Something Worth Living For

An Unusual Day in the Life of Robert Franklin
-or-
Something Worth Living For

By: Charlie Beavers

Robert Franklin woke up in much the usual way he did every morning.  Reluctantly.  The piercing buzz of the alarm clock drug him from whatever nocturnal illusion had been keeping him entertained, or frightened, or aroused, and into the cold, hard world. 

Well, soft world, he was in bed after all, and not so cold, more a bit sweaty.  It was April, you see, and already starting to get a little hot.  Not so hot you turned on the air conditioner, and just so cold at night you didn’t leave doors or windows open. 

So the alarm called Robert into the soft slightly sweaty world, and away from his dreams.  He yawned, and stretched, and scratched, and stumblingly he arose.  He trudged into the bathroom, and just as he did every morning, heeded the call of nature.  While he was urinating, he went over what he had to do today just as he did each and every day.  With the last few drips, he sighed. 

Not a mournful, dreadful sigh as one might expect from a man who would truly rather be back in bed, but a determined sigh, of a man who had a task set before him he was determined to complete.  Somehow. 

Robert returned to his tiny bedroom, and began to get dressed, he showered in the night before bed, you see, a habit somewhat less practical in these slightly sticky days of spring, but which made a bit more sense in the winter, fall, and air conditioned summer, and a routine that made perfect sense three quarters of the time was perfectly fine for Robert. 

Clean underwear, socks, an undershirt, pants, shoes, and finally a shirt, in that order, as usual.  A final trip to the bathroom to shave (electric, he despised wet shaving), comb his hair, apply deodorant (spray, he also despised stick deodorant) and swish a bit of mouthwash completed his morning ritual.  He didn’t brush in the morning either, you see, seeing it as a waste of time since he was soon about to eat something very probably sugary almost immediately afterwards anyhow, and the toothpaste ruined the taste of his breakfast. 

Fully clothed and prepared to meet the day, he was free of habit.  While Robert stumbled through his daily routine to get dressed, it pretty much ended there.  Some mornings he ate a bowl of cereal and watched TV, some mornings he was late and grabbed a granola bar on the way out the door.  The hard, dry ones, he didn’t care for the chewy ones. 

Occasionally he would skip breakfast altogether, and other times he would grab something from a fast food restaurant as he sped towards work.  He was spontaneous, you see, after he had dressed and prepared himself for the day, spontaneously predictable. 
A half dozen choices, carried out mechanically and predictably, down to the last detail.  Always this specific burger joint, always this brand of granola bar, always the same two cream cheese filled Bismarck from the same bakery. 

Variety, of course, but always the same options on the multiple choice test of how Robert lived his daily life. 
Today however, there was something less common.  Robert rarely used his telephone, he infrequently called anyone, and even more rarely received calls.  He preferred to talk to people face to face, you see, and most of his acquaintances and friends knew this.  His place of work, rarely called him for anything, and aside from times like this he rarely called them.  He was sick, you see. 

So he called in, gruffed up his voice, and told the proper people that he was feeling under the weather and was unable to come in today.  He was, of course, perfectly healthy.  Although, as he told himself, it wasn’t really a lie, he was indeed sick.  Sick of his life. 

So he lied without lying to his supervisor, hung up the phone, and decided to go out for breakfast to that little diner on the highway he sometimes visited on his days off.  A slightly dingy sort of place frequented by regular working stiffs, occasionally truckers, and tired families stopping to gas up their SUV, empty their children’s bladders, and “grab a quick bite, just to tide us over to the next town”. 

The food was greasy, and cheap, and Robert loved every bite of it.  So, whistling a mindless tune, as he often did while thinking about a meal he didn’t have yet, Robert picked up his keys, and left his house.  He didn’t lock the door, since he lived in a fairly nice neighborhood, and had never heard of any robberies.  He’d been fine so far, why would today be any different? 

