Not Your Typical Love Story

Everyone knows about Romeo and Juliet. Dead. You’ve heard the story about a guy named Brady. He didn’t even make the final episode. Thelma and Louise? Not actually about love, but dead all the same. No, this isn’t your typical love story. This is, Sam and Mendel, an undying love.

It’s a Tuesday. How can I forget? Here I am, sitting on my front porch just listening to the moans of my Mona. I hear the squeaking springs of my bed in my room as some guy they call Vinnie the Blade bones my Mona. Sure I could storm the room, scream a hundred fucks, then shoot them both, but that’s so over done in Hollywood. Besides, I lost my keys, don’t want to put a hundred bucks in the swear jar, and the only gun I’ve got spits hot glue.

So instead I just sit out on my porch, wondering why she never screams this way for me. I feel bad that I don’t really feel bad at all. You’d think after seven months of Vegas sanctioned marriage I’d get more worked up, but I don’t. Maybe it has to do with Mona biting her fork while she nibbles on every meal. Or the way she keeps all her kings in the back row when we play checkers. Maybe it’s the fact that she even insists on playing checkers at all. It’s the small things that really get to me.

In any case, I’m sick of feeling bad for not feeling bad. Glue guns aside, I have to make V the B pay. I whip out my trusty iPhone and Facebook stalk the shit outta Mona until I find Vinnie the Blade’s home address. I plug that shit into Google Maps and I’m on my way.

Vinnie lives in a small ranch on the other side of town. The wrong side of town if ya catch my drift. The door’s about to rot off its hinges so it doesn’t take much to push it open. I’m hit with the stench of skunk Nattie Light, stale stogies, and Eternity for Men.

With my nose buried in my shirt, I’m wondering if there’s anything I can do to this place that won’t be an improvement. That’s when he caches my eye. Over by the window, bathed in a dusty ray of a spotlight. Mendel.

A slender five feet tall, his long wispy leaves soaking up what sunlight it can steal from the half open blinds. Not just a plant. A fern, my fern. Now I know it’s crazy, but this isn’t about revenge. I don’t give a shit about Vinnie the Blahhh and Mona. What I’m doing is out of love. I grab my sweet Mendel and rescue him from this dungeon of despair. He is my Maid Mendelin and I am Sir Samalot. I feel Mendel taking root in my atria. I am complete. Completely insane.

Isn’t this what true love’s all about?

We move into a small one-bedroom condo on the right side of town. It’s got floor to ceiling windows facing the east so we can watch the sunrise. I only use Brita filtered Evian from the French Alps to water him and have concocted my own fertilizer blend. This stuff’s like Muscle Milk on steroids. Mendel’s already grown to a healthy five foot eight in a month.

I call home to tell mom I’m in love. In love, for real this time. When she calls me a tree hugger. I explain Mendel’s not a tree.

“Fern fucker then!” She blurts. “And here I was worried you’d be a fairy.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her Mendel’s a boy fern. She wouldn’t understand any way. Conservatives never do.

Here in our one room oasis, we bask in the afternoon rays as I roll around the dirt spotted beige carpet. Life under Mendel’s leaves is perfect. I don't hear teeth clanging against fork. Mendel never insists on playing checkers, and certainly doesn’t bang any Guido named for a knife.

Of course that doesn’t mean that Guido named for a knife won’t show up at your door with one. You ever wonder why they call him Vinnie the Blade?

Yeah, stupid question.

“Alright! Where is it punk!” Vinnie slams me against the open door, his blade against my neck, shining in my eyes.

“Where’s what?” I choke out being careful not get my throat slashed.

“I’m not fuckin around faggot. I know you took it!”

His left hand tightens its grip on my shoulder. I look towards the window. This can’t be the end. Save me Mendel!

Vinnie catches a glimpse of Mendel and drops his blade. I fall with it gasping for air as I feel to make sure my head and neck are still one. Looking up I find Vinnie the Blade kneeling in repentance in front of Mendel. I stand behind him, knife in hand not quite sure what’s going on.

“Oh baby forgive me.” Vinnie sobs. “That guy’s wife was a mistake, a fling, a lousy lay. You’re the only one for me Bettsy. Forever and always.”

“His name is Mendel.”

Vinnie looks up, remembering I’m still here. He wipes his tears, and stands up pushing his chest out trying to look as intimidating as possible. It works. I forget all about his sissy-crying scene and the knife shaking in my hand as I back myself into a corner. He lumbers towards me in his black leather jacket and shiny head glistening in the sun. Vinnie the Blade’s much larger than his Facebook photo suggests.

“And you!” He raises his voice. “You’re the one who stole Betts from me. Yeah, the asshole who broke down my door. I should teach you a lesson.”

I can only imagine the type of lesson a person named Vinnie the Blade would teach, but he says he won’t in front of his Betts. Apparently head butts are ok though.

I drop to the floor like some back alley hooker. Vinnie heads for Mendel. My Mendel. He bends over and lifts the terracotta with a grunt.

“Ooof! My how’ve you grown Betts.” He looks my way. I’m still slumped over in the corner. “Later loser,” He laughs as he heads for the door, mumbling sweat nothings to Mendel.

No! This can’t be happening. In Vinnie’s arms I watch eternal salvation head for the door. Mendel’s roots have spread from my heart and through my veins. We are inseparable and here we are being separated. He can take my toaster or bang my wife. Hell he can have my subscriptions to ESPN the Magazine, but not my love. Not my Mendel!

I remember the knife. It’s still shaking in my hand, but not in fear. I know it’s a Hollywood cliché but I don’t even care at this point.

Like I said this isn’t your typical love story. Vinnie the Blade’s got one in his back and me and Mendel are alive and loving. It’s the way a love story rarely actually ends outside of Disney Land.
Happily Ever After.

See More Work