The Misogynist

by Daniel Thant

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I had it all planned: the building was deserted and the stairwell eight floors deep. Nobody around to get in my way - not my mother or any other woman. I would just have a smoke, leaning against the rail on the eighth floor and contemplate for a little while. No matter if my clothes got dirty from the charred wood and paint - this would be the one.

I knew from the first time I saw the building that it would be my ticket to the grave. Not ten days ago it had caught fire and been almost completely gutted before firefighters put out the flames. Demolition was planned for tomorrow - already an army of tractors and a crane with a wrecking ball were parked outside. When I saw the blackened staircase it was a revelation; I had been going about things in all the wrong ways.

Thinking about the time I wasted is painful. The first attempt I made was in broad daylight, about ten yards before a CTA bus stop. When the bus came roaring down the street I was braced to jump and my eyes were probably gleaming. The giant flat face of the bus came rushing toward me and I lurched forward but I stepped on my shoelace. I would still have fallen under the wheels to die a gruesome death if not for the goddam rescue worker who grabbed my arm and tugged me back.

Whoa ! she said. You almost fell in front of that bus ! Are you OK ?

I must have given her the right look because she let go of my elbow and stepped back. I think I grimaced at her and nodded. That was sure close ! I couldn't believe my luck. What were the odds of this gorgeous twenty-something woman grabbing my arm as I attempted to kill myself. She would have never given me a second look, back when I still had a will to live.

Be careful next time - the traffic is awful this time of day.

Next time. I nodded at her again. Tell me about it.

Suddenly I felt so depressed that even suicide seemed out of my grasp. I wandered into a nearby coffee shop and drank some mocha while staring at the tabletop.

Aaww you look so sad !

I glanced up sharply. What the hell was going on ? Here was a young brunette who could be a fucking supermodel giving me her undivided attention.

Suddenly I was angry. I said, Where were you when I was happy ? Get lost.

Her expression turned cynical and she rolled her eyes before walking away. I watched her go with the shady kind of expression only creeps used.

I was officially a creep.

Those two women occupied my thoughts so much during the next several days that in my mind their faces merged into a hybrid of everything that was hateful about women. Bossy and manipulative with their perfection. Irrational and assuming in demeanor. Always trying to change people.

Naturally this got me to thinking about my mother.The second attempt I made was even more depressing. I had been evicted from my room in the apartment building downtown for failing to pay the rent, so I was feeling a little on edge. My landlord bore more than a passing resemblance to Marilyn Monroe.

I had been wandering around the streets muttering to myself, and I concluded that however many people were at fault for my misery, my mother should be at the top of the list. After all, I didn't ask to be born - life was forced on me. Women have too much power. They get to decide who lives, if not who dies.

Maybe even who dies. Too much power.

So I phoned my mother and told her we should have lunch somewhere. I picked her up at the law firm where she worked and she made a clever comment about my shoes.

So I had been wearing the same shoes for four years - big deal!

Men don't need to buy new shoes every five minutes. Put me in a real good
mood.

We walked over to the subway and took a train to the neighborhood where the restaurant was located. I imagined I was on death row, having my final meal with the judge. I made a show of searching for my wallet and then pretended I had forgotten it.

Oh, don't worry about it, she said. I can get the bill this time.

She had no idea that I had quit my job the previous week. I told her I had been promoted and that I was dating a girl from accounting. Hawaiian.

How wonderful ! she exclaimed. When do I get to meet her ?

We walked back to the subway where it would happen: the worst moment of my life. The train was late so I figured I might as well get it over with. I stood on the yellow line for a moment to work up my nerve. I told mother to watch and jumped down on the tracks. I was headed for the third rail when I realized that there was altogether too much screaming from behind me.

Yes someone had dropped a kitten down onto the tracks. The rumble of the train filled my ears as I rushed over to the cat and swept it off the tracks. When I handed it up to the crowd people grabbed my hands and pulled me up off the tracks; I tried to resist but too many people were pulling.

Back on the platform everybody was cheering and clapping me on the back. The owner of the kitten was a thirty-something drop-dead beauty who kissed me on the cheek.

Thank you so much ! she cried.

I felt sick. Mother hugged me and told me I was such a hero. Suddenly I was being asked hundreds of questions by a reporter from the Tribune. He took my picture. I could only stand staring at the silver blur of the train through my tears.

So I suffered a few setbacks, but you know what they say about the third time. I didn't have anything to worry about this time. I was going to have a nice gravity-induced suicide and the demolition crew would find my remains tomorrow.

Why spend my last few minutes fuming about this ? I asked myself. I was holding a copy of the Tribune and on the second page there I was. Local Hero Saves Kitten. The picture had me staring away from the camera with a glassy heroic look. As if I had just foiled the grim reaper. Such bullshit.

Impulsively, I tossed the paper over the rail. I watched its fluttery flight all the way down to the concrete on the first floor. I wondered if that concrete would crack. I thought about it - if I weighed 198 pounds and I was traveling at least 70 mph, I just might break through concrete. And leave a hole shaped like my body.

Then it occurred to me that the police would need some way to identify the body. I took my wallet out and set it on the floor. Then for some reason I took off my shoes and left them next to the wallet.

Finally I threw away my cigarette and stood up on the rail. I looked down at the dizzying height. I turned around so that I could fall backwards and saw a bag lady. She picked up my damn wallet and ran off with it !

I was so shocked I slipped off the rail and fell - barely catching myself on the ledge. As fast as I could I climbed back over the rail and chased the bag lady down the stairs. She was amazingly fast and soon I was sprinting through a part of the building I had never seen before. Then she hit a door and disappeared outside. I ran after her.

The door led to a docking bay and I jogged down some steps. I was catching up with the old hag - she was just acoss the street in front of me.

I sprinted into the street and the first thing I heard was the blare of a horn. I turned and watched the front bumper of a garbage truck crash right into me.

After what seemed like a very short time the darkness began to clear. I stared up at some lights mounted in an acoustic ceiling just above me. The room was so silent I was hearing air rush through a vent on the wall, and a heart monitor beeping.

Slowly my gaze moved downwards to a big aluminum cage constructed over the end of the bed I was lying in. A sling was keeping my leg elevated and my leg was wrapped in a big white cast up to the knee. I gasped when a face appeared over me. The face of a woman.

Hello, she said. How do you feel ?

Where am I ? I demanded in a thin voice.

She smiled with full luscious lips. The hospital. You were hit by a garbage truck, remember ? I'm your doctor.

No, I whispered.

The bad news is that your leg is broken.

I gaped. Her curly red hair was almost tumbling into my face. Wh-wh-what's the good news ?

The good news is that you should be back on your feet in four weeks. You get to stay in the hospital for two - your break was a compound fracture and pretty bad.

I made a high-pitched keening sound.

Oh don't worry, she said. It should heal, but we have had some problems resetting it. You shouldn't move at all for about a week.

A week ? I wept.

Yes. But the nurses and I will be taking good care of you.

Suddenly two other female faces appeared. They were attached to slender bodies in snug white nurse uniforms. They smiled at me with a mixture of pity and predatory mirth.

My high-pitched keening turned into sobbing. I sent a bitter curse toward heaven for the cruelty left unchecked in this miserable world.

Or just maybe . . . not in that world any longer ?!

©DANIEL THANT 2000
The man who loves to drink Mr Brown Iced Coffee

Previously by Daniel Thant
The Misogynist
Roadside
Shotgun Incident

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