Ryan ran his hands through his hair, glancing down to the floor and away from his typewriter. The kitchen table beside him lay a mess, papers scattered all over the table top. Two sheets of typewriter paper set in the roller of the typewriter. The paper was half typed on, detailing Ryan’s research on the computer language COBOL, and its internal functionality. He has been working on the paper for two weeks, with another two weeks until it is to be turned in. Ryan sighed, frustrated over the project and not being able to gain any headway. His coffee cup was empty and the transistor radio quietly rang with some Top 40 station.

Ryan sighed frustratingly, continuing to glance at the floor. Suddenly, the radio broke its format with an announcer’s voice.

"We interrupt this programming for a special report from Washington," the announcer said. "We had just received word that an assassination attempt has been made against President Reagan early this afternoon as he exited a Washington hotel after a speech." Ryan sprang up and paid attention to the radio. "Details are sketchy, but it is being reported that President Reagan himself was not shot. More as it comes in."

Ryan leaped from his chair and turned on the television, tuning to Channel 4. An older news anchor sat at a bureau desk reporting the events of the assassination. Ryan sat on the coffee table in front of the nineteen-inch Zenith his parents gave him when he first left for college. The film footage of the assassination attempt continued to play as the anchor reported.

"Jesus," Ryan whispered. "Jesus what kind of person?" Ryan remained glued to the screen, his wife Cathy ran through the doorway, back from her afternoon classes.

"What is it?" She asked nervously. "Is it the President?"

"Shhh."

"Oh my God, someone just came out of the Rathskellar and said the President had been shot," Cathy said, sitting on the floor and lighting a cigarette. "What are we going to do if Bush becomes President? He can’t run the country."

"Shhh, Cathy, come on," Ryan said glaring at the television. The network played the assassination attempt tape again before coming back to the elder anchor.

"This just in from the White House," he said. "It is now being reported and has been confirmed that Press Secretary James Brady has died from a bullet wound."

"Oh God!" Cathy screamed.

"Jesus Christ," Ryan said.

The anchor continued. "It had been earlier reported that Mister Brady was not wounded in the assassination attempt, but that has not become the case. It is unknown where Mister Brady had been shot, though a source from the White House has confirmed Mister Brady has died."

"Jesus Christ," Ryan said. "Jesus, Cath, what the hell is wrong with people to go and do this?" Ryan got up and walked in the kitchen to refill his coffee cup. He came back into the living room and to his seat on the coffee table. Cathy didn’t move from the spot on the floor.

"I can’t believe it," Cathy said. "I just can’t believe it. First, we talk about separating and now this. What a terrible week."

"Come on, Cath," Ryan said bitterly. "Don’t bring it up now."

"So what am I supposed to do, just ignore it because the President has been shot?" Cathy asked. "You asked me for a divorce the other night."

"I didn’t ask for a divorce."

"You told me wanted out of this marriage."

"I said I thought we needed a break. We haven’t exactly been getting along so great lately," Ryan said. "Maybe you haven’t noticed since you seem to spend so much time in the theater with all your theater friends."

"Don’t start in with me about my theater work," Cathy fired back.

"Oh, who is your favorite theater buddy?"

"Leave it alone, Ryan."

"What’s his name?" Ryan asked. "Bob? Yeah, that’s his name. Theater Bob."

Cathy bit her lip and held back her tears. She shook her head slightly and remained focused on the television, still holding the cigarette. She breathed deep and tried not to explode.

Ryan held his own anger back, but wanted to fire a shot again. The argument had yet to be resolved. He, too, focused on the television reports. Another reporter came on the screen with an update of the assassination attempt.

"Early reports from a White House had confirmed that Press Secretary James Brady had died," the reporter said. "Those reports are false; Mister Brady has not died, but has been seriously wounded."

"Oh for Christ’s sake!" Ryan exclaimed. "What the hell is wrong with these people?"

"Oh Jesus, his poor family," Cathy said, stunned. "What if his family was watching? What about his wife?" Ryan got up and walked to the kitchen, angry, then walked back into the living room, but did not sit. He remained standing off to the right of Cathy, behind her. "This is terrible. This is so terrible," Cathy said.

"What a bunch of morons these reporters are,’ Ryan said. "Shit, I need to finish my paper."

Cathy sat silent for a moment. "How can you work with all of this going on?" She put her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray.

"What?" Ryan asked, looking up from the typewriter.

"How can you just go on like that, like nothing is happening in our world?" Cathy asked, holding back tears.

"What am I supposed to do, Cathy?" Ryan asked, raising his voice. "I have a paper due in a couple of weeks and I’ve hardly started. I have you bitching about this, that and the other goddamned thing. You seem to want to spend more time in the theater than you do with me."

