Yeah...Except That

Tears trailed down the man’s face as he wiped his nose, sniffed and blinked a few times at the glorious sunrise over the misty mountains. He grinned, turning to his best friend. “Wow—what a scenic picture! What a view! I want this view to be forever—to see life as beautifully as this. Don’t you?”

Maria nodded. “Yeah, a picturesque scene!”                

Both people leaned towards each other, wrapping their arms around each other. Best friends, Maria and Ripper took a selfie. One of millions as the two clicked Maria’s phone or Ripper’s phone as one of them held it up and both grinned into the electronic device. When the sight was captured on the camera, Ripper and Maria continued splitting branches and splashing into muddy puddles on their hike in this intimidating forest obsessed with trees and leaves and plants other than trees. Ripper shook his head, laughing as Maria said he didn’t capture the sunrise as nearly as well as their selfie.

“You’re obsessed!”

“Not as much as this forest with foliage.”

Ripper nodded knowingly. Maria grabbed his arm, and the two dashed down the dirt path cut out for hikers. Maria ran and ran, yelling for Ripper to hurry up. “Come on—”

“Ripper!”

Maria’s scream as her terrified face with bulging eyes and a gaping mouth turned right around to see him knee-deep in a pile of mud. “Ripper!” She dashed back to him, her arms extended. Grabbing onto him, she strived to pull him out. “Don’t move, Rip! I’ll rescue you.” She tried and tried, but Ripper winced from the pain and then yanked back. “Come on, Ripper. We need to keep hiking. We have all this—”

“Forest to see?”

Ripper asked this question calmly.

Maria looked at him, having let go of his arm. She looked over at the forest, drinking in all the foliage around her. Biting her lip, she returned to Ripper. “Rip,” she exhaled, “I don’t see a better experience other than—”

“Look all around you, Maria. You’re so full of—”

“Emotion!”

“You’re boring.”

“How do those things make us best friends?”

Maria and Ripper looked away, from each other. He sunk himself into the depths of memories back in elementary school, when Maria sat at the table, ate her lunch and then got up to go to classes again. Ripper, lifting his eyebrows and sighing in such disbelief as to the fact that his mother would get up at four in the morning every morning to make him not only a buffet of poached eggs, bacon, ham, cheese omelets, hash browns and a small tower of chocolate chip pancakes but also a gourmet lunch of hamburger with pickles, onions, cheese, ketchup and lettuce sandwiched with toasted buns, a bag of Cheetos, a cupcake, a long piece of celery slathered with peanut butter, a cheese stick and a carton of apple juice. Once he returned to reality, he saw Maria’s usually dull blue eyes glazed over.

He squinted and then widened his eyes. “Maria, Maria!” He tried slapping her legs to wake her, but she was lost in thought. “Maria!” He begged. Finally, she jolted, grabbing his hands with both hands and pulling with all her might. “Stay—still. Don’t move!” Slowly, the jacket, pants and boots, all now brown with mud, came clean out of the mud hole.

“Maria.” He grabbed her shoulders, and she stood right in front of him. Staring right at him, she asked what the problem was. He looked her right in the eye. “I know your thoughts. I can read minds!”

Slowly backing away, Maria stared at him and then hightailed it out of there. She leaped over fallen trees, splashed through creeks and then curled up tightly, her arms pinned around her legs, as she stared at the huge boulder before her. “Who…who is he?” Breathing, Maria forced herself to calm down. “I don’t know if I’m dreaming, but I…I…think I’m—”

“Not dreaming.”

Maria whipped around and balled her fists. “Stay back!”

“Maria, I’m Ripper. Ripper from elementary school. I just…I just told you something I can do. I know you were lost in thought. Me too. About our elementary school days. Please. Could we be a little more exciting? I mean, you’re always telling me things, making me feel like I just want to splurge on expensive clothes or see wild movies. I…” His shoulders sagged, and he sighed. “I—”

“Spit it out, Rip!”

“You’re boring.”

Maria looked at him. Then she blinked. “I thought we were best friends. I thought—”

“I think we’re just acquaintances. I think we’re less than best friends. And more than strangers.”

“But all those times—we went zip lining, skydiving, rock climbing and white water rafting together!”

“Yeah—I joined you because first, I couldn’t read minds—”

“What does reading minds have to do with our hike—”

“Think about it, Maria. I think you need to do a little more decorating your own life. Think of all the crazy things we could do—actually do. I feel we’ve come so far but done so little.”

“So you’ve always been with me--”

“I’ve tried, Maria, but it never really gone anywhere. I mean relationally.”

Maria looked at his mud-infested jacket, jeans and hiker boots. She smirked. “I mean, I guess mud is the new jeans. And polyester, and brown.” She giggled, and then full on laughter came from her mouth. She bent over, bent in half from hysteria. Ripper laughed, too. Then he nodded, she saw, when she stood up straight. “You’re weird to just announce that. Did I not catch that in elementary school?”

“You would’ve, if you would have just laughed at my comedy.”

