allmostrelevant

Donald endured the walk of shame silently back to his cubical, gripping his temper at 10 and 2, remembering the basics – Right. Left. Right. Left. – trying not to steer off course. His eyes traversed the manufactured grain of the cheap blue checkered carpet, passed the coffee stain that looked like a middle finger, passed the nicotine gum trampled into the carpet fibers by an assortment of feet, and passed the familiar cluster of the loudest granola crumbs west of the Mississippi.

His shoulders hunched over his inadequate cardboard box. How could they expect him to just file away the last five years of his life and carry it somewhere else? On second thought, glancing at his collection of Hershey kiss wrappers and assorted empty picture frames reading insert loved ones here, he couldn’t fill the box if he tried; so he didn’t.

Donald ogled beyond his cubicle at the sunny shores of theMediterranean, until the proud owner of the granola crumbs interrupted his view of that taunting poster across the hall. He amused the idea that the corner office was to blame; a wolf in sheep’s clothing that enabled his day-dreaming habits, possibly the key to his demise. He wished for that poster, the walk of shame, everything, to only be a ‘day-mare,’ but the pinch of unemployment ensured he was conscious.

“Bummer, buddy. At least you got severance, right?” Donald’s sapphire eyes snapped out of their dull longing gaze, crawling back into focus upon his co-worker’s hidden grin.

“In theory… I’m planning on drinking it all tonight.”

Agh! Coffee tastes like crap when it’s lukewarm. I mean, that’s the most unattractive of temperatures, isn’t it? Not cold enough to be cold, and not warm or hot – it’s just, half-ass everything. Darlene should’ve delayed the timer on the pot. How am I supposed to walk now? I have to drink this lukewarm coffee, tie my lukewarm shoes, watch some lukewarm had-beens play a nearsighted game of chess, and wish I still had my lukewarm job. It’s getting cold now. It’s not even funny; it’s just cold. Everyone’s so busy busy busy all the time but doesn’t ever do anything. The cell phones, the TV, the internet just suck all their cold faces in. It’s suffocating. No chance to breath any warm air of the failing world around when all this busy-ness consumes our every breath. Our generation worked so hard to make the best for the next; and what to they do? Join the anti-social network and lock themselves in front of a screen until someone feeds them. I asked Darlene how many friends she had and she looked confused, like she didn’t understand, then she said, “Online, or like, for real?” Blasphemy! I mean, she doesn’t even know what world she’s in for Christ’s sake. I could probably convince her she was my uncle Steve and she’d believe me… So busy with nothing. It doesn’t seem right. What’s so good about busy anyways? It’s so hypocritical. Life’s so dramatic and stressful and, “I just want to relax on a tropical island,” but nothing is done to make progress. I think we just like routine. It’s so comfortable to eat the same breakfast, drive the same way to the same grocery store, greet the same neighbors, think the same way, dream the same way, breath the same way. But looking back; I can’t remember the last ten years of my life. Sure; stuff happened somewhere along the way, but it’s all just one memory for all those years. Just a dandy ol’ lukewarm time worth forgetting. I think I’m going to quit. Not my job; ‘cause obviously – well, you know, I need money. But I’ll quit striving for a warm fuzzy life. It’s just gets colder and stale anyways. I’m not going to watch those idiots play chess. I think I’ll start running everywhere; why not? Why not sing on a street corner and give loose change to anyone who gives me some. Why not climb a hill and roll all the way down? At least I’ll make a memory… I think I’ll start drinking tea – because God, this coffee is awful!

Let’s say I hate waking up early, so I don’t, but after a few times of being forced to wake up early, it comes naturally to me. That was a bad example. Let’s say I move to Alaska and quickly adapt to the colder weather, or I move to Arizona and get used to the scorching heat relatively quickly. My body/mind has done something to make me ‘used to’ these new elements. I have adjusted to a new norm. Let’s say I start drinking coffee. It works the first time, almost too well where I’m bouncing off the walls. The second time I’m alert and focused, and the third time I need a second cup. Let’s say I start using energy drink(s) then. Let’s say my life is routine and I’m looking for excitement (let’s just say). I go skydiving. It is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I get a huge adrenaline spike. On the drive home I’m barely awake going 80 down the interstate. I drink coffee, energy drinks, sleep like a baby, move to Arizona. Nothing is exciting. I flirt with underage girls, invite them over, jerk off in front of a security camera. I sleep for 12 hours a day, start wearing a gun, think about jumping from high places again. I am free. I am excitement. I am danger. I don’t need a harness. I fall.

