The Girl Who Sleeps With a Knife

The restaurant was nice, but it was a Tuesday night so, Joan and Rocko was one of the few couples that attended. It was a small place, just outside of Queens, and was warmed by the multiple ovens radiating heat from the kitchen. The tables were square with red and white checkered tablecloths, with salt, pepper and Parmesan cheese container in the center. As they found their seats, a waiter handed them each a menu along with a glass of water.
"I'm starving," Joan complained to herself,"but I have no idea what to get, everything sounds great."
"You should try the veal, it's the best in the city." said Rocko.
"Hardy har,"remarked Joan,"the spinach fettuccine sounds good."
"I'm getting the lasagna."
After the waiter took their orders and their menus to the kitchen, it was Rocko who began.
"So, Joan, how old are you exactly?"
"26?" Joan shook her head, "27?"
"Colder."
"22?"
"Still cold."
"23?"
"Warmer."
"24?"
"You're on fire!"
"Wow, you seem older--more mature I mean," he said," I barely even remember what it was like being twenty-four, all I remember was fixing cars and grease stains."
"You were a machinist?" she realized more than asked,"That's why you're family has fancy cars."
"We've been fixing cars since my grandfather came here from Italy. People thought we're the best at what we do."
"You're family's rich?" said asked.
He nodded his head,"We save a lot of money on our own cars; we get a lot of rich customers with nice cars, so most of the cars are gifts of appreciation."
"Like, I wish my folks worked so hard that I inherited bitchin' cars," she said,"but I'm no doofus, wistful thinkin' is for the birds, man."
"What'd you're parents do? I remember you telling me that a man "took" your mother when you were about to stab me." he laughed because he knew that it would set Joan on a rampage, but he loved that.
"Look, gearhead,--ya' know I won't do it--yeah a man took my mother." she sipped her water,"My mother was the strongest woman I knew, I would never be stronger than her. I'm a coward, the last man in my life to hurt me, got his finger cut off, but my mom, gee wiz. My father was the coldest mo-fo ever, and not in the good way, he beat my mom to her last breath. I remember seeing her when I was five and she had bruises all on her chest and arms. I though it was beautiful...like rainbow spots. I even wrote a poem about how she was "kissed by unicorns"."
She shook her head,"I'm sorry, Joan."
"Save it, Casanova, there's no reason for it. You didn't kill my mother, I don't need sympathy; all I need is for you to never break into my house again, you pickin' up what I'm lyin' down?" he nodded, "then we're gravy."
The waiter came by with two steaming plates, "You're dinner is served, be aware of the plates, they're hot." They both said their thank you's before the waiter left.
"This spaghetti is far out, how's the fettuccine?"
"Hot and delicious," she answered,she had to stop herself from saying 'like you'.
"So how long have you been a barrista?"
"Well, I've worked at a bar since I was 19, but I've been making drinks since I was 17," she smiled at the memory,"When I was seventeen I was the one of the biggest trouble makers, but I wasn't stupid. You see, what made me so bad was that I was that good; in high school, I made sure that most of the teacher I had either like me, or be good enough for the teacher not to care about me so when I skipped class to go smoke cigarettes with my girlfriend, no one would notice." she sighed,"good times. Not that my school record even matters, I'm the best bartender in the city, I get paid like a white man, all without a college degree."
He chuckled,"Quiet braggin'."
She laughed,"I'm sorry, man. It's just that, the only person to ever know this was me, and when I got outta high school I just thought that it would be a good story to tell, I won't be boring like all of these empty bodies running to their jobs everyday."
"What about your boss? Or is it just a made up concept?" he asked after bit into a meatball.
"No...no, Steven...Steven is as real as you and me," in the couple of hours that Rocko and Joan had met,he had never seen her as quiet as she was about Steven.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" he joked.
She softly shook her head,"Nah, let's just...let's just leave that alone...don't worry about it."
For the rest of the night, Joan had nothing to say. On the drive back home, he often glanced at her staring out into the night , repeatedly reminding himself that if he stared longer than .5 seconds then they would both be permanently part of the car.
In an attempt to cheer her up, he began,"You know, my family's got a lot of cars...cars like this one. More cars than we know what to do with."
She faced him," Just lay it on me, Rock, what're you gettin' at?"
"I wanna give you a car," he said.
She chuckled,"Get real, Santino, we only just met and you manage to turn listening to tunes into a fancy dinner, by breaking into my house, and I almost stabbed you, and now you wanna give me a car? You can't be for real, man."
"I think you deserve one of these cars, you're the gearhead around these parts."
"Look, man," she stretched her back,"you think too much of me, I'm not as special as you're trying to make me out to be. It trips me out that you men think I'm some sort of saint, that'll save you or some shit. Let me lay it down on you man, I am not a savior, I have my own problems, I don't need yours."
"Joan, you don't understand me at all. You aren't special, you're like every woman I've ever met; strong, confident, cool, you don't walk you strut: so no, you aren't special. I know you have problems, I can see them in your eyes, every time you look at me, every time you threaten me, I can see right passed that hard-talking, knife swinging wall of yours and you know what I see?"
"Tell me, Rocko Santino, what do you see in me?"
"You're fragile and scared, just like the rest of us. I know you have problems, I'm not dumping mine on you, I want to make you feel like you aren't alone in this cold world, Joan, because you aren't." he stopped the car, and they were right in front of her building. She could feel the tears welling up in her throat.
"So what, you think that making me feel wanted for once, instead of used that I'd just let you--let you," she sighed,"fuck I don't know. I was trying to say something romantic but I can't 'cause all I can think of is how no one was ever so bent on making feel good." she wiped her eyes,"Take me to your crib, please."