“Yeah…”

The two continued their hike, splashing each other with water and then going to their Airbnb to clean up and roast marsh mellows by the crackling, spitting fire. Maria and Ripper told stories about their elementary school days, but Ripper seemed less interested in Maria’s life than his own. 

“Thanks.”

Maria put a piece of popcorn in her husband’s mouth as they sat together, his arm around her turtleneck-covered shoulders. She grinned, her eyes and brown-sugar clownish hairs of curls sparkling and bouncing like undisciplined children jumping on the furniture. He turned to her, warm eyes admiring the way she leaned her head on him, and wrapped his arms around her.

“Liked it?”

“No. But I do when I’m with you. Well, I like only when I’m with you. Not the movie.”

“Yeah.” He looked listlessly at the movie of the two hikers bickering about their personalities. “Whoever put this crap up on screen should’ve rethought their plans. I’m sick of the man, covered from his jacket to his hiker boots in mud after being pulled by his seemingly best friend out of a mud hole, yelling about the woman’s stupidly weird attitude. I mean, the forest has more than just trees, right?”

Maria snuggled up to him. “Yeah…”

When the man got to work the next day, some cameramen came to his office and up to his cubicle, asking whether they could film the next movie of his life. “No!” He snarled, shaking his head. They did the work anyway. He threatened to sue them.

“So what are you going to do?”

Maria asked from behind their kitchen counter one evening as she rubbed some chicken with salt and pepper seasoning and then opened the oven to put in such a delicious dinner while the mashed potatoes waited in the mixing bowl. Ripper sighed. “I don’t know…”

When Ripper saw the producers and director again at his office, he went straight to them and announced to the whole office he could read minds. They stared at him a minute and then discussed whether they should continue the movie. Blinking rapidly, the crew shook their heads. “Please,” they begged, “we just need to do our jobs—”

“Then make it about someone else.”

The crew released a film about Ripper and Maria’s days in elementary school. Ripper stormed up to those people at his office, ordering them to stop or they will regret their jobs. Ripper showed up on set of the next movie, and grabbed electronics, threw gadgets and threatened to sue anyone who continues this bonanza of a career. They did. Ripper, at home, called in sick that day (which he was), and went down to the basement. Locating his rifle, he secretly loaded it and stored it under his desk underneath the floorboards. The crew came back, but Ripper grabbed a pair of scissors. Aiming the sharp end at them, Ripper growled for them to disappear from the earth. Some people ran at mock speed, turning the situation into a hair salon, complete with towel on Ripper like a huge bib, scissors, brush, comb and hair stylist chair. A mirror was put in front of him.

“Now, we’re going to help you enjoy them! Maybe if we—”

The hair stylists worked too fast for Ripper to launch into them, so he sat, the arms of his chair gripped and his mouth closed tightly. “Done!” The hair stylists stepped back. “How do you like it?” They kicked the chair further up to the mirror. Ripper studied his slick brown hair and beardless face. Ripper studied himself more, and slowly got up. “Can you…give me clothes?”

“Yes!”

They all dressed him in dark blue button-down shirt, grey bowtie and black pants. Boring, Ripper thought, ordering more clothes. The crew worked patiently, chatting excitably about his new wardrobe. Then, once he had glamourized the whole office with his new attire, the office’s employees went white with jealousy, excluding him from their office parties. He was fired. They renovated the office to make it exciting, and continued as best friends. Ripper joined the crew as a hair designer and makeup artist, costuming the performers in the award-winning clothes they had so praised him for using on each set for each movie. Soon, Ripper had spent every second devoted to his stitching and sewing and measuring and creating and sequencing that hundreds of calls from Maria glared back at him.

He blinked, but actually threw away his phone, buying a new one, telling Maria he had a new phone. She tried convincing him he had a wife back at home. He dedicated a portion of his life to her, really meaning it. She ran to him, arms open wide, a joyful smile on her face every time Ripper came into through the door.

“Baby!” She exclaimed.

“Hey Maria!” He accepted her hug with a tight squeeze, kissing her right on her crown. She told him she had bought a mansion down by the bay, where they could go fishing time to time. He agreed every weekend was the time for that. She gushed about his looks and then told him he would see his old self in the movies.

“I don’t want that. I want this. Please—a mountainous view, remember? I’m making millions, I’m living with the best, most beautiful wife ever and I’m doing what I love.”

Every year, Ripper succeeded, claiming more and more awards for his talents. Soon, he sat, exhausted, on the couch in his mansion. Maria came by, and sat, leaning into him when she lay down beside him. “Rip, are we friends? Am I your wife?”

He rubbed her arm. “Yes.”

“Are we?”

“Yes!” He laughed. “Of course.”

“Rip.” She sat up, looking him in the eyes. “Are we? Do you like your new fashionable job? Do you like what you do? Or is it because it’s an escape? I don’t see you that much. We’re not fishing like you promised. We—”

“I said we’d fish on the weekends. I am!”

“Rip, you—”

“Have this fantasy thinking we’re best friends. And we’re going to grow old together, and we’re this couple, and…” Ripper slowed down, but he got up, took his new phone and dialed the phone number he told himself he should’ve called before. Maria got in the way.

