The Girl Who Sleeps With a Knife

"So," Joan began before sipping her cappuccino, "How old are you?"
"I'm 28 but I'll be 29 next month," he said after gulping his black coffee.
"Wow, 28 years old and you ain't married. What are you, some kind of nut-job or something?" she joked.
"Nah...I just never saw the point ya know. I mean yeah you get to love someone, but the fact is one of you is gonna have to bury the other; either you die before me or I die before you." Rocko shook his head,"I don't wanna go through that."
"Well, Rock, we're all gonna die; shit, Rocko, babies die. The world is a shit place, ya might as well find someone to fuck and watch tv with," she took another sip,"What about family, ya gotta have some family?"
"Aww, I don't really talk to them no more."
"Well, how come?"
He sighed, "Well, me and my father got into a pretty big argument--"
"Let me stop you right there, Rock, let me tell you this: fix it. Whatever you and your daddy argued about, fix it, come to a compromise, apologize, do whatever you have to do to fix it." she stared at the table,"I still remember the day my big brother told me he was going into the army. I hated it, I hated anything that involved conflict, and I told him "Don't you ever talk to me a again, you fucking baby killer."," she teared up,"A man shows up at my doorstep last year, when the war was over, gave me my brothers dog tag and tells me he's dead.Why the fuck would anyone say that to their, what the hell was my problem?" A tear escaped her and ran to her chin, "So for your sake Rocko, you should fix it, even if it wasn't your fault."
"Your brother died in Vietnam?" He asked.
"I just said that didn't it?" Joan wiped the salted water from her face.
"What was his name?"
She sighed, "Malcolm Luther Rockett," she smiled a bit,"That's a hell of a name isn't it? My mom loved those guys? Why?"
"'Cause...um...alright you wanna you know why I cut my hair like this?Well, I was the lieutenant of that squad your brother was on. I lost...all of my men...the Vietnamese soldiers captured all of us, and killed them all. The soldiers killed them slowly enough for me to actually see the life go out of there eyes, like old light bulbs." He sighed a heavily, as if he all the terrors in the Vietcong could be blown out of his memory along with his breath,"I cut my hair like this, because everyday when I looked in the mirror I saw the same face, and it brought it all back; I figured if I did something different, I would feel different. Do you think they serve coffee Irish?"
"NO,ROCKO!" she banged her fist on the table, causing mostly everyone in the cafe' to stare.
"So they don't serve coffee Irish?"
"No, they don't," she explained,"But I'm saying no to drinking yourself to death. I'm no therapist, but I do know that you refusing to live with your past is what's eating you up inside," she said this aggressively,"You need to accept what happened so you can get past it, brother, get rid of the jive and bring in the love. That's how I can talk about my brother without craving a cigarette or some coke."
"So you help me with my daddy issues, and my PTSD, what next you gotta cure for cancer? Do you know the secret to life?"
Joan frowned,"I just trying to help, but you know what," she chugged the rest of her coffee, and put on her jacket,"you ain't nothin but a jive mothafucka yo'damn self."
"Wait, Joan," he stopped,"I'm sorry, I'm just no good with people tellin' me what to do, even if it is for my own good. That's what happened with me and my father."
Joan breathed,"Don't ever mock me, Rock. It'll be the last thing you do."
He smiled,"Yes, ma'am."

Walking back to the pub, Steven watched enviously as Joan and Rocko laughed together.
"So, Rock, it might be a little early to invite to my place but what the hell: I'm off tomorrow, and I have some new David Bowie records that I'd like to listen to, would you like to join me?"
He made a face, "Who's David Bowie?"
She widened her eyes, " "WHO'S DAVID BO-alright alright so you have to come listen to some tunes, daddio."
"What about um..."Sex Pistols" on your shirt?"
"Wha--were you checking out my tits, Santino?" she asked mischievously.
"No, not at all."
"Oh cut the crap, everyone looks at my tits. It's a natural thing,"she shook her head,"Rock, you think too much of me man; I know you're not a dog like the rest of 'em, but you respect me enough to lie and say you weren't checkin' out my rack." she smiled," I like you. I live two blocks down from the pub, my building is a horrible turquoise color, you can't miss it." she began to walk off.
"Wait wait, what's your apartment number?" he asked.
"Oh yeah, it's apartment 12, on the third floor, the gate doesn't work for the timw being so just feel free to just come up,"she assured,"1'o clock sharp."
"1 'o clock sharp," Rocko repeated and patted his templewith his finger,"I won't forget."
"You better not." And they parted ways, Rocko went home to try out Joan's advice, and Joan went back to work. Back behind the counter, Joan leaned on the counter in boredom as the evening lull took its toll. Steven pushed himself against her, but she pushed him off.
"Your mate's gone already?"he asked her in a low mocking tone.
"Get fucked, Steven."
"Feisty,"he remarked,"do you really think he could ever be attracted to a black cunt like you?"
She scoffed,"You are."
He looked at her, outraged, raised his left hand and smacked her across her cheek, carefully she fell to the floor. She refused to let the sting of his strike compose tears in her eyes, "You worthless peice horse dung, I merely use you; I could never find your kind appealing."
"Keep letting in the jive, Steven," she rubbed her cheek," It only brings out the truth."
He turned his back on her, uttering,"Clean yourself up", as if she didn't know to do it without his instruction. This wasn't the first time Steven struck Joan, but she assured herself, that this would be the last.