Robert got into his car, an unremarkable little thing.  It was a nice shade of blue, which pleased Robert; he really liked the color blue, you see, buckled himself in, started the engine, and drove away. 

Robert drove in silence, he rarely played the tiny radio the factory had installed in his car, usually too preoccupied with wherever he was going to care to listen to music.  He did not particularly enjoy the drive to his favored diner; he did not particularly enjoy driving anywhere.  Point A to Point B, with an occasional stop at point C for a soda and maybe some salty snack.  This was how Robert drove. 

He took all of the same turns he took, and arrived in the usual amount of time.  He arrived, and took his usual parking place, (commonly empty due to its distance from the diner, on the far side of a bank of diesel pumps) and without locking his door, pocketed his keys and went inside for breakfast. 

Finding a suitable seat was no chore, for Robert, he didn’t particularly care what his back was to, as long as he could face a window, which the diner had plenty of.  Within moments the haggard looking older woman came to take his order.  Just like she always did.  Robert had come to eat here on all of the days of the week, at differing times of day or nearly night and it seemed that this woman was always there.  Weary look on her face, order pad in her hand, and pen in easy reach within her apron. 

As always he made a show of looking at the menu clutched in his hands, but he already knew what he wanted, this having been the subject of contemplation on his drive: Two eggs, over hard, sausage, double order of hash browns, and a single biscuit with gravy. 

As always, the woman, Carol according to her name tag, nodded silently wrote it down, and asked him if he wanted coffee.  Which he did, and she returned momentarily to pour it before going off on her rounds. 

No less than twelve packets of sugar and a creamer later, Robert could sip at his coffee stared blankly out of the window.  The view was rather unremarkable, just being the highway, a fairly steady stream of cars, and trucks, and every now and then a bus.  He wasn’t really looking out of the window either, you see.  Of course, he saw what was outside, but in truth he was thinking.  As he always did, about something. 

This morning it was the conversation he had with himself the night before, in the less than hygienic bathroom of a service station.  You see, the night before, Robert had decided that he was tired of living alone.  Of sharing a lonely house and an empty life with no one and nothing.  He had friends, of course.  Good guys he had went to school with from way back.  He still hung out with them, and watched movies, and played copious amounts of video games, and had late night discussions about politics, or the world, or which woman or what item he would take pick to have on a deserted island, whatever. 

They were good friends, and he was lucky to have them.  But still, at the end of the night, or when the sun rose and told every one it was time for sleep, or the last beer or slice of pizza was gone, it was time for him to go.  They had whatever dalliance, or romance, or crush or fling, or fiancé that was currently theirs to get back home to, or drive to meet, or to take home.  And always Robert said his goodbyes with a smile, and he always meant it when he told people to drive safe, or be careful, or to be cool. 

He was a good friend too, and had always been there to listen to the problems of others, to lend a helping hand when it was called for, or just to watch really bad movies with and not say a word while there was heavy drinking to be done. 

But Robert, you see, didn’t have anyone to get back home to.  No-one to worry about waking if he came in too late, no-one to have to consult with before deciding to attend an event, or go on a road trip. 

After he had used the rest room, that night before, he was tried to decide if he should grab some caffeine before driving back across town, since he was very tired.  (As anyone would be after watching most of some animated series from Japan with his buddies until the wee hours of the morning) and had just resolved to take a quick nap in his car before heading home, right out in the parking lot.  It was quiet, and the attendant probably didn’t care one way or another. 

Suddenly, something struck Robert.  Most people have a revelation while engaged in deep thought, or in some life threatening situation.  Robert had his epiphany while standing over a crusty sink in a gas station, looking at the faucet handle on the sink was covered with hand soap, and not… whatever it was. 

It didn’t come all at once, you see.  He just decided against washing his hands, and had turned to stumble out of the bathroom, when he saw the picture on, of all things, a condom machine.  It was a perfectly innocuous scene, of some guy straight out of the ‘80s with a big toothy grin with a pretty dark haired woman, also smiling, standing behind him, arm reaching over his shoulder, holding the man’s hand. 