“Honey—”

“I got to call this number.”

She stepped back, her fists balled. Waiting, she jumped. “The chicken!” She rushed to the oven, just as the smoke breathed out. The crisp chicken came out of the oven, black as charcoal. The chicken was dumped, fed to the trashcan. Grabbing some chicken out of the freezer after shutting the oven, Maria grabbed some frozen chicken. She saw the chicken thaw pretty quickly—quicker than normal—and then seasoned it. It then was prepared in seconds! She looked for Ripper. He was in their bedroom, on a call. She thought. Chicken, mashed potatoes and…?

She went out their sliding glass door to the garden out back, pulled some garlic and herb and parsley from the dirt and, rubbing all three between her hands, she sprinkled some onto the chicken, it landing and sticking the way it would if the chicken was still raw. Then Maria set out all of the silverware and plates, making the dinner festively picturesque. A grin spread wide on her face. She posed right in front of the table, calming herself as she clasped her hands together and rocked her feet back and forth in anticipation for her husband’s arrival. And praise.

“Honey!”

He came, he saw and he ate that scrumptious meal of creamy mashed potatoes, crispy chicken with spices so decadent on the chicken and beautiful colors of ice cream colors all together like best friends in a cone. “Wow!” Ripper cleaned up with his wife, helping put everything away. Maria invited him over to the fire, asking what he had a call for.

“The next movie. It’s not us.”

“Oh.”

Maria closed herself off from her husband, roasting her marsh mellow subconsciously. Maybe I’ll cook for the cast and crew. I’ll cater. Maria asked her husband whether they needed any caterers. He replied a day later with a yes. Maria nodded, barely able to tell her husband without spewing out the meals she’d make. “Oh, the chicken—I don’t need an oven. I can thaw with my hands. They heat food. I can make meals myself without buying the ingredients. Just like that.” She nodded, her eyes shimmering.

Ripper nodded, and Maria got to work every day he was on set with the crew, helping prepare the cast to work on the sets for the movies and television shows. The caterer, Maria, became interestingly famous for her delicious meals. When Ripper asked whether she’d stay for his parts in the show, she sat, eating her own food. She watched, but he asked whether she saw him.

“Uh…”

“Uh?” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s ‘uh’?”

“Uh…” Maria bobbed her head, sucking some ketchup from her hands. “Yeah, I like it.”

Rolling his eyes, Ripper continued, telling everyone to continue despite his wife’s interruption. Later that night, she waited for Ripper over by the fire. “Marsh mellow?”

“Don’t want to get fat.”

“It’s just a marsh—”

“Mellow. Got it.” He walked away into their room. “I’m sleeping in here alone.”

“Good, because I’ll be on the couch!”

Icy words were flung back and forth. Maria released herself outside for a walk. Who am I? She walked, wishing she could just disappear to a world where no tears fell again.

Late that night, on the couch, an idea popped into her mind. If everyone has superpowers—the stylists go superfast with everything, I make meals without buying the ingredients or preparing anything in advance, Ripper can read minds and the director can shapeshift—then… She lost herself in thought, and then returned to the couch on which she insisted she’d sleep. Ripper was in the bedroom, she knew. She quietly slipped into the bedroom, exchanged her clothes for a bikini and knelt into the bed, shaking Ripper gently. He squeezed his eyes and then opened them. “Hon—you okay?” he moved to turn on some lights. Looking at her thin physique a minute, he chuckled and then freed himself of his pajama shirt, his abdomen boasting of six-pack washboard abs. his arms, muscled, flexed as he showed off for her. She asked whether she was still boring.     

He ran around the bed, grabbed her hand. Telling him to calm down, she waited until he approached her calmly. Taking both hands of his, she squeezed them lovingly, looking up into his eyes. “Baby, do you love me, or your work?” 

“Do you love me, or your job?” He asked.

She beckoned him. They headed out to the hot tub waiting in front of the garden. Stepping into the lit pool, they both descended the stairs. Holding each other’s hands, they replaced the hands with shoulders, sliding each other’s hands over shoulders and then hands sliding down to each other’s garments. Ripper had, he said, replaced his pants and shirt with a bathing suit, and told his wife to heat the water. It steamed a little. 

“Thanks…”

She removed her bikini after they made out. He had been untying it. Her hands curled around his bathing suit, pushing it downwards past his butt. After removing it, he tossed it onto the grass. A bikini landed next to those shorts. The couple said because they were married, they should be together forever. Until death did we part. Maria enjoyed his abs and muscles. Ripper laughed, enjoying every minute of it. He, after kissing her while running his hands through her barely wet hair, told her to wet her hair more. And Maria told Ripper to work out more. He did. They became members at the local gym.

They owned up every night at the fireplace. They worked, but they fished, roasted marsh mellows together, made each other morning coffee and made each other evening hot chocolate, complete with peppermint stick and marsh mellows.

The cast and crew never bothered Ripper again. They understood where they went wrong. Ripper and Maria returned to the same life, breathing in air as fresh as that mountainous air.

Friends till the end.