CHAPTER 3

GET IT TOGETHER SAM ROONEY

At around 6:02 in the stupid morning, he acknowledged the ambulatory siren that was his alarm clock. Instead of pressing snooze, his hand slipped, and the thing flew off his bedside table, crashing against the wall-and continued wailing. He finally yanked the covers off, and, sidestepping his slippers, lunged at the damn thing. He was tempted to smash it repeatedly against the wall until, somewhere deep inside its mechanical bodice, it could feel the same pain it caused him every Monday through Friday with the exception of holidays.

He pressed the Off button, and arranged it back on his table with stiff hands. Finally, he put on his slippers, and walked over to the bathroom to take a piss. When he looked into the mirror, he saw before him a fifty-three year old man with deep brown L'Oreal hair, betrayed by the white prickles poking through his chin. His eyelids were practically bald, making him look about as tired as he felt. Get it together Sam Rooney, he thought to himself. He opened his mouth and mused at the leftover potato skin deteriorating between his molars from last night. His teeth were yellow, just like his personality.

After his morning routine, he walked over to the kitchen, and saw Rob standing with his back turned to him, by the stove, flipping an omelet while the percolator brewed some crap coffee into two cups.

That was just like Rob, he thought. He was always looking at the bright side of things, and acting like the world was only as beautiful as you made it out to be. It didn't matter that kids were dying in Palestine, or whatever. Happiness was always two blocks down the corner for Rob.

Rooney sighed. He walked over to Rob and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing him on the cheek. Rob's positivity was exactly what he needed each morning to get him through the day.

"Sorry if I'm a bit prickly," muttered Rooney, as Rob jerked away.

"Rough morning?"

"Nah…just tired. Everything makes me tired. The paper makes me tired. Helga makes me tired. Everything makes me tired."

"Helga…oh boy. How is my 'special' poet doing?" Rob put air quotes around the word 'special.' Not out sarcasm. Rob was never sarcastic. He was too damn concerned about hurting people's feelings to ever be caustic.

"She's been a special pain in the ass," Rooney hissed back.

"What's wrong this time?"

"She's been a complete Joseph Stalin about her journal. She doesn't consider anyone's work to be good enough for it."

"Is anyone's work good enough for it?"

"Well…no. The stuff these kids submit…it's shit. It's all shit. Except for her shit. Her shit is gold. And I can't get her to come out of the closet about it."

"Ah…yes. Our relationship in a nutshell," Rob sighed, emphatically.

"And the other day, some of her classmates started questioning her about it. They asked about Cecile. Really Guantanamo-ing her ass…"

"Guantanamo…ing?"

"If it wasn't for that new kid barging in during the interrogation session, they might have really gotten it out of her."

"A new kid? How exciting!"

"I can't keep protecting her damn reputation," Rooney continued, "It's not fair. The world deserves to know about her."

"I did it for two years. Trust me, you can do it."

"That's…totally different."

"Wait…how?"

"I read her shit from back then. It was all Shakespearean mimicry."

"Oh, I would hardly call it…"

"Now, her poetry and stories are so…real. And if people knew what she was capable of, they'd…" Rooney noticed Rob raising his eyebrows. "Oh, who am I kidding. They'd make fun of her. They'd completely waterboard her."

"You really need to stop watching the news," Rob said with a smile. Before his woeful partner could respond, he got up and headed over to the sink while gulping down the last of his coffee. "Time to fill those empty vessels with knowledge!"

He's doing this to bug me, thought Rooney. Rooney looked down at his untouched coffee. Sighing, he walked over to the sink, grabbed the least crusty thermos, and ran it under some water.

"More like, time to give those miserable sinners a reality check about prepositions."

"Ah yes, and a brand new empty vessel has been added to the bunch in your case!" Rob joked back.

"Eh? Oh yeah…Arnold. You really ought to meet him. Kid's a regular Woodrow Wilson…just like you."

As Rob rushed out the door, Rooney gathered his things and his thoughts.

"Farewell, Mr. Rooney!" Rob yelled as he closed the door behind him.

"Later, Mr. Simmons," Rooney yelled back sarcastically at their apartment door.

Rooney eventually himself made his way over to leave. Just as he grabbed the doorknob, it jiggled on its own. The door swung open, revealing a somewhat ecstatic looking fifth grade teacher.

"This new kid of yours…did he have a…somewhat 'special' shaped head?" Once again, he put the word 'special' in air quotes.

Author's Note:

Sorry about the very late update! I just finished my first semester in med school, and have hardly had time to work on my writing. This one is short, mostly because I don't want to keep you guys waiting so long. Hope you like what I did with Mr. Simmon's character! Any requests for future chapters?