. She'd been lucky not to have been run over by a car that time. But her luck had run out.

I looked at the men, and they seemed to be exactly the way she'd described them. I lunged at them intent on killing one or both of them.

"Calm down, Sir," asked the police officer. "We've had dealings with these two assholes before. They'll never see the outside of a jail again."

The other cop sealed the deal. I nearly blacked out as he asked me if I recognized the very backpack that I had bought for Betty. Apparently, she'd decided to leave me. I guess I was so terrible a person that being homeless again was preferable to staying with me.

And then to add insult to injury one of the CSI guys brought me Betty's wallet to identify. It even had her driver's license with my address on it.

That was when I collapsed. Too much sorrow in too short a time period took its toll on me. I was a wreck. And I just didn't care anymore. I started blubbering right there in the street.

I didn't give a fuck who saw me crying. Anyone who couldn't understand my devastation, and my sense of loss had never been in love and therefore, didn't matter.

The worse thing was that I had no idea why Betty had chosen to pack her backpack and just leave me without a word.

Earlier that morning she'd been fine again. It was almost as if she'd come to terms with whatever had been bothering her. When I left to go to work she'd kissed me like it was our last one ever and squeezed my dick.

"You'd better not be showing this thing to any of those bitches you work with," she'd said. "This thingy is mine and I'm not big on sharing."

I suddenly realized that it had been an act. Betty had been pretending to be normal to throw me off of the track, so I wouldn't know she was leaving me. The tears I had been shedding increased.

"Jeezus guy. Get it together. Cowboy up. Act like a man for God's sake. I know it's tough, but rub some dirt on it and walk it off," said one of the cops.

The anger that had been building inside of me chose that moment to break free. I spun like lightning and he never saw the fist that knocked him on his ass.

Once he got over his surprise, he yanked out his gun and handcuffs. "You're under arr..." He began.

"Can it, Bob," said his partner. "You had that coming. The guy just lost his wife, for crying out loud. And you had to go and get macho on him. If you had anything other than a Xbox waiting for you at home maybe you'd understand it."

"But he ..." Sputtered the cop I'd hit.

"And no judge is going to give him even an hour in jail considering the circumstances. You might end up doing sensitivity training ... AGAIN!" said his partner. "Besides... do you really want it to get around that some middle aged civilian knocked you on your ass in the middle of Eight Mile?"

He turned to me. "Sir, we'd like you to come downtown with us to identify the body."

"I need to go home and get myself prepared," I said. "Don't worry, she'll be just as dead in the morning."

When I got home, it all fell apart. I sank down into my sofa and cried my eyes out. I looked at my house, and that was what it was again. It was my fucking house. It wasn't our home. It was just a place to keep MY shit.

The one thing that had made it someplace special was Betty! With Betty gone nothing really mattered. It was as if fate ... Cruel fate had somehow given me someone to bring some light back into my life and then capriciously snatched her away as casually as you, or I might blow out a candle.

* * * * * *

Epilogue

Alan

Betty... God damn her. She was the only reason I was here.

I hated funerals. Why the fuck couldn't they bury the bitch without me? Wasn't it bad enough that I was paying for it?

Fuck! I also had to come up with some nice fucking words to fucking say about that fucking bitch!

Betty, God damn her.

And why were all of these people here. Most of them barely knew Betty, but they loved her all the same.

Everyone loves Betty. I love Betty.

If I'd had my way... I smiled thinking about it. This entire funeral was a sham. Not one single bit of it was real. What do they say? The funeral isn't for the dead person. The funeral is to make the family feel better. Maybe the idea is that it gives the ones the deceased person leaves behind some sense of closure.

I was the only person the bitch had a real relationship with and after searching my heart, I'd discovered that I really and truly hated the bitch with a passion.

This whole funeral was really for Betty, not for me.

But it wasn't real. The casket... I didn't actually pay for it. I rented it. The clothes she wore... They were rented too. Even the grave was actually dug for someone else. The ceremony would conclude with a few selected somber words from a local priest after I had said my peace. Then everyone would leave the grave site.

There were several large muscular men standing by with a small bulldozer. Everyone assumed that they would fill in the grave after we left.

But if anyone ever came back to the grave site to visit her, not that anyone ever would, they'd find someone else buried there. They would assume that they had mis-remembered the site and look for her in vain.

Actually, as soon as everyone left, her body would be dumped out of the casket, stripped of all the clothes and cremated in a burlap bag. Her head would be shaved, and her hair sold to make wigs for cancer victims. I gave some thought to donating her body to science. But there was a small chance that the bitch might actually do some good and be well thought of.

If it wasn't for Betty ...

I was scraping the bottom of my soul trying to think of something good to say about the bitch. The only good thing I could think of was that she was dead. I could move on with my life and not have to worry about ever seeing the bitch again.

Fucking Betty, she had manipulated and controlled me from the moment we met.

This was just another example of it.

Now I had to think up several good things to say about the bitch. Come on Alan ... It shouldn't be that hard. There was a time and not so long ago, when you thought that you loved her.

Yeah there was. And she had lied to me and used me and left me. Fuck her! Cremation was too good for the bitch. If it was up to me... I'd have left the bitch lying by the side of the road on Eight Mile to rot. Let the pigeons eat her. Let the thousands of cars that pass everyday run her over and throw road debris on her rotting fucking corpse until she was only a part of the road surface.

I hate that fucking BITCH! And I always would.

I was sitting there in the beautiful little church on the cemetery grounds. When SHE sat down next to me and wrapped my arm around her like she owned it.

"Alan, fix your face," she said. And I did. I'd been so angry that my face was showing my rage. I had promised her that I would behave, after all this was only one afternoon.

Fucking Betty! She could always make me do things that I didn't want to do. I guess that's what love was.

