Part One
Sitting on the concrete step, I looked out onto the church lot. It was a sunny day, warm. Heat bounced off the decrepit vehicles, causing a mystic mirage over the horizon. I looked around, no one in sight except the beautifully green vegetation. A cool wind tip-toed its way through my cotton shirt, a brief relief from my dreadful thoughts.
I picked up a small stone and threw it in no particular direction, then I rose and walked into the church lobby. It was cooler in here, more relaxing. I plopped onto a cushioned seat and closed my eyes. My life replayed in my mind in flashes, like someone holding up photographs. The only sound was the menacing howl of the pastor warning of evil deeds and the devil. Running through my mind were thoughts of how boring everything was. I despised everything about my life.
I opened my eyes and walked downstairs into the kitchen. The church kept its refrigerator somewhat stocked. Yes, Pepsi. I annihilated a 2-liter and threw away the bottle. Let the others drink water, it's healthy. After a well deserved burp I resumed my position in the lobby. I wish I had a cigarette. But I don't smoke, so i let the thought pass. Light came through the red and green colored glass, i realized I was getting pissed off. After scratching my ass I went into my car and drove off.
I pulled into an ice cream store and ordered a cup of vanilla and chocolate. Sitting under the patio umbrella, I saw hundreds and hundreds of cars driving by. Each driver has a story to tell, a life to live. Some have toe fungus. I smiled and the thought, then I realized a girl smiling back at me. She had misunderstood, but I smiled back. Being a male, I went through the usual calculations of 'what if i got with her.' But my mind trailed off. I saw myself at the beach, could be Bahamas. Lying there on the silk sand as the carribean breeze massaged my skin, I looked out onto the blue ocean. The endless expanse full of beauty and sharks. Ying and Yang was the way of nature, the way of the world, the way of life. Suddenly the beautiful blue ocean turned black. "Hi." I regained sense of reality and looked around, the girl was sitting across from me.
There was an outstretched hand, but I was just looking at it. My mind kicked into gear and I shook it, "hi." I felt like telling her to go back to her table and look in the opposite direction, but I thought that would be rude. After 30 minutes, we exchanged e-mail addresses and parted.
Driving down rockville pike, I felt emptiness. This must be what it feels like for a suicide bomber. Everyone looks like a puppet, the buildings and lights all look like a grand show, just fake shit. A depressing thought then went through my mind. What if life doesn't change much from this. This could be what if feels like to be an adult. This is why everyone drinks. Fuck it! I drove home and went to sleep.
Daydreams of the Bemused
At times one wants to pushed aside, dismissed and left to die. Unfortunately my wishes don’t respond to me, they respond to outside voices. My reeking studio apartment sits atop a gray suburban street, devoid of life save for swaying branches. A squirrel pops into the scene every so often, only to stare and grin, pathetic. So what, I know I’m pathetic, go to hell.
Without so much as a precaution I fly away in my thoughts. I stare at the sky, ever so immense but hanging, itself a puppet to its law. Nature binds its creations, be they mountains, oceans, planets, or galaxies. They’re giants forced to wear tuxedos and behave at the party. While man is simply an ant frolicking on the floor, snooping for a crumb to survive while attempting to neglect that at any moment a giant might crush him. In this orderly disorder, where do I place myself? Among ants I am barely recognizable; I dig further on the floor. And so I find myself in a dilemma.
My housemate stands 5ft’8in, tall for a Peruvian female. She’s athletic. Her broad shoulders, flowing blonde hair, and luring Latina accent bring her to life. On the street I’d never approach a woman like her, way out of my league. Whenever she speaks, her face has a glowing quality, like she’s sharing a secret. Her demeanor is relaxed, with a hidden sense of urgency. Unfortunately, she lives up to the cliché of beautiful women, she never cooks, but who cares, she owns the house. Or so I think.
When I moved into the house, I’d hoped the lady was attractive, carefree, but older, much older. That way I could console myself of my pitiful state by saying, “she’s older than me, I’ll get a house by the time I’m her age.” No sir, this girl is my age, if not younger. I smile with her, tell jokes, and hide my resentment and pure envy at her achievements. Her English is not perfect, whose is these days anyway, but she seems to have this drive, a certain ambition that I completely lack. And so I berate myself, further enhancing my self-loathing. Shit!
