Fear the Repo Man

2,737 Words

“Don’t tell my wife, Paul. I can’t bear to break her heart again,” Steve said, signing his name on the dotted line.

Paul shook his head. “Your secret is safe with me, but you know how I feel about all this,” he said, handing Steve the key. “I know we’ve been friends since grade school, but…never mind.”

Paul Baker was a car dealer with jet-black hair and a politician’s smile, but he was genuine. He cared about his customers, especially a friend as close as Steve. Try as he might, Paul could not bring himself to give his best friend of twenty years his own two cents.

Steve took the key, his hazel eyes growing wide. “I can’t wait to drive this baby home,” he said, as though the key had locked him in a trance as instantly and deeply as any overpaid hypnotist.

Steve Kidson stepped out of the office and into the used car lot, the afternoon breeze flowing through his receding brown hair. At age thirty-nine, he was in better shape than he’d been when he married Lisa Cunningham. The lines on his face ran deep, though, due to almost constant stress over how to pay the bills.

The sun sizzled against the blacktop and reflected off cars, making the mid-August heat all but intolerable for most.

Steve walked briskly to the silver convertible, already imagining the feel of the breeze flowing through his short brown hair, or what remained of it. He reached into a pocket and took out his new sunglasses.

Paul stepped to the window of his office overlooking the car lot and raised the blind, watching his old friend start the convertible. He saw Steve start laughing when the engine purred. Paul met Steve’s eyes and gave him a wave, wondering where Steve was going and knowing where Steve would end up.

Steve drove the convertible onto the highway, praying his wife would understand, but knowing she would not.

#

Lisa muted the TV and greeted Steve at the door. Steve shut the door and took off his sunglasses, inhaling deeply. Letting his breath out, he smiled at his wife. “Do you smell that?” he asked. “That is the smell of fresh flowers!”

Lisa kept her guard up. No smile played across her soft scarlet lips.

Steve always marveled at the simple beauty of his wife’s face. Her eyes were sky blue and perfectly round. Only a few creases pulled at the sides of her eyelids. There was no need for the powder blue eye shadow she carefully applied every morning. Steve swore her cheeks showed no signs of aging since the woman had married him ten years ago. At forty-two, her curly blonde hair showed only a few streaks of gray, and the dimples in her cheeks made men’s hearts melt every time she smiled.

Unfortunately, for Steve, this wasn’t one of those times. “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, tossing his sunglasses on the recliner next to the door.

“What did you buy now, Steve?” Lisa said. Steve sighed and broke contact with those pretty blue eyes. He could never lie right to her face. She knew this and threw her delicate hands in the air. “Oh, come on! Are you kidding me? You went out and bought something else? What was it this time, Steve?”

Steve picked up his sunglasses to plop down on the leather recliner, surrendering himself to the soft cushion. “It’s outside,” he murmured.

Lisa emitted a sharp gasp at the sight of the convertible shimmering in the afternoon sun. Tears rose to the surface of her eyes, spilling over the edges of her eyelids as the realization hit her. “I thought you…told me this…wasn’t going to happen again,” she said between sobs. “You gave me your word!”

“This is definitely the last time, honey, I promise,” Steve assured. “It’s just that I’ve wanted a convertible since I got my driver’s license. I thought as long as we have the extra money, why not buy one?”

Lisa stormed over to the recliner. “Extra money? What extra money? All you know how to do is swipe that credit card. I wish you could understand that it’s just a silly piece of plastic. Please tell me I’m wrong and you took out a loan for the car.”

Steve slouched in the recliner, staring straight ahead at the family picture nailed to the beige walls above the fireplace. When he didn’t say anything, Lisa flipped out.

“How dare you?” she screamed, picking up Steve’s sunglasses and throwing them with all her might into the fireplace. Steve showed no reaction. No flames leapt up to devour the shades, for it was August.

Lisa ran to the fireplace and searched frantically for the poker. When she found it, she let out a scream so blood curdling it made every hair on Steve’s body stand at attention. She held the poker in midair for a moment. Then she repeatedly jammed the point through the lenses of the sunglasses. When she was done, she dropped her face into her hands and sobbed, letting gravity force her to the black leather sofa.

Steve stood and walked to the sofa, sitting down next to his distraught wife. He put an arm around her, but she jerked out of his grasp, as if being stung by a bee. “I know how much this worries you, but I don’t have an addiction,” Steve said. He saw no problem with his big spending.