"Did you think of some nice things to say?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Tell me one," she whispered.

"The best one I can think of is that she's fucking dead," I whispered back.

"If you intend to do any FUCKING in the near future you'd better come up with something better than that," she smirked. "Oh and Alan... Here!"

She stuffed a piece of paper in my hand while no one was looking at us. "You can pay it off in installments."

I looked at the paper and found a bill for nearly thirteen thousand God damned dollars.

"Whoever came up with the idea of renting a funeral," hissed Betty.

Okay I guess you're all confused. Some of you probably have the idea that I was so in love with Betty that I was imagining her spirit talking to me, but it's really not that complicated, that metaphysical or that dramatic.

* * * * * *

Remember when I was sitting on my sofa crying my eyes out over Betty? Go back there and we'll continue the actual story.

There I was crying my eyes out and wondering why Betty had left me. The truth is she'd been acting weird for a few days and my mind, still jumpy from being cheated on and deserted by my first wife jumped to conclusions.

The expression once a cheater, always a cheater may or may not be true. I guess it all depends upon the person and the situation. But the expression once bitten twice shy is a hundred percent true. I had been doing what the shrinks call "transference." I'd been transferring my first wife's behavior onto Betty.

Anyway, as I sat there crying my eyes out the door opened and in walked Betty, mad as hell. She had that anger that only a redhead can manage.

Then she turned and looked at me and yelled... "You too God damn it!"

I ran over to her and started kissing her. Tears ran down both of my cheeks I was so glad to see her.

"It's okay, Honey," she laughed. "I'm really not that pissed at you. But we need to have a serious talk. It's your God damned ex-wife I'm pissed at."

"Join the club," I said. "Let's go upstairs! We can have a club meeting in the bedroom."

"Grrrrrr," she growled.

"Okay," I said. "Still hugging her for dear life, why do YOU hate Sharon?"

"Well you know that she was living with Marilyn across the street right...?" she began.

"Who cares," I smirked. "Whores of a feather..."

"Sharon threw her out a few days ago, Honey," said Betty seriously. "I've been feeding her and giving her money..."

"Oh shit... Here it comes," I thought.

"Well this morning, I was kind of preoccupied. Actually, I've been out of my mind with worry for the last few days," she said.

"What did you have to worry about, Honey?" I asked.

"We'll get to that," she said nervously. "Anyway, I had Sharon over this morning for breakfast. I had Martha over too. I gave Sharon the backpack you bought me that I never got to use. I figured if she had to be homeless, she should be prepared. While Martha and I talked about my appointment, apparently Sharon stole my wallet and all of my cash!"

I burst out laughing. It all made sense. The police found the body. They'd showed me Betty's backpack and wallet, and I had believed that Betty was gone.

I explained it to her. "That's why you were crying like a baby?" She laughed.

I nodded and squeezed her tighter.

"Alan, if you keep squeezing me like that, OUR baby is gonna squirt out of me onto the floor," she said. I went into shock. Betty stared at me looking to see my reaction.

"Well what did you expect?" she said. "There are sixty-year-old women having triplets... And I'm not even fifty. I haven't been through menopause yet, and you're constantly sticking that thing in me and filling me up with your stuff. That's how you make babies you know... Haven't you ever heard of a condom?"

That was when I kissed her. And she kissed me back.

"So I guess that means you want to keep it?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "This is my first. And I couldn't think of anyone on earth, I'd rather have babies with."

"Unh unh!" she said flatly. "Baby... No "S."

"We'll talk about it," I said.

"Alan, I'm gonna be the oldest mom at the elementary school," she whined.

"And the cutest," I threw in.

"Oh God. I'll be sixty when he gets to middle school," she groaned.

"And all the other little boys will still be staring at your ass," I smirked.

"Alan, why did you do this to me?" she whined.

"The same reason I'm gonna do it to you tonight," I gushed. "I love you Betty. And I always will."

"Alan...?" she cooed.

"Yes, Betty," I said thinking about how glad I was that it hadn't been her body on Eight Mile. I also thought how fortunate I was because what had happened to Sharon that day could have happened to Betty on the day that we met.

It was all in the hands of fate. Perhaps Eight Mile was more than just a road after all.

"Alan... Why do we have to wait until tonight?" she whined. "Let's do it now. We can do it AGAIN... tonight!"

"And that's why you're pregnant!" I smirked.

* * * * * *

Back at the funeral, I stumbled up to the podium, praying to God for inspiration. I looked out over all the faces there, most of them, like me, didn't give a half of a God damn about Sharon.

They were all here because, like me, they all loved Betty. Betty wanted the funeral for Sharon because like she told me, "That could very easily have been me, Alan."

As I looked out over all of those faces, I saw only Betty. She was right. It could have been her. It could have happened on the day we met or any time in the days, weeks, and months leading up to us meeting.

The thought of a car slamming into my Betty and flinging her body across Eight Mile scared the shit out of me. I burst into tears, right there on the podium. Betty was immediately by my side, helping me back to my seat.

I heard voices as we sat down. "I feel so sorry for him," said one person. "He loved her so much," said another. "Overcome with emotion," said yet another. "At least he has Betty now," said someone else.

"Alan," whispered Betty beside me. "Did you have an emotional breakthrough? Did you find something to think about Sharon that made you cry? Was it some memory of the two of you and how much you loved her before she... Well... You know what she did."

"Betty... I have no good memories of Sharon," I said. "When I was there all I could see was you. All I could think about was you, and how much I love you."

"That should have made you happy, Simpleton," she smirked.

"It did," I said. "Until I remembered that I was only here because of YOU and how YOU'RE making me pay almost thirteen thousand God damned dollars to bury a woman that I can't stand the shit out of. THAT made me cry!"

The end.