Ahh! Why can’t I feel my arm! Poke, poke, hello arm, it’s me. Oh god, I can’t even feel it. I’ve been in the cold before and gone numb, but this is ridiculous. What was I dreaming about? When did I wake up? Oh god, am I still dreaming? I’ve seen Inception, but I can’t spin my little motif on the counter top because my arm’s asleep! That’s dumb. I’m obviously awake. I don’t think this hard when I dream, do I? …Do I? thinking is hard; takes time–like homework and mountain climbing. Then this must be a nightmare.

Maybe my arm is still dreaming. Maybe in my dreams my arm had a mind of its own and refused to stop. It’s the stronger of my two arms, that’s entirely possible… in my dreams! HA! Okay, I’m making bad jokes; I’m definitely awake. What to do, what do? What time is it? Still bed time I presume. Maybe I should make my other arm fall asleep. That’s a legit excuse for skipping work. “Sorry, boss, it took me an hour to call ‘cause I had to dial with my nose, because my arms fell asleep.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah, I hate when that happens. You can have the day off.” he says. You know what? I think I’ll actually try that.

…Um, yeah; I must be dreaming.

Happy new year/decade/century/millennium/whatever you prefer. I felt something big was going to happen, but I had to go to bed instead. I liked new years for the fireworks and being able to stay up til 9 to watch the ball drop. My parents stayed up a little longer, yelling about something, hopefully in celebration.

Everyone knew me in elementary school. I was good at everything and smarter than anyone. I loved to play  and run and yell and laugh and get dirty. The quietest kid in class was getting beat up by two kids. I dragged him away from the tussle, but got in trouble for dragging him across the playground because that’s all they saw. That’ll teach me. Three years later on the soccer field a sizeable rock hit my head. I started to cry and turned around and saw the quiet kid running. I smashed his head through the classroom window as the bell rang. He was the only kid I knew whose parents were divorced. I lied my way out of punishment. I was clever and didn’t have to work hard to succeed.

I’d look up my best friend’s number in the school directory and call his house every weekend to see if I could go over to play. It wasn’t always the same friend every year, but I always had at least one I could rely on and pair up with; that’s all I needed.

We were told that drugs were bad, but we didn’t know what they were. We were told sex was bad, but we didn’t know what it was, just that babies happen.

My dad came home with the newest cell phone, and one for my mom too. It was robust and flipped open, and he thought it was where the future was heading, but she didn’t agree. He came home with a DVD player when my mom wasn’t home. I questioned the expense in her absence to cover my ass, then watched a movie. Later he got a big screen TV to go with the DVD player, and a couch to go with the TV.

I asked to spend new year’s with my best friend, but we stayed with our respective families.

In middle school three elementary schools merged, not everyone knew me, and I discovered what fashion sense was when one of my friends from advanced math class demanded I untuck my shirt. I had seven teachers instead of one. It took a while to be respected, but I made it happen. I wasn’t listening when the teacher explained what “Bildungsroman” meant. I wanted to ask, but then I’d look stupid, and I couldn’t afford that. I settled for the saying “what you don’t know can’t hurt you.” Regardless, I worked hard for my grades and got them.

I went camping with my dad for a weekend, and when we came back my mom was gone. She moved two miles away and took the dog and all the pictures. She still wanted me, just not him, so they played tug of war until I avoided both of them. I didn’t talk much to anyone after that.

I got my first cell phone. It was the smallest one in mass production – smaller was better. It saved numbers on it, but I only called a few and had them memorized. I didn’t feel comfortable calling the numbers I didn’t have committed to memory.

We always hung out at Tommy’s house because he had an Xbox. If we went elsewhere we’d have to play board games and be wholesome. No one wanted to go to my house. I joked it was like the Middle East. That didn’t go over well with Abdul. He was always ‘busy’ after that. It was boring playing four-player games with three people, so we grabbed the new kid and showed him how fun virtually killing each other could be. When one of my friends would call, I’d ask if everyone else was available before I committed to make sure there was always three before I became the fourth. Sometimes we’d all be available, but no one would commit, and we’d stay home in a stalemate.

I almost kissed a girl. She gave me looks, left me notes, spread friendly rumors, sent me emails, and made me get an instant messaging account. I liked that I didn’t have to put on a show, I just had to write nice things. I think she liked my words more than me, but I couldn’t let her know the idea of me was better than the real me.
We learned that sex is bad, and what it can do to you, and what it can do for you. We learned that drugs are bad, and which kinds of drugs are bad, and how they affect us. I saw the quiet kid smoking behind the school. I didn’t say anything.