"I don’t want to have this conversation again, Ryan," Cathy said, getting up from her spot and heading into the bedroom. "We had this argument the other night."

"Right, until you ran out of the house to be with your new boyfriend, Bob," Ryan said. "You have some goddamned nerve."

"Oh, I do? Well what about you, Ryan?" Cathy asked, coming back into the kitchen. "You spend an awful lot of time in the mainframe lab."

"Yeah, doing work."

"Doing work," Cathy snipped cynically. "What work? You seem more interested in machines than you do in me."

"I am trying to finish this Masters degree," Ryan fired back. "I told you this year would be hard, especially this spring. Christ, you never listen!"

"I do listen, Ryan," Cathy said. "I listen to all your insults of my theater work and how it isn’t as ‘important’ as all your computer programming."

"And I told you that with this work I’ve been doing, I’d have a great shot at that job in Seattle," Ryan said. "Jesus, this is our future."

"No, this is your future," Cathy said. "My future is elsewhere, Ryan." Cathy retreated back into the bedroom and pulled her suitcase out of the closet. She started to empty out her closet and pack them into the suitcase.

"Yeah, a future with Bob," Ryan said.

"Well at least he talks to me," Cathy said. "All you do is yell and write programs. Screw you, Ryan, you are such a lousy husband."

"Yeah, well, that’s just great, Cathy," Ryan said, getting up from the typewriter. "Thank you very much."

"You’re welcome," Cathy said. "And you know what else? If you had just been around a little, I could have stood all your yelling and all your work. But instead, I have to find security with strangers who act all the time."

"Why do you think I write programs all the time, to get away from you," Ryan said.

"Well at least mine are real people," Cathy said.

"Yeah, they’re real alright," Ryan said. "Real weirdoes."

"And your computer buddies aren’t?"

"At least they are looking toward a real career and not this fantasy job like you and Theater Bob," Ryan snapped. "I mean, what is it with you? I stayed faithful in this marriage."

"You were never here, Ryan," Cathy said. "I never strayed from this marriage and it was you who wanted this divorce, not me. If anyone has strayed in this marriage, it is you and your retreat to your work."

Ryan got up from the kitchen table and went back to his seat on the coffee table. "Well, you don’t seem to be having a hard time walking away from it. You find it real easy to stray from our marriage and spend more time acting on a stage."

Cathy threw a pile of clothes into the suitcase and sighed deep and quick. She walked out of the bedroom, passed through the kitchen and stood in the doorway of the living room. Ryan focused on the television. "What am I supposed to do, Ryan?" She asked. "Huh? You want out of this marriage, you don’t want to be married to me any more. You’re never here. I can’t try and make you want me anymore Ryan. I need to get on with my life without you. As hard as it is, I owe that much to myself." Cathy walked over next to Ryan and stood over him. "And I want you to completely understand that I have remained a faithful wife through this whole relationship. I have never cheated on you or strayed in any way, so stop dragging my name down with your cynical comments of this marriage ending." Cathy turned and stormed back into the bedroom. "I wanted this to work," she said, crying. "I wanted this to be forever, but obviously I was the only one."

Ryan remained silent, watching the looping footage of the assassination attempt on the television. The network continued to focus in on the mob of Secret Service agents and police who piled up on the would-be assailant. His hands folded and his elbows leaning on his knees, he sighed deeply, then ran his hand through his hair again. The suitcase closed from the bedroom and Cathy picked it up, setting it by the outside door in the kitchen. She walked back into the living room and grabbed her coat, throwing it on.

"I’m staying with Suzy for a few days until I find a better place to stay," Cathy said, calmly. She sighed and stopped for a moment, before breaking into a cry. Cathy stood still, crying as Ryan watched an assassin’s bullets fire towards a crowd of people and the President. He watched the president be thrown into a limousine and a crowd of security people throw themselves on to a man in the corner. Others hit the ground and a secretary ran across the street, hysterical.

Neither Ryan nor Cathy said anything. Cathy cried quietly and Ryan watched the tragic footage on television. Finally, Cathy took a deep breath and regained her composure. She stood upright and began to speak. "I’m going now," she said. She paused for a moment, looking down at Ryan who remained focus on the television. He didn’t flinch. "Ok then," she said and then she turned to leave. At the door, she picked up her suitcase. She opened the door and turned her head back at Ryan once more. She held it for a few moments, and then walked out the door. Ryan remained focused on the television. The network aired the footage again in slow motion as the gunshots rang through the speaker in the television and people on the screen ran for cover. The president again was thrown in the limousine and a crowd of police jumped on the assailant. The footage remained the same each time the network played it.

-end-