Chapter 1

The rage boiled up to the surface as Jerry leaned across his desk and hit the surface of it with his right fist. He yelled, “What do you mean we are out of anti-freeze? We’re a car parts place and shouldn’t ever be out of anti-freeze!”

Mike looked over at his boss, terrified at the sight presented to him. Jerry was a huge man, but there was no way that anyone could call him fat. Not a weight lifter or athlete, Jerry had been cursed with a large build that had filled in with muscle. His upper body looked more like that of a gorilla than that of a human. When he was angry, his face turned dark and the vein in his forehead throbbed. His gravelly voice, loud under normal circumstances, reached volumes during an angry outburst that hurt ears. Jerry being angry wasn’t a rare occasion, he was angry more often than not.

Stammering, Mike answered, “I’m a sales clerk, not a stock manager.”

“Excuses. I don’t accept excuses!”

“This is bullshit. I quit!” Mike stormed out of the office, angry and afraid, wanting to put as much distance as he could between him and Jerry as quickly as possible. He knew that he would probably die if Jerry were to hit him. He didn’t trust Jerry not to hit him, particularly when he was this angry.

Jerry sat down on his chair and snarled at the door. His rage felt that the coward wasn’t worth the effort to chase him down. When the telephone rang, he picked it up and, irritated at the interruption, answered, “What?”

Mr. Sinclair, his boss, was taken aback by the less than friendly greeting. He said, “Jerry, this is Al. I hate to say this, but you didn’t get the promotion.”

Still furious at Mike, the bad news only served to fuel his rage. Jerry asked, “Why in the hell not?”

“You have too high of an employee turn-over rate.”

“That’s bullshit. There isn’t another manager that’s been here as long as I have,” argued Jerry. This day was going from bad to worse. There was no way that he was going to be able to explain to that harpy of a wife that he didn’t get the promotion.

Al was quiet and then said, “They don’t want to risk that same kind of turn over of our managers if you get promoted. Sorry, but that’s the decision.”

Blood boiling, Jerry slammed down the receiver and sat at his desk staring at the door. He felt like breaking it into a thousand little pieces and knew that he could do it. Once in high school, a kid had been picking on him by calling him the Hulk and he had retaliated by chasing the kid through the school. The kid had ducked into a classroom and locked the door terrified that he was going to get killed. The principal had stopped him after he had beaten down the door into the classroom by battering it with his bare fists. The memory left a sour taste in his mouth and reminded him that he needed to control his temper.

Sammy, the kid that worked in the store after school knocked on the door and slowly opened it. Looking around the door, he said, “Mr. Smith, Mike just left. I’m all alone here and there are customers waiting.”

“God damn. What are you doing talking to me? Go out there and take care of them,” shouted Jerry at the closed door as Sammy had already left. He sat there in his chair for a minute and then swore, “Damn kid. Doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. I better get out there and salvage the situation.”

Jerry went through the customers quickly, taking their orders and filling them with ease. The line of customers dwindled and then disappeared as closing time approached and passed. Sammy didn’t stick around after the store closed because a nasty summer storm was brewing on the horizon and he had to pedal home on his bicycle.

After calling in the anti-freeze order, Jerry closed up the store wondering who was going to work the counter tomorrow. Mike’s quitting made him three people short and he hadn’t had anyone come in the store looking for a job in four months. Swearing, he went through the store checking the inventory to determine if he needed to order anything. It took him an extra hour to write down the things that he needed to order immediately. He would have to call in the order in the morning, but at least he could do it first thing and they could ship it out that day.

It was thundering by the time that he left the store. Black clouds hung low to the ground, swirling in anger. Turbulent winds created a menacing atmosphere of impending doom. Jerry looked up at the sky, growling at it as though he dared it to rain on him. He muttered, “With my luck it’ll probably hail.”

After getting into his car, he sat in the seat trying to fight down the rage enough to make the trip home. He hated the drive through the bumper to bumper traffic of rush hour. Eight of the twelve miles home were on a highway that was too small for the traffic it carried and had been since the day it was built. He didn’t want to live in the neighborhood where his house was located, but his wife had insisted because it was a better neighborhood. Better than what, he didn’t know and didn’t care. The bitch had gotten her way. It wasn’t the first or last time that had happened. What he wanted didn’t matter.

He started home, but less than a mile from the store the traffic came to a complete halt. The sky continued to threaten rain, but that wasn’t the problem. Two cars had a minor fender bender and that had backed up traffic even more than usual. Jerry laid on his horn, giving vent to his anger even though he knew that it wouldn’t change the situation. The man in the car next to his gave him the finger. Jerry almost climbed out of his car to let the man know what he thought of getting the finger. Instead, he just honked his horn even more.

