The BIG Move

When I heard a knock at the door, I thought twice about answering it. It was getting close to spring, and it was campaign season, but I wasn't in the mood to listen to any bullshit—not from women and not from Farmer Chapman, who was running for County Commissioner.

Silence was followed by another subdued rap on the glass of the door. I walked down the stairs and looked through the curtains covering the window.

His hand raised to knock again, Citizen Jim smiled at me. I squinted to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.

"Jim?" I asked, opening the door and stepping back.

I waited for him to assume a martial arts pose to distract me before knocking me down and running up the stairs. But he just kept smiling at me.

"Hi. Is this a good or bad time? I can come back later," he said.

In a normal tone of voice? What the—

"What's wrong?" I asked him. I laid my knuckles against his forehead for a second. Though he had no fever, he didn't smack my hand away and swear at me, either. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" he said. "I needed to talk to you about something, is all."

I invited him in, saying instinctively, "You go first," as he was notorious for following behind me and then poking me and punching me in the back.

Usually when I tell Citizen Jim to go ahead of me, he grabs me by the hair and shoves me in front of him, screaming, "Just go, fer fuck's sake! I'm not gonna hurt you!"

This time, though, he looked at me sadly and started up the stairs, looking back every few steps with a pained expression on his face.

Instead of waiting for me to sit down so he could fall into my lap, smothering me and giving me knuckle-rubs on the scalp, Citizen Jim lowered himself into a rocking chair. He crossed his legs at the ankles, shoving his hands between his knees and leaning forward.

"I just want you to know I'm real sorry," he said.

"What for?" I asked.

"What do you mean, what for? EVERYTHING!" he shouted, then stuffed a fist in his mouth, shaking his head. "See? I . . . I didn't even realize. . .And all this time . . ." he started, but was interrupted by his own sobs.

Mister Meme stalked out of the bathroom, ears back while he shook cat litter off his feet. He looked at Jim, then at me. "My potty needs cleaned something awful," he said. Then, "What's wrong with Uncle Jim?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. Leave us alone and maybe I'll find out," I told Mister Meme.

He took a few steps in the direction of the kitchen, then stopped and looked back at Citizen Jim. "He's not right," Mister Meme said, and shook his head before continuing on his way.

"Listen, Stimpy. Someone sent me an anonymous e-mail a few days ago with a link to a web site called seeitandstopit.org," Jim said. "I thought it was a mistake until I started looking at it. I found out horrible, horrible things—"

"About me? None of it is true! I swear it, Jim, I haven't—"

"Not about you! There was this list! About ME!" he yelled, stabbing his chest with an index finger. "This list of. Things."

"And?" I asked. "Well? So?"

I was losing my patience with Citizen Jim, and that was a fact.

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out on his thigh. "Listen to this, and see if it sounds like someone you know, okay?"

"Okay," I said. "But—"

"Shut up and listen before I go get a brick and smash your—" he stopped and closed his eyes. In a soft voice, he said, "Just listen, okay?"

I nodded, still confused.

Jim began reading: "Insults his/her significant other in public. Checks in on the other constantly. Blows disagreements out of proportion."

My face was turning red. This shit was getting old.

"Blames the other for his/her own problems. Abuses drugs and/or alcohol," he said, glancing up at me, eyebrow raised.

I almost wished it had been a politician at the door by the time Jim finished.

"I don't drink or use drugs. You know that," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Neither do I, but all the rest," he said, shaking the paper he held in his hand. "Don't you see?"

"No. See what?"

"Jumpin' Jesus on a saltine cracker! Can't you see? I'M AN ABUSER!"

I smiled widely. "I know. I went to that web site because I got an anonymous e-mail, too! And I'm a VICTIM! It's perfect!"

Jim just stared at me, flaring his nostrils and blinking his eyes rapidly.

"What? " I asked. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy!"

"If you're such a goddamn VICTIM, why don't you show any of the signs?" he asked, turning over his list of ABUSER traits and handing it to me:

• Depression and suicidal thoughts
• Eating disorders and unsafe weight loss
• Drug and alcohol abuse
• Medical problems
• Emotional and psychological trauma
• Inability to succeed in school or at work
• Post-traumatic stress disorder

"Oh," I said. "Is that why you're so mad, precious lamb? Well, I've definitely had some medical problems? That flu? I still can't get my voice back from that. And I can develop an eating disorder. I can even start abusing drugs, or start drinking a lot. But I can't start fucking up at work. I mean, with Bush in office, it's hard to tell when I'd ever find another job if—"

"Oh, fer fuck's sake! You are so goddamned DENSE!" Citizen Jim yelled. "I oughta punch your FACE in!"

I smiled at him.

"All I do is try to love you, and you end up being a JACKASS about everything," he fumed.

"I know it," I said, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm sorry."

"Man, you got that one right," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you put Meredith up to sending me that e-mail. I should have known! I can't believe I came all this way in my very own vehicle to apologize to you. What for, that's what I'd like to know!"

I shrugged. "I don't know. But since you're here, why don't we go get a steak?" I asked.

"You better bet you're gonna take me out for a steak, and a big bottle of champagne, too," he said, lunging at me.

"By the way," I said, jumping from side to side as Jim tried to grab me. "I just moved Gentlemen Callers to a different web site. Can you tell?"

"The hell you say! Haven't you shuffled those poor stories around enough, you sorry bitch?"

"But it'll be great! The site they're going to be on now? It's called Tales of Love and Heartbreak."

"You don't know SHIT about love. But you sure as goddamn hell love breaking my heart every time I'm near you!" Jim yelled, finally making contact and dragging me down to the floor. "You're gonna be sorry you ever answered the door, Missy!"

"I hope so," I said, trying to bite the hand he was holding over my mouth to stifle my screams.

The color had come back to his cheeks, and he seemed like Citizen Jim again.

What a relief!

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