Lisa sat sobbing, her shoulders shuddering for at least five minutes before she could regain composure. “Brandon wants to go to the mall,” she managed to choke out through what remained of her tears. Her eyes were bloodshot, and Steve hated seeing her like this.

If only he hadn’t charged that car on the credit card.

“I can take them in the station wagon if you want. You’re too upset to drive, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Steve insisted.

Lisa raised her head and made herself look into Steve’s eyes. "You need to take Brandon to the mall, but make sure he doesn’t talk you into buying him anything," she said, grinding her teeth together.

Steve brushed a lock of hair away from Lisa’s wet eyes and got to his feet, and Lisa flinched at his touch.

“Brandon, you ready to go?” Steve called upstairs.

Ten-year-old Brandon came bounding down the stairs, the twinkle of excitement dancing across his marble blue eyes. His smile let Steve know he was ready to go.

“What about Marcy?” Steve asked.

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Lisa assured. “Maybe I’ll join one of her little tea parties while you’re gone.”

Seeing his mother’s bloodshot eyes, Brandon turned to his father and said, “Dad, why
was Mommy-”

“Let’s go, son.” Steve ushered Brandon out the door and took the keys to the Chevy Corvette from his pocket. He stopped to glance back at his wife, but her head was back in her hands.

#

As racked with guilt as he was, Steve couldn’t make himself ignore the constant breeze blowing through his hair on the way to the mall. Brandon’s eyes were wide the whole way down, and he kept making comments about the “cool CD player” and the “really neat roof.”

The mall was crowded, but Steve and Brandon went through the daunting task of picking their way through busy shoppers on a weekly basis.

K B Toys was crowded as usual, children clawing at their parents’ shirts in the vain attempt to make them buy an outlandishly priced toy or video game.

Brandon headed straight for the back of the store, weaving around crying, screaming children. There was the swing set. The plastic blue swings hung by white plastic chains from the long bar supporting the swings. Steve stood at the end an aisle of Lego’s, arms crossed, smiling at his son’s wonder.

As Brandon’s eyes continued to widen in wonderment, an idea occurred to Steve. He reached into his pocket, feeling around for his wallet. Something stopped him. With hand in pocket, Steve recalled how miserable Lisa was when she found out about the Corvette. In fact, Steve had promised her not an hour ago that he would never charge the credit card again until he paid their outstanding bills.

Still, the look in Brandon’s eyes was so heartwarming that Steve couldn’t resist. He told Brandon to stay where he was, and that he’d be right back. The walk to the counter at the front of the store was one of the longest walks Steve had taken his whole life. Lisa’s sobs kept echoing in her ears, but Steve knew she would approve of this. She had to. After all, Steve thought, this is for Brandon and Marcy. I’m not being selfish.

He ignored the voice that was telling him none of this was about being selfish as he stepped up to the cash register. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. The man just looked at him. Fresh out of the eleventh grade, the boy had spiky black hair and a frown so deep Steve was convinced it could even make Big Bird depressed. “How much do you want for that swing set in the back?” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his brown leather wallet.

“Two hundred,” the clerk mumbled, as if talking to another human was as bad as teeth cleaning day at the dentist’s office.

Steve took his credit card out and handed to the boy. After signing his name on the dotted lines, he asked the boy for help with transporting a boxed swing set to his Corvette.

#

“You lying piece of-” Lisa started, but stopped in mid sentence when she realized Brandon was still one room over, in the kitchen.

“But this is for the kids, Lisa! I only want what’s best for them,” Steve insisted.

Lisa’s eyes welled up with tears, her bottom lip quivering while she glared at her husband. “What’s best for our children? Since when do you put the children before yourself?” She was barely able to get her voice out without choking on sobs that rose in her throat and threatened to overtake her.

“That’s not fair and you know it,” Steve fought back. “I love those kids just as much as you do. I just…I have a problem,” he admitted, slumping down into the couch.

Lisa fought back the tears long enough to tell Brandon to go upstairs and wait until Mommy and Daddy called him down for dinner. She turned her icy eyes back on Steve. “It took you seven years to admit you have a problem. Do you know what those seven years have been like for the kids and me? Do you?” Lisa fumed.

“I’m going to call someone first thing in the morning," Steve lied. "I’m sure there are support groups for people like me.”