Twenty minutes later, he edged around a disabled car even as one of the tow trucks hauled away one of the cars. The rain had not started, but the clouds grew ever darker as the sound of thunder seemed to shake the car. He couldn’t see any lightning bolts, but the clouds occasionally lit up.

The tow truck was moving down the road well below the speed limit and he swore in frustration, “Son of a bitch, use your accelerator! Damn, I’m never going to get home at this rate!”

The towed car hit a pothole and the back end bounced off the road. The bumper, hanging loose after the accident, fell off the car and skittered down the road. Jerry slammed on his brakes trying to avoid the bumper, but he had been crowding the towed car and it just wasn’t possible to avoid it. There was a horrible clang as car and bumper made contact. Swearing, Jerry managed to pull the car off the highway before it started smoking. Once there, the engine turned over for the last time.

Furious, Jerry threw the door of the car open and walked around to the front of the car. The bumper hung out from under his car. Getting down on his hands and knees, he saw that the bumper had gone through the oil pan. The rage within him, always held back by the thinnest of threads, burst free. He pulled the bumper out from under the car and bent it in half before throwing it onto the hood of his car. Calming down a little, he swore, “The engine is totally shot.”

A lightning bolt hit a light post less than ten feet away and the thunder knocked him to the ground. At that moment, the clouds tried to establish a record on how fast they could dump water on the ground below. Jerry was soaked to the bone by the time he picked himself off the ground and made it back inside of his car. Leaning forward, he rested his head on the steering wheel.

Seated there, he could feel the rage seething within him. Oh how he hated the rage. It was his constant companion, always fighting to burst forth and wreak havoc on his life. He fought to keep it down, but knew that it was about to escape. Perhaps this time he would only damage his car.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the window. Looking up, he saw an elderly man struggling to hold an umbrella against the gusts of wind. The poor old guy looked completely overwhelmed by the weather. Jerry lowered the window and heard the man shout, “You want a ride out of this weather?”

The kindness shown him helped fight down the rage. It still was a half a minute before Jerry answered, “Sure.”

Rolling up the window, he followed the old man to his car and got in the passenger side. The old man took his time getting his seatbelt fastened and getting situated in his seat. With a friendly glance at Jerry, he said, “There’s a nice little coffee shop at the next exit. How about I buy you a cup of coffee? You look like you could use a little break.”

Slumping in his seat, he rubbed his forehead striving to hold off a headache and to fight back the rage. Jerry answered, “Thanks.”

The man pulled out into traffic driving slow in consideration of the rain. At the next exit, he pulled off the highway and at the end of the exit drove into the parking lot of a small waffle house. The two men went inside and seated themselves at a table. Jerry was soaked and the water dripping from his clothes had made the seat wet as well.

After the appropriate exchange with the waitress, she brought over a carafe of coffee before going over to wait on other customers. The old man poured two cups and slid one across the table for Jerry. After taking a sip of the hot coffee, Jerry slowly relaxed and said, “Thanks, I needed this. I was about to tear that car apart with my bare hands.”

The old man’s body didn’t give any hint as to how he might have looked when he was younger. With a little weight and a younger man’s muscles, he could have been a very physical guy. The old man smiled and replied, “I used to be like you. All full of rage just waiting to bust loose. One day, I lost my temper and spent the next twenty years in the pen.”

“It’s not going to happen to me,” countered Jerry as his anger returned.

“Right,” replied the old man in a voice that conveyed total disbelief. It was the same tone of voice one would use with a drunk swearing he wouldn’t drink anymore. He took another sip of his coffee, pulled three dollars out of his pocket, and, as he stood, said, “I’m going to go on my way now. You can call a cab and get a ride home from here.”

Ready to argue with the old man, Jerry bit back his retort as the old man turned and left the waffle shop. He swore, “Son of a bitch. Tell me something like that and then leave. The fucker tells me I’m going to spend time in the jail and won’t stay to hear why he’s wrong.”

After fuming for five minutes, he went to the pay phone and called a cab. When he was told that it was going to be a half an hour before a cab could show up, he growled at the dispatcher that they should get more drivers. He stomped back to the table and drank another cup of coffee waiting for the cab. Angry at the car for being wrecked, he decided that he’d just leave it where it was until tomorrow. If he were lucky, they’d tow it away and he’d never have to bother with it again.

He looked at his watch and realized that he’d be home two hours late. His wife was going to throw a fit. Tense, he went back to the pay phone and called his wife. She didn’t answer and he went back to the table even angrier. He thought, ‘Damn bitch probably got tired of waiting for me and took the kids to dinner. I’ll catch hell tonight.’