It was at this moment, something broke deep inside Robert.  He felt it as a pain, somewhere inside of his chest.  A deep, gouging pain, almost like there was something very crucial to his not being in agony, and it had suddenly gone missing. 

He audibly gasped, and took a single step forward, and not in so many words thought to himself “I wish that was me”. 

And so, Robert stood in the filthy rest room of a dingy gas station, and looked at the label of a condom machine, and truly felt what his life was missing.  Not the most dignified of places to decide to change one’s life, but in the real world, there are no kind hearted writers there to make sure we don’t look like fools. 

And so, for the next few minutes, Robert thought.  Not in words, as such, but never the less, he had a very deep heart to heart conversation with himself, and when it was over he had resolved to fix his life. 

Luck, however, was on the side of Robert’s dignity that night in some small way, since he had the coins in his pocket to buy a condom from the machine, there are few things as embarrassing as having to break a bill to purchase a prophylactic. 

That same picture as from the machine, in tiny size, was on the slender box it dispensed.  The two lovers, smiling, and on the other side of the box, the (to Robert) contrastingly tacky “Pleasure-Co” brand name.  And a reminder to look for all their other products the same place you got this one. 

Robert stood there, staring at the thing in his hand for nearly another minute, before thrusting it into his pocket and leaving the restroom.  On his way out of the store, he bought a can of some energy drink that promised to make his eyes never close again, and drove home. 

All along the way, Robert drove in silence as he usually did, and resolved to do something different the next day.  And so, Robert had gotten home, showered, and went to sleep almost immediately, comforted by something new he hadn’t felt in a very long time.  Hope. 

And so it was, lost in his musings of the night before, Robert stared out of the greasy window in the dingy diner, up on the highway while his breakfast was being cooked. 

So engrossed in his thoughts was he, in fact, that Carol had to say “Sir” three times before he noticed her presence and moved his arms so she could set down his meal.  Even distracted however, the smell of fresh sausage was irresistible to Robert, and he set about to eating with his usual gusto.  Robert enjoyed his food, and I do mean enjoyed.  Every bite chewed carefully, the tastes and textures all noticed, recognized, and compared against every other similar meal he had eaten. 

Robert is not obsessed with food, no more so than he is with anything else in his life at least.  He has a healthy love of unhealthy breakfasts, obviously, but Robert analyzes everything in his life, and is the type that can honestly say “This is the best steak I’ve ever had”, since he has unconsciously rated every steak he has ever had, and if asked could probably name when and where he had, say, the top three steaks in his life. 

This morning’s breakfast was quite typical however, and while as tasty and filling as it was unhealthy and artery clogging, is not likely to be mentioned again, due to no fault of its own, simply to being typical of the kitchen of that dingy diner down by the highway. 

Having eaten, tipped, paid, and finally left the diner, Robert Got back into his car, and pondered his next move.  Unconsciously fingering the tiny cardboard box in his pocket, he tapped his keys on the steering wheel, and tried to decide what to do next. 

“Where does one go find a woman?” Robert thought. 

The simple and easy answer is bars and nightclubs, of course, he reasoned.  However, Robert was not overly fond of bars, any more.  Loud, and crowded, he just felt out of place.  Not to mention they rarely played music he cared for, and even then, Robert was not much of a dancer. 

The kind of woman to enjoy the club scene was probably not his type, he reasoned.  So, where on a Thursday would a woman with similar interests and preferences be?  Work, probably, but that very much defeats the purpose going out looking for her now.  Best to assume she’s off work, or some such then.  So, then, where? 

Smiling at last, Robert made his decision, and started the car. 

There is something special about an unexpected day off.  The sky just seems a bit bluer, somehow.  The air, a little bit more fresh.  And that tiny nag in the back of your mind that says “what if my supervisor sees me on his lunch break?” adds an air of danger to the day that can make even simple things like browsing a book store looking to pick up a woman feel like an adventure. 

