“Oh.”
“Rita broke my heart in a different way. She still wrote me a ticket, which should’ve been a red flag right there, but she had such a dazzlin’ smile I didn’t even notice when they towed my car away. We went to lunch and next thing I knew I was smitten. It’s that women-in-uniform thing. Lesbians go gaga for uniforms and I fell for it too. I’d spend the night at her place just to watch her get dressed in the morning so I could see that glorious uniform.” Miracle sighed deeply.
Zing waited patiently while Miracle snuffled and wiped her eyes. Miracle collected herself and continued, “It was bound to happen. We were so different. She was a city employee with government concerns. She was a democrat and I’m apolitical. She didn’t think I had a legitimate job and that I was a drain on society.” Miracle’s face reddened and she balled up her hands into tight fists.
Zing recognized this as anger. “Are you...I mean, do you… what about money?” Zing didn’t know how to inquire about this employment thing. She knew it was a touchy subject and she didn’t want Miracle’s anger directed at her.
“You mean what do I do for a job?” Miracle asked. She didn’t squint her eyes at Zing. That was a good sign.
“Yes. That’s what I meant.”
“I’m a feminist poet. I write very women-centered poems that address the sensual nature of woman-ness capturing the woman in the woman while she’s in the grip of being a woman.”
“That’s sounds extremely important.”
“It is, but Rita thought my work wasn’t an addition to the nation’s GNP.”
“What’s that?”
“Gross National Product.”
“Oh, I see,” Zing said, even though she didn’t see at all.
“But I stayed with her because we were perfect in bed together, and to me that counts for a lot. Then there was the uniform, of course. We were the perfect couple as long as we didn’t talk about politics, the GNP, books, religion, sports, food, or foreign policy, etcetera.”
Zing wondered what was left to talk about. Miracle began sobbing. Zing handed her a second box of Kleenex. Miracle had used up the first box. Between the movie and the story of Rita, they had a mountain of balled-up tissue on the coffee table.
“I truly thought we were going to make it last. We would’ve been like all those couples who are seniors and have been together for their whole lives. She would’ve retired from civil service and we would’ve toured the country in an RV and gone to women’s music festivals and craft shows. Who knows, I might have opened up my own booth and sold little crocheted owls or something cute like that.”
“That would’ve have been very nice,” Zing said. She’d like to do that too. It sounded fun. Maybe she could see all the national parks and get one of those park passport books and collect all the stamps from all the different parks. She’d heard of other humans who did that.
Miracle interrupted her reverie by saying, “But Rita did the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly it was over. Poof! She was gone.”
“What happened?” Zing asked, her eyes wide.
“She saw a man ripping up the ticket she’d just placed under his windshield wiper. The car was across the street. She yelled at the man but he flipped her off. Nothing pissed Rita off more than when a civilian disrespected a government employee. She flew across the street in a rage. She didn’t look before she crossed and she stepped in front of a bus. The number 17 Red Line going from Harwood Park to the Courthouse. It was over. Rita was a goner.”
“Oh, no.”
“It was bad, the mortician did the best he could but he couldn’t get the tire tracks off her cheek. A lot of her fellow officers attended the funeral. It was a good crowd. They let me keep her badge. It was kind of them. Her badge held great sentimental value to me.”
“Oh my,” Zing said, not knowing what else to say.
“I’m still grieving, despite my affair with Giselle. The way I figure it, one more year and I should be over Rita.”
“How long has it been?”
“Eight years.”
“That’s a long time in human years,” Zing said.
“I think of her every day. That’s not to say I haven’t had lovers, just no one that can compete with lovely Rita the meter maid.”
“Poor, poor, baby,” Zing intoned, patting her hand.
Miracle looked at Zing with big, pleading eyes and asked the question all humans eventually asked, “Why did she have to die?”
“Everyone has an expiration date,” Zing said. “It was her time.”