Chapter Thirteen: Freedom (Part 1)

Freedom: no one is free until we are all free and are freeing each other. Give each other space to taste sweet freedom…expand your mind and make room for all!

The sun casts golden light across Mimi’s closed eyes and wakes her gently, wakes her from a sleep so sweet she can taste the morning. She stretches her muscles until they respond, and rolls onto her stomach; easing her torso sideways across the bed until the mattress’s edge supports her trim waist, she slowly reaches downward until her hands feel warm wood. Bending her elbows, she touches her forehead to the floor as blood fills her sleepy brain; she becomes fully awake as axons cross the synapse and shake hands with dendrites, and gray matter greets white matter with a welcome slap on the back. Mimi has her own little church in her head. Ten sun salutations add extra length to her back, and after a light breakfast of two soft scrambled eggs, a bowl of chilled Swiss chard, a hunk of raw cheddar, and one piece of crispy brown sunflower toast, she quickly showers, dresses loosely in shorts and tee-shirt, laces up her trusty five-eyed Doc Martin’s, pulls a Life is Good cap over her long braid, and cheerfully heads for The Firefly.

Sam kicks tangled bedclothes to the floor, medulla curses oblongata, and a trickle of grapefruit juice angrily splashes into a breakfast vodka shot; morning is just the beginning of another long, miserable day for Sam. He takes a quick shower, and tugs on his red hot chili pepper pants, a faded Yankees tee-shirt, and his tomato-stained running shoes. In an effort to dim the day, he reaches for a pair of dark sunglasses and heads to The Firefly; the last person he needs disturbing his bad mood is Mimi, but he spies her car in the parking lot. He opens the door, and there she is, staked out at the bar drinking coffee and reading the paper like she owns the place. If the heart has a hateful chamber, Sam’s opens wide when he sees her. “Mimi, I don’t want you here anymore.”
“Good morning to you too, Sam,” Mimi says politely, never lifting her eyes from the front page news. “I made a pot of coffee.” Sam silently walks behind the bar, reaches into a humming beer cooler, and pulls out an ice cold Corona. “Yeah well, enjoy it,” he retorts. “Did you hear what I said? I don’t want you here anymore. You’re dead weight.”
Mimi shudders, drops the paper to the bar and looks at her pitiful husband. “Sam, I own half this restaurant, remember? If you want me out, you have to buy me out.” Sam’s eyes roll like a tight quarter slot. “Yeah, right, like this dump is worth anything.” Sam holds the glistening Corona to the light; it looks like liquid sunshine. Sparkles like the Mexican Riviera, Sam thinks, and takes a deep pull.
Mimi shrugs. “Okay, then, I’ll buy you out.”
Sam thrives on cruelty, especially when he runs low on grapefruit juice in the morning. “I’m the one with restaurant experience, remember? You didn’t know shit five years ago. You’ll run this place into the ground, six months, guaranteed, if you can find anybody to work for you.”
“I’ll take that chance, Sam; how much?”
Sam shakes his head. “I’m not selling.”
“Tell you what,” Mimi says, pushing Sam closer to a total meltdown, “let’s hire a restaurant consultant to estimate what this place is worth, and we’ll get an attorney to draw up the papers.” Sam tilts precariously toward malfunction. “Brilliant!” He howls. “Let’s open the books to Joe Schmoe on the street here. Do we tell him about the safe at home? Do we tell him about the cash we take outta here every week? Shit, Mimi, we’ll both end up in jail.” Sam’s Corona takes on the patina and taste of cat urine. He smells the almost-depleted bottle, burps loudly, and pours the dregs in the sink. “You’re a fucking pain in the ass, do you know that about yourself? This business is worth nothing, and nothing is what you’ll get.”
Mimi breathes deeply in a vain attempt to idle her racing heart. “Sam, please stop it.”
Sam jumps. “No Mimi, you stop it! You’ve done nothing to build this business. It’s time for you to go.” You can’t argue with a drunk, Mimi remembers Sam saying. She sits silently as Sam continues to spin toward his warped version of a big payout. “Ask anybody; the staff hates you now; my old customers have always hated you, did you know that? Everybody talks trash about you when you’re not around.”
Mimi’s core body temperature drops as her heart goes into shock. She shivers as she stands, carefully moves toward the sun, and silently asks the beams to deflect Sam’s cold words. “Are you having fun, Sam?”
“Yeah, Mimi, this is fun, isn’t it? I’m having fun, are you having fun? If I hear you mention the word fun one more time, I’m gonna puke. Life is just one big fun game to you, isn’t it?” Sam’s inflamed eyes exit their sockets as his frontal lobe pushes on his last occipital nerve. “Why don’t you go on home now and have some fun with Jake?”
Now I get it, Mimi thinks. Gino must have spilled the beans. “What are you talking about, Sam? Jake has nothing to do with this.” But for the first time, she knows he does; Mimi sees a crack in Sam’s demeanor that leads to a deep fissure, a depression so deep it would take a two-ton dump truck to haul away the rancid, rushing and painful ooze of his backed-up rage.
Pigs wish they could snort like Sam. “Oh, I’ve heard, and I’ve seen, too. You can’t keep your hands off him. Everybody’s talking about it. You’ve been having an affair for years, you damn slut. Having fun yet?”
“Sam, calm down. You know that’s not true.”
“The hell it isn’t!” Blame travels boldly when escorted by a lie.
“You’re way off base, Sam,” Mimi cautions. “Friendly conversation isn’t an affair; be careful what you say now.”
“I may be stupid Mimi, but you’re a big fucking slut. Jake’s a married man,” Sam yells to an invisible audience; he opens the door and spews his toxic rant to the empty parking lot across the street. “Everybody hear that? My wife’s having an affair with a married man!” Turning his attention toward his gray-faced wife, he says, “Now get the hell out of here.”
Mimi plants roots in her little piece of ground. “I’m staying, Sam. If you don’t want to see me today, you go on home. I have work to do.”
“Not for long; it won’t be long now, girl. This restaurant is folding, wait and see.” Sam loiters by the door and pants with the need for a drink. “People are lining up to help me because they know the shit you’ve put me through.” He catches his breath in preparation for next tirade, his last chance money spin, his big hit. “Go ahead, Mimi, call an attorney; see what happens. We haven’t shown a profit in five years. Any businessman worth his salt will think you’re crazy if you put a price on this place. You won’t get a dime from me; I have friends who’ll make damn sure of that. The best money I can spend right now is to take you out for good, and it’ll only cost me five thousand dollars. Your head is cheap, Mimi.”
“Are you threatening me, Sam?”
“No Mimi, I’m telling you. Get the hell out of here.”
And Sam is right. He knows the business better, he cooks better, he steals better, he lies better, he hides better, he cheats better, better, better. Mimi is having no fun, no fun at all. She calls an attorney who makes sure of that.

To be continued…