Terminal Read Online Free PDF

moment.
    * * *
    When I came out, after gargling with half a bottle of mouthwash, Michelle was back sitting on the sofa, engrossed in her book.
    “You okay?” she asked.
    “Yeah, I’m fine. Just another headache is all. It’ll go away.”
    “You were in there for a long time.”
    “I had to take a monster shit. You don’t want to go in there for at least an hour. Better not light up a cigarette either!”
    “Tommy,” she gasped, smiling, “you’re horrible!”
    “Hey”— I smiled back—“you asked.”
    We sat there for a while and she told me about her day. Irritating customers buying lottery tickets and paying for cigarettes in loose pennies and her manager’s latest personal crisis and the joke of the day that the potato chip delivery guy had told them. The most boring shit in the world, and usually I tuned it out, but not then. Not this time. I wanted to listen, wanted to hear it all. Wanted to know every detail. Wanted her to know that I loved her and that I was really interested in what she had to say.
    The phone rang, interrupting her story of what happened when the lottery ticket machine broke down. We both looked at it.
    “It’s probably my mom,” she groaned.
    I reached for the phone. “She’s going to wake T. J. up, calling this late.”
    “I know. I’ve told her.”
    I picked it up on the third ring, and said “Hello?”
    There was a pause, followed by an electronic whir, and then a nasal, female voice that I didn’t recognize.
    “Hello?” I said again.
    “Hello, may I please speak with Mr. Thomas O’Brien?”
    “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not interested. Put us on your Do Not Call list.”
    “I’m not selling anything, sir.”
    “Then why are you calling?”
    “Are you Mr. Thomas O’Brien?”
    I sighed, exasperated.
    “Yes. Now who the hell are you?”
    “Mr. O’Brien, I’m calling from Gulf Financial Credit Services, in regards to your Visa account.”
    “I don’t have a credit card with Gulf Financial.”
    “Yes, I know that, sir. We’re a collection agency, and we’re handling your account on behalf of Visa. Are you aware that your account has exceeded the credit limit and is currently past due?”
    “Well no shit, Sherlock. That’s why we haven’t been using it.”
    “When do you plan on making a payment, Mr. O’Brien?”
    “When do you plan on getting a real job?” I countered. “Don’t call here again, you bitch!”
    I slammed the phone down, and immediately felt better. Fucking around with telemarketers. There’s nothing like it in the whole world.
    “Who was that?” Michelle asked.
    “A bill collector.”
    “Which one?”
    “The credit card.” I sighed. “Guess they want their money too, just like the insurance company and the phone company.”
    “Well, they’ll just have to wait. We need to pay the electric company with your next check in two weeks. Like I said before, they sent us a shutoff notice. And don’t forget, we’re behind on the mortgage.”
    “But we need that to pay for the phone. Guess I won’t get the medicine after all— and don’t start on me about it!”
    “But you have to.”
    “I don’t see how. Jesus, I wish we’d hit the lottery!”
    “It’s okay, Tommy,” she soothed. “We’ll get by. We’ll figure something out. We always do. T. J. and I can always count on you.”
    She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. When she hugged me, I almost sobbed. Instead, I hugged her back and bit my lip, fighting to keep my emotions in check.
    “I love you.”
    “I love you too,” I whispered into her ear. “I really do, Michelle. I want you to know that.”
    She pulled back, giving me a puzzled look.
    “What’s wrong, Tommy?”
    I shrugged, fighting back the tears.
    “I don’t know. Long-ass day, is all. Long, long day . . .”
    “You’re tired. Let’s go to bed, baby.”
    I nodded. My face was buried in her hair, and it smelled so good. I took a deep breath, inhaling her scent.
    Holding hands, we