From Angie, I Says
"So you gonna talk to me, Tina?"
"Yeah, sure, Vin."
"Hey, are you okay?" He touches my shoulder real gentle. A sweetie, this one. I feel like Iím out of my mind to be doing this.
"Iím fine, Vin. Itís just that I been thinking about this, Vin, and shit, I donít think itís a good idea our getting married, you know? I donít think weíd be good for each other." I can hardly get the words out.
He just grips the steering wheel hard and donít look at me.
"I donít believe this," he says finally. "I donít fucking believe this."
"Do you know what it is to love somebody, Tina? Huh, do you? ĎCause I donít think you do. I donít think you ever loved me one fucking minute of your life, Ďcause if you did, you couldnít be doing this to me now."
Iím hysterical, and maybe itís good I canít say nothing, just let him get it off his chest. The two of us in his blue van filled with augers and faucets and elbow sockets and blowtorches and tube cutters and wrenches and O-rings and all that shit in the middle of a traffic jam on Fifth Avenue. Iím looking out the window and thereís Saks and thereís Rockefeller Center with that statue of whatís-his-name, the one carrying the world on his back. And Iím thinking, that must be a bitch in this heat. I mean, at a time like this, you never know what stupid thing is gonna pop into your head.
"Tina! Listen to me! You gotta think this over some more."
"I thought it over plenty, Vin. You gotta try to understand."
"I donít understand shit. What are people gonna say? Theyíre gonna think thereís something wrong with me, or like Iím this horrible creep or something you wonít marry me and youíre knocked up. Tina, donít be stupid, donít be crazy!"
"It donít matter what people think, Vin."
He just lets out a sigh and hits the steering wheel hard with the heel of his hand.
"Vinnie, youíre a great guy. Youíre gonna find somebody better in about two minutes."
"Like you found somebody?"
"You heard me. This has gotta be about another guy. What a jerk I am! Maybe it ainít even my kid!"
"Oh, Vinnie, please, it ainít like that, not really."
I can tell heís crying, but I canít look at him.
"You know," he says real soft, "I donít even think that. But it would be better. I could even understand it a little. But that you just donít wanna marry me . . ."
And thatís all we say. Weíre silent the whole ways home. Vinnie keeps checking his watch all the time, like he canít believe how long itís taking. I donít need to check what time it is. I fucking know. Itís the fucking end of the world.