Recapitulation: In the wake of the Jimmy Engles’ funeral, Jenna made clear her negative feelings towards Barry for making her perform a dry run at the child’s funeral. Now Mr. Waller, the building’s supervisor, has taken Barry under his wing to teach him how to make workable his marriage to Jenna, which exists only as fiction.
***
Imagine a trailer park orchestra. Not an orchestra composed of trailer park denizens, replete with makeshift instruments, but a symphony orchestra, wielding authentic instruments, housed within a trailer. All one hundred. All these disparate lives intersecting within this focal point, bringing their baggage and belongings, everyone cramped within the trailer at the same time. Imagine the steamy sweat stench, sniff it as it violates your nostrils and invades your sense of privacy. Feel claustrophobic as everywhere you turn, you see nothing but belongings. Hear the songs as the orchestra continues to practice. This is Mr. Waller’s apartment.
Barry stepped over the threshold and into the morass. The kitchen table to his left, what he hoped was the kitchen table, lay buried beneath a mass of tools, wrenches and screwdrivers piled in a pick-up stick formation. A halogen lamp in the far corner cast a dim brilliance upon the door, which, now open, also served as supplemental illumination. Somewhere in the back, some orchestral masterpiece skipped every four or so seconds, belonging to any of the record jackets strewn about like a coat warehouse. Loose-leaf sheets topped every pile, with a list either describing the contents, or detailing the to-do list associated with the pile.
“’Scuse me.” Mr. Waller left him at the door, stepped over a heap of smeared shop rags. “Go ahead and take a seat.” He disappeared around the corner, if a man of such healthy bulk could ever be considered to disappear. Barry looked into the dead hallway, such a contrast with the cluttered room, considered running and sleeping outside. How long could Jenna stay locked inside? Then, he remembered they just went grocery shopping. Oh boy. He sat down at the table, nudged aside enough of the socket wrenches to create a little elbow room.
Mr. Waller returned, silence heralding his steps. “Sorry about that. So, marriage.” He looked around, then tossed the baton into a pile of various sticks and other long implements. Barry thought he saw half a broom handle poking out. “I got three rules, and if you follow the rules, you won’t never have problems with your woman. What’s her name, anyway?”
“Jenna.”
“Ok. So, rule number one, tell her you love her every day. Every day. You can’t forget that, that’s big. Let’s practice. I’ll be you and you be Jenna.” Mr. Waller crunched his eyes closed, breathed in, then opened them up. He smiled at Barry. “I love you.” Then sat and waited. “No, you’re doing it all wrong. Tell me you love me.”
“Huh?”
“If this is gonna work, you gotta tell me you love me. You’re my wife and all.” Mr. Waller drummed his thick fingers across the table, his pinky clicking against a steel rule.
Barry sighed. “Fine, I love you.”
“No, like you mean it, with a smile. You gotta be sincere, women see insincerity like you and me see red and green. So, let’s start over.” A short pause, and, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Mr. Waller grinned. “See how easy that is? See how she feels? Now, let’s change it, you be you and I’ll be Jenna.” Mr. Waller sat there and waited. Barry waited back. The two of them waited across the table, the pile of tools silent in fear. Then, Mr. Waller started wailing. “Why can’t you tell me you love me?” He clutched his face, drawing the skin downward. It looked like an elderly man’s facelift gone wrong.
“What? What? I was waiting for you!”
“You horrible man, sometimes a girl likes to hear it without having to ask for it. Oh don’t you love me anymore?” For all the effort he put into the scene, Mr. Waller’s voice remained deep as the ocean.
“I’m sorry honey, yes, oh yes, I love you, I love you in the way a man can love only a woman, please stop crying.” A part of his soul broke off from the whole and drifted into the barrens that was his new life.
“Great. Now, rule two, treat her like she’s perfect, ‘cause she is. Even when she ain’t, she’s perfect. You weren’t never perfect Barry, you ain’t never gonna be perfect. Might as well treat her like she’s perfect. She’s always right, don’t never argue, even if she’s wrong. Cause she ain’t. She mighta been wrong before you got married, but she ain’t no more. You are always wrong. Trust me, you swallow your pride now, or you swallow your pride later. Better get it out while you still can.” Mr. Waller tapped his index and middle fingers against the back of his other hand. “So, let’s try this again. I’ll be Jenna, you be you.” Mr. Waller stood up, turned around, flipped his tuxedo coattails out and up. “Do these pants make me look fat?”
No, your fat makes you look fat. “No, you look wonderful honey.”
“Why did you pause?”
“I didn’t pause.”
“Why are you lying? Oh God, you think I’m fat an unattractive. You’ve met someone, haven’t you? What did I do wrong? Oh you lecher, I hate you, I hate you?”
“Hold on! That’s unreal?”
Mr. Waller laughed. “Whose wife is locked in the apartment?”
Barry raised his eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Ok, rule three is the most important. One and two are big, but if you don’t follow three, you got no chance.” Mr. Waller revealed his secret. Barry just put his head down on the table, covering the back of his head with his hands.
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