"I can't believe the news today…"-U2

Leaning back, he always starts by saying the same thing, "I like a story that I can learn something from." That's Billy. He's one of the guys in my writers' group. He's an older guy and he writes these short vignettes of his life as a boy. He can't hear out of one ear so he leans in when you talk to him. That's when he hears you. If he doesn't hear you, he stares into space.

Coming into the blood bank I pretend to be deaf. There's a couple arguing. It sounds like it's about who's picking up Gilgamesh from his youth group. Gilgamesh? Yeah, he'll be the popular kid in youth group. I can't even come up with a good nickname out of that. Gilgi? Meshy" Man, I hope that kid has a cool middle name. It doesn't matter now, cuz the way his parents are arguing, I think he's going to be in youth group for quite a while. Did the legendary Gilgamesh have abandonment issues too? I wonder...

I wonder lots of things sitting in the blood bank recliner, my lifeblood oozing into a small tube, trailing away into an invisible bag, I'm reminded of Billy's love for an educational tale. Not by the siphon process in my arm, but by the TV news donating to my stupor. I've seen this in vampire movies, but there really isn't anything I can do once the needle is buried in my arm.

I'm sprawled out with no where to go. Or at least that's what the needle in my arm says. I may ignore a gentle prod, but when it's a 3 inch needle imbedded into my vein, it's got my complete attention. The pretty young assistant asking me to squeeze the stress ball every five seconds doesn't hurt either.

"Just relax. We'll only take everything."

"ok. As you wish…"

"just squeeze your heart out."

"What?"

"You're hand sir. The stress ball is shaped like a heart."

"Oh, so it is…"

She smiles. Everything she says is true. Yes...

So I'm lying here, as I'm prone to do. Sorry, lightheaded blood woozy joke. I'm watching the news. Smiling Anchorwoman just told me that if I feel the need to travel to the Mountains after I give blood, the road is now open. I can. I won't, but it was nice of her to mention it. She's awfully caring. I could use somebody like that...

"...New news in divorce study." My ears perk. I pump the heart in my hand a little faster. According to the story, couples who argue live longer than couples who don't. What about couples getting a divorce? Where do we fit in? My blood is raging rapids, capsizing and drowning any surviving hope for answers. I'm not going to learn from this. It's all in vain: in one, and out the other, into a neat bag, all red and glistening. It's somebody else's hope; it no longer belongs to me.

I've given my all. The reporter doesn't seem to care. That's a statistic, it's not news. She does pass on an interesting bit of data though. According to her story, people who argue have—and these are her words, I swear—"a lower death rate" than people who don’t. Ok. Have her words sunk in yet? I can repeat them if you like, "a lower death rate." That's right, according to my news girl, there's at least one couple out there who won't die, and it's all because they argue. Did death forget them? Maybe he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"Excuse me, I hate to be a pest, but can I but in for a moment? Hello? It's me death. When you're done arguing I need to take one of you." Sigh, " Uhm I'm on a schedule, could you please hurry? Are you listening? Ok, look, I'm going to be over here reading War and Peace. I expect you'll be finished before I am. Come see me when your done, alright?"

And I don't know, If I'm locked in a perpetual argument with MyUnwife, do I want to live forever? Do we add years for throwing things?

Or maybe I misinterpreted the reporter's meaning. I know, "Rob misinterpreting something" now there's a newsflash! Maybe all the people who bottled up instead of fighting died before the test was over. We're still waiting for the arguing people to die. They haven't yet, but they are annoying the crap out of the rest of us. The good news is it will end, just sometime after the news is over.

These are the thoughts that crowd in when the blood leaves my body. When the girl removes the spigot, I wander over to their waiting area to get juiced. It's over. Have I learned anything? I learned that if I want to live forever I should fight more. Sipping my juice I see a guy in the corner. I can't really see him, he's wearing a black cloak and reading War and Peace. Huh, maybe I did learn something...