This was Robert’s favorite bookstore, in fact, and one he frequented to buy everything from magazines and novels to that hottest new video game or movie, even overstocked Halloween candy on liquidation sale in may.  He even occasionally bought a porno mag here, “I’m a man, and I have needs.  There’s no shame in that” He would tell himself, often as he waited for the line at the register to be as empty as possible, and a guy to be manning it. 

If there was any place in town he was familiar with, it was here.  He strode across the parking lot with long easy strides, and into the place just like he’d done a thousand times.  But this time, with a new purpose.  The doors open, and out came that heady scent of the place.  New paper, fresh with dye from the printing press, lined all the walls, the sounds of commerce drift over the ambient music lightly playing (some Eagles, they always have such great taste here).  Smiling slightly, Robert goes in to make his rounds. 

The racks where his favored magazines rest are checked in due course, nothing new, but that is to be expected mid month, nothing eye catching on any of the displays, no signing scheduled for today, no fancy new releases.  So he browsed, seeing this or that he had always prioritized against in favor of some other more interesting book or movie, or album. 

And so, he hunted. 

Watching the people come, and go, he spent nearly two hours drifting here and there in the store, occasionally seeing a good prospect, only to discount her for some fault.  A boyfriend calls on her cell, she rushes straight at the fashion magazines, or picks through the pop music to squeal at some garish album cover for some trashy pop band. 

One close prospect adds another criterion to judge by.  A leggy brunette picking through good section of music finds an interesting album, some nice Pink Floyd, Robert makes the attempt at casual conversation, commenting on the selection, complimenting her taste in music.  She coldly rebuffs his attempts at pleasantries, and quickly departs the store after making her purchase. 

“Too pretty.” He decides. 

Robert isn’t a hunk, and he knows it.  ‘I’m no Tom Cruise’, he might say, referencing a favorite comedian, and he knows his physique has seen better days.  He’s still young, and pretty healthy, but at 26 he’s got a bit of pudge, and no rippling muscles.  He’s no fan of hard labor, and really doesn’t enjoy moving heavy pieces of metal at a gym for recreation, when he gets off work he likes to go home, and honestly the last time he ran it was when he smelled popcorn burning in the kitchen. 

In typical logical fashion, he decides to try to only pick a woman in his price range.  Cute, but not too hot, or else he doesn’t have a chance picking her up.  And next time, less creepy, try to open with a joke.  Robert knows that wit is his major asset here, and he likes to think he’s a pretty funny guy.  He’s always gotten on well with his buddy’s girlfriends, same basic principle here. 

Robert moves on and keeps his eyes peeled.  It is in the fantasy novels section he finally makes some headway.  A cute little blonde, nice and curvy (some might say overweight, but Robert likes a woman with meat on her bones) is leafing through the latest installment from a big author.  No stranger to the book, Robert breaks out the charm, and tries to make a good first impression. 

“That’s a good one, even if the main character dies, what a way to go!” he exclaims. 

“What?  He does not!” she returns. 

“Oh, I am quite certain he does, congestive heart failure after a night held in captivity in the palace of the Ice Queen, happens right in the next to the last chapter, but I don’t think he was complaining.” He says, grasping his chest as though dying, with a big stupid smile ear to ear. 

Catching his innuendo she smirks, and responds, “She’s been dead for three books now, and I think she would be the one complaining, everyone knows he’s gay for the barbarian.”

Looking hurt, Robert feigns indignation, “What?  Never, it’s a manly bond of brotherhood they share,”

“Oh, they share some kind of bondage,” now she’s grinning, “Why else did he send the princess with the old man, and go on alone with the barbarian, hmm?”

“He knew she’d just distract him from what needs to be done,” he’s grinning now, enjoying the byplay.

“Distract him from being alone with big and muscley, you mean.  They hugged before they fought the dragon, case closed, I win.”  Now she’s showing a full smile.