New Year’s was at Tommy’s. Video games and sparkling cider kept us up all night and we missed the fireworks. We’ve seen them before and we’ll see them again.

In high school two middle schools merged and hardly anyone knew me. Sometimes I wouldn’t see any of my friends all day. It was harder to meet people because they didn’t know you unless you were the best at something. I was almost the best at a lot of things. I stopped studying but my grades stayed up. I whined to my friends about having wasted so much of my life studying, and that I could have done so much more. I could’ve been a celebrity. The star of the school play wasn’t the most talented, but he’d put more people in the seats. His understudy ended up getting a full ride for acting.

My dad remarried after two years off. I didn’t agree to this, but everyone was okay with it like nothing ever happened.

Our little foursome ended up befriending another group. I didn’t have everyone’s number memorized, but I could just facebook them from my phone if need be. If I wanted to, I could learn everything about someone’s life if all I knew was their face and half their name. Various girls would come and go like the window displays of city department stores, advertising themselves but not wanting to be touched in public. The dress code was whatever was on MTV, and the music just needed a heavy beat to grind on your crush with at the Homecoming dance. The less clothes the better. Our homecoming was informal – dress up in themed costumes and such. Against traditional tradition, our girls-ask-guys dance was the formal one because we don’t want to be sexist.

We learned what sex was, how it happens, different ways it can happen, and all the bad things that can happen, and then they told us to be abstinent and gave us condoms. We learned that drugs are bad, how they’re used, where they come from, and how much won’t kill you. We took mental notes.

Our group became bigger, but hardly anyone knew each other anymore. I felt awkward calling some of the people in the group and texted, emailed, or facebooked them instead. Whenever we wanted to do something, we didn’t just do it; we had to consult the group first. If the group didn’t want to eat at Red Robin on half day Wednesdays, we didn’t eat there so everyone could be happy.

One weekend the group wanted to go see the newest sequel of the latest remake of an adapted book series. I didn’t want to go. The second most attractive girl in the group rested her hand on my leg during the major plot twist and worked up to her goal by the climax. After the movie I had homework and she had to get up early, so we could escape. She asked if I’d been tested. I asked for what, and then she tutored me on the difference between second and third base. I wouldn’t have learned that in school. She moved across town and we tried to stay connected, but getting connected is easier than staying connected. My parents had no idea. As long as my grades were up they didn’t care.

I spent New Year’s with the group. We were all paired off, and enjoying the fireworks. We drank and watched the last ten years blow up in HD around the world.

He could hear her manipulating the piano beautifully as he walked up the driveway. He knocked loudly and she stopped playing, and came to the door.
“Don’t you have a key?”
“I didn’t want to be rude.” He dropped his key into her hand and stepped inside. “Can I keep my shoes on?”
“Are they clean?”
“Clean, or clean enough?”
“Don’t bother.” she sighed.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll take them off.” He propped the door open with his shoes, loosened his tie, and fanned his face. “You’re still playing well.”
“Yes. It’s much easier without the burden on my fingers.” She snuck away around the corner. “Let’s start with the kitchen.”
“Geez,” he followed her in, fanning himself. “It’s hot today, huh?”
The portable appliances and larger utensils were all on display. “The fridge is off limits, so don’t think of halving the cake.” she said.
“Don’t worry; cake is for celebrating. Do you have any lemons I can suck on?”
“Very funny,” she said. “Well, obviously the big things stay, but as for these, I’d like the blender and the mixer, and you can take the other appliances.”
“Sure, sounds good.”
“Well in that case can I have the bread maker too?”
“Sure, whatever.” He checked his watch. “You don’t even make bread.”
“I might now. I’ve always wanted to try putting a bun in the oven.”
“At least my jokes are funny.” he said. “Let’s not forget why we’re here.”
She eagerly started marking each of his things with a red sticker. “You won’t use the china at all, will you?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll give you all the stainless steel bowls and day-to-day dishes for it.”
“You can’t have everything,” he said. “Let’s just split the dishes down the middle.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“No – I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.”
“It ruins the set,” she said. “I can’t have guests over on mixed plates.”
“You eat out all the time.”
“There was a reason for that.”
He helped himself to a glass of water, looking over at the empty piano bench. She sighed stubbornly and walked over to a bookshelf in the next room. He followed her on his own terms. “I don’t know whose is what here.”
“Mine are the not-dusty ones. You only bought the cookbooks and romantic comedies – by the way I can’