He had finished the carafe of coffee and gone to the bathroom twice by the time the taxi showed up. The driver, a Pakistani, didn’t understand English and it took Jerry five minutes to get across where he wanted to go. He was close to losing his temper, but managed to keep it in check. Twenty dollars later, he got out of the cab in front of his house and went in to face the family.

Opening the door, he was greeted by the shrill voice of his wife, “Where in the hell have you been?”

His hands clenched and the muscles along his back tightened as he answered, “I had a car accident.”

Without any evident concern for his welfare, his wife screeched, “You couldn’t call and let me know?”

“I called but no one answered.”

“I expect you’ll want to use my car for the next few days. Shit, what am I supposed to do trapped in the house all day long while you’re at work? I have tennis lessons tomorrow.”

He hadn’t expected any real concern for his well being, but her total self-involvement fed fuel to his anger. His rage grew to the point where it was barely under control and he screamed, “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

“Did you get any news on the promotion? I’m tired of having to say that you are just the manager of an auto parts house.”

“I didn’t get the promotion,” replied Jerry as he struggled to keep the rage under control. He knew what would happen next and his rage beat on the door begging to be let loose.

Livid, her face a pale white, she screamed, “You fucking loser! I could have married half a dozen guys that are more successful than you are. How dare you blow it! I’m not going to be able to show my face in public again. Everyone will say, there goes that woman married to the loser.”

As his face darkened and the vein on his forehead throbbed, his fist clenched. He bit his tongue to keep himself from losing it completely. He could taste blood in his mouth, but ignored it in his anger. Barely able to control himself, he asked, “What’s for supper?”

“We waited for you get home. When you didn’t come home, we went out to eat,” she spat the words back at him. With a sneer, she added, “Take care of dinner yourself. If you can’t be successful, then don’t expect me to work myself to the bone for your benefit.”

A vision of his fist flattening her face flashed through his mind. For a second, everything went black, but he fought his rage. Gaining control, he realized that he had taken three steps towards her without knowing it. He went to the closet and removed his raincoat and after slipping it on headed out of the house. As he slammed the door behind him, he heard his wife shout, “You need to talk to Billy. He got into a fight at...”

Turning back to the closed door, he whispered, “You deal with it, bitch.”

Four blocks away was a shopping center with a Chinese Restaurant and he made that his destination. Trudging through the rain as lightning lit the way and thunder threatened to break his eardrums, he didn’t pay any attention to his surroundings. It came as a complete surprise when he found himself in the shopping center walking past the restaurant.

Entering the restaurant, he selected a booth and sat in the middle of the seat where he would have plenty of room for his broad shoulders. Resting his elbows on the table, he looked at his meaty hands. Most men’s hands disappeared inside his when they shook hands with him. He hated his hands, feeling like they were representative of his over-large stature that made him a freak. He couldn’t even count the number of names he had been called in his life. Apeman, Hulk, Gorilla, Monster Man, and Iron Man were just a few of the nicknames he’d heard.

When the smallish oriental woman came to the booth to take his order, he said, “I should have been born two hundred years ago. I would have made one hell of a blacksmith.”

Confused, the waitress asked, “Did you say you want two number fours with hot tea?”

Jerry shook his head and said, “No. I want the Mongolian Beef and Broccoli with iced tea.”

“Okay,” replied the woman as she ran off to put in the order. She was terrified of this man and always dreaded his visits to the restaurant. He was so big and gruff that she felt like he could squash her like a bug and never even notice. She had seen him angry once and the sight was forever etched in her memory.

Jerry stared at his hands, opening and closing them with slow controlled movements. The walk from the house in the rain had eased his rage to where it was well under control. His thoughts were interrupted when the waitress showed up with a bowl of won ton soup. He grabbed the soupspoon in his massive hands. It looked small in his hands as though a child should be using it.

After taking a taste of the soup, he started talking to himself. “I’m miserable bastard. Where in the hell does this rage come from? Why can’t I be happy like everyone else?”

He took another sip of his soup and continued his dialog with himself. His deep voice rumbled across the room. “I know why. I’m too fucking big. People look at me like I’m some kind of freak.”

Pausing to take another sip of his soup, he struck the table with his other hand and exclaimed, “I’m not a freak.”

A family of four, seated at table near his, picked up their plates and moved to a table further away from him. Self-involved with his dialog, he didn’t notice. He muttered, “No. I treat people like shit. Always on the verge of hitting them. Let’s face it, I’m not a very nice person.”

Chapter 2 »