He grabs his shirt and pretends to tear it, “Oh woe is me, my personal hero is gay for a big muscled barbarian, my world is crushed, how can I go on,” turning an eye back down to her from the heavens, he adds, “You have to come have a coffee with me and console me so I’ll have a reason to live.”

“What?”

“Coffee, with me, my treat, right over there,” he points to the coffee bar, more of an island really, by some tables.

“I’m don’t-” she begins.

“Come on, it’s free, and there’s biscotti, can you turn down free caffeine and rock hard Italian cookies?”

She gives a half laugh half sigh, “Okay, rock hard Italian cookies, you sold me.”

And so the two of them had a cup of quite bad coffee, and perhaps even worse stale biscotti.  As it turns out, Jessica, (lovely name) is new in town, and was looking for a good place to buy her needful things.  Luckily for Robert, his favorite bookstore is a chain, so she came here, since her old one had the same name. 

Furthering Robert’s streak of luck, it turns out that Jessica shares much of his odd sense of humor, and is somewhat geekish like him.  Unfortunately, she had a fondness for modern rock, but she had had at least heard of a few of the good old bands, so there was hope at least. 

Further on the lucky streak, she was fully intending to go see the new big budget action movie that was premiering the next night, and was actually going to go alone.  Wrangling a date to grab some Chinese before, and then hit the flick was easier than Robert had anticipated, and the two continued to chat for quite a while. 

Eventually however, Jessica had to go, interview, but with her number hot in his hand, Robert was in quite a good mood, and decided to grab a couple of movies, and head home to veg out after a good day’s work.  He never got around to them; there was an all day marathon on the documentary channel, so he watched long into the night learning how the ancient Egyptians lived, the history of cheese in the world, and how the steam engine revolutionized the world’s economy. 

Throw in some pizza, and it was a very good night.  He skipped his shower that night (and miss the origin of Nachos?  I think not!), and ended up falling asleep on the couch.  Since Friday was one of his days off, not a big deal.  He spent the better part of the day mowing his lawn and wishing the landlord would let him salt the earth and save a great deal of hassle, and then cleaning all of the fast food wrappers, boxes, crates, buckets and whatever was in that Tupperware container out of his car. 

By the time he was off to pick up Jessica he was showered, styled, primped, dressed up, dressed back down, cologned, and body sprayed.  As he was checking his pockets to go, he remembered to bring the tiny package he had bought the night before last, odd how it seemed like so long ago. 

The Chinese was good, the movie was better, despite having to wedge into a full row near the back of the theatre, and after it was over, Robert and Jessica stayed right where they had sat, talking, until the people cleaning the theatre for the next showing ever so politely asked them to go. 

After the movie, the night was young, so they decided to hit the bookstore, and spent hours walking and talking.  As it turns out, Jessica really did have good taste in books and movies, and they had read many of the same things. 

However, all good things must come to an end, and the store was closing down. 
“They’re playing the song.” Robert said, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Happy trails to you, now get out so we can go home,” she looked at her watch, “It really doesn’t feel this late, I’m not tired at all.”

“You know, I picked up a couple movies yesterday I didn’t get around to watching, we could head to my place and check ‘em out, if you’re up for it.”

“I don’t know, it’d have to be pretty good movies for me to go to a strange guy’s house on the first date, I’m not the cheap kind of girl,” 

She was smiling again; Robert was starting to really like that. 

“Only the best, Murder Lake VIII and Jackabout”

“Ooh, watching a creepy guy in a rubber monster suit molest underage campers and a cheap comedy about an action movie star lost in the outback is the kind of entertainment I could compromise my morals for, let’s go.” 

She was definitely smiling.

And so they left, and went to drive back to Robert’s place.  Robert never particularly enjoyed driving, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to get back to point A more than anything else in his entire life. 

They talked as they drove. 

“I hate those movie seats, they make me neck stiff,” Jessica complained while rubbing her neck. 