Lisa shook her head hard. “No, it’s too late. The damage has been done and you maxed out our credit card. Our credit card. You just better hope the repo man doesn’t come knocking on that door anytime soon."

Lisa slapped her hands against the wall repeatedly, then punched the walls and let out an animalistic scream that sent chills up and down Steve’s spine. “How could you do this to our kids? What kind of future are they going to have now?” She was literally spitting the words at Steve, who tried to block her saliva with his arm. Lisa knocked his arm out of the way so hard he almost swore she had broken it.

Lisa bent over until her nose was less than an inch from her husband’s, still screaming, saliva dripping from her lips. “I will NEVER forgive you for this,” she screamed, and Steve had to slap his hands over his ears to brave the sound of her high-pitched whine.

Finally, Lisa bolted into the kitchen and collapsed onto the floor, crying so hard all the energy escaped and she lay there, curled up in a ball like a child trying to shut out the rest of the world.

A few hours later, with no choice but to sleep on the sofa, Steve flipped the living room light switch and prayed tomorrow would not bring the repo man to their doorstep.

#

Steve awoke to the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Lisa came down, heading for the kitchen. Steve rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up, stretching his arms and yawning. “Time for breakfast, Hun?” he said groggily. Lisa didn’t respond, opening a cupboard door and reaching for a box of Wheaties.

Steve heard Marcy cough and roll over upstairs, her room located directly above the living room. He stood and met Lisa in the kitchen. “My favorite cereal. Could you get me a bowl, please?” he asked, pulling a wooden chair from the kitchen table and sitting.

“You know where the bowls are,” Lisa mumbled, getting one for herself and sitting it on the table. She sat down and poured the cereal, then added milk.

Steve stood and took a bowl from the cupboard. He grabbed a spoon from the utensils drawer on the way. “How did you sleep?” Lisa said nothing, focusing intently on her cereal and chewing the wheat squares furiously.

Brandon and Marcy came slouching into the kitchen, obviously still halfway between the world of sleep and that of being conscious. Marcy’s short blonde hair looked just like her mother’s, the locks golden in the morning sunlight streaming through the blue flower curtains hanging over the kitchen window.

The doorbell rang.
Steve stopped eating in mid-chew, casting a meaningful look at Lisa. Lisa threw her spoon down on the oak table and stood up so fast Brandon and Marcy hardly knew what had happened before the loving arms of their mother embraced them.

Knowing what came next, Steve joined the three. Lisa looked at him for a moment, then gave him a weak smile and invited him into the group hug.

“It’s going to be all right,” Steve assured. “Nothing that man does will ever take away the love we have for each other.” They were all crying now. Steve hurriedly wiped the tears out of his eyes as he walked to the front door and opened it.

A man with broad shoulders and a head with a sharply receding black hairline stood on the steps. Sewn onto his mud brown jumpsuit were the words: Collection Services.

It was the repo man.

Broad shouldered, the man nodded to Steve. “I regret to inform you that, due to your failure to pay your outstanding credit card bills, we must repossess the most expensive items you own.

Steve’s eyes grew wide, and this time he didn’t bother trying to stop the tears that came as fast as water being dumped from a bucket.

The repo man walked into the living room, smiled at the children, and walked behind them. He lifted the backs of their shirts; first Brandon’s, then Marcy’s; and did the unthinkable.

He flipped the switches.

Brandon and Marcy’s eyes instantly dimmed, no electronic impulses brightening them now. Their metallic spines bent at the waist, leaving the two in a permanent state of bending over.

#

Lisa had been trying to get pregnant for years, but the doctors said she was infertile. It was then that she and Steve looked into genetic engineering, but it was too far out of their price range. In 2009, Steve decided to apply for a credit card and told Lisa about an article he read in the New York Times about a new adoption program being developed. The two went to the agency only to find display cases of robot children of all shapes and sizes. There were even robot infants. The price was far cheaper than artificially impregnating Lisa.

Now Brandon and Marcy no longer belonged to Lisa and Steve. More likely than not, the two children would be taken back to the agency, the memory chips in their heads erased and replaced with fresh chips. A new family awaited Marcy and Brandon.

The repo man lifted the robot that was Brandon, hoisting him over his shoulder and walking out the door. Marcy was lighter, and Steve watched those beautiful blonde curls bounce as the repo man took what meant the world to Lisa and Steve.

The only man Steve had to blame was himself.