“Well, you’re not going to like my couch then, built in recliners.  No stiff neck at all.”

“Good, but the damage has already been done,”

“Well, I could give you a massage, then.”

She laughs, it really does sound so pretty. 

“No, I’m serious,” Robert continues, “I’m pretty good, and very reasonably priced,”

She laughs more.  Robert can’t help but smile, he hasn’t heard anything he likes the sound of better. 

“Happy endings are optional and complimentary, of course, but a very happy ending, I’ll definitely have to charge extra for.”

She laughs louder.  “And what makes you think you’re worth it, huh?”

Robert smiles and looks towards her briefly, taking a hand off the wheel, and putting it towards her. 

“Magic fingers, baby, magic fingers,” he wiggles all the fingers on the hand.  “I bet you can feel the magic already, can’t you?”

She rubs her neck once more, “I don’t know, I might feel some magic, here, let me see”

She takes Robert’s hand in both of hers, and he is quite sure he definitely feels magic.

“I’m not sure,” she continues “I guess we’ll just have to see at Bob’s Cinema and Massage Parlor,” 

“Hehe, I aim to please,”

Robert laughed, and continued to drive.  Jessica doesn’t let go of his hand, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.  Oddly, he didn’t mind the ‘Bob’s Cinema’ joke either.  Despite ‘Bob’ being a pet peeve of his. 

You see, Robert didn’t like that nickname, and never had.  Rob, Robbie, Robin, Roberto (that year of Spanish class), Mr. Roboto, none of those had ever really bothered him, but Bob just did, for some reason.  He said it was because it was a stupid nickname, Bob wasn’t any part of Robert, and was always willing to point out Robert only had one ‘B’ in it. 

Right then though, it wouldn’t have mattered if she had been calling him ‘Bobbie Boy’, he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest.  Its ironic that no-one would ever call him Robert ever again. 

To his credit, by the time he had seen the truck coming through traffic in the wrong way it was far too late for him to do anything about it.  Also to his credit, even with one hand on the wheel, he didn’t swerve dangerously, and kept calm, just trying to maneuver out of the way.  It wasn’t to be, of course; too many other cars were in the way. 

Additionally to his credit, he handled himself well during the accident, trying to turn out of the way precisely, and not just screaming or flailing. 

For Jessica, she never really knew what was happening.  All of a sudden, Robert just clenched her hand very tightly, and she heard tires squealing.  It was all over very quickly for her, and she didn’t suffer at all, aside from that momentary confusion. 

The people in the minivan Robert’s car was slammed into suffered, but luckily no-one was killed, and David (its driver) was able to walk again in just a few weeks. 

Joseph, or Joe to his friends, the man driving the truck only had minor scratches, bruising, an embarrassing scald and was able to walk away from it all, his family said it was a miracle.  The only thing he had been drinking was hot coffee, which had spilled on his lap, and had slammed his foot along with the gas pedal to the floor with pain. 

It was all in the local papers, of course, not very often that two kids in their twenties die in a car crash and have to have their hands pried apart when they are dug out of the wreckage.  And besides, it was a slow news day. 

A few of Robert’s buddies said he never had a girlfriend they knew of, and that he was a really quiet lonely guy.  Some people speculated Jessica was a prostitute, and since she didn’t have any family in town, was staying in a motel, and was not currently employed that’s how things were perceived.  David, a medical tech, was the one that found the crushed and bloodied condom package in Robert’s pocket, and that didn’t help poor Jessica’s posthumous reputation much when he leaked it to the press. 

And so, the headlines read that a local man was killed in a car accident on the way back to his home with a prostitute he had hired, probably in the crumbling downtown area. 

A few weeks later, Jessica’s outraged parents had found out about the whole ordeal, and had threatened the newspaper with a lawsuit enough for them to print a retraction.  Not many people read it however, wedged in a tiny paragraph on page 5, between an ad for a Bail Bond agency, and the other half of an article on new tax code.  Besides, it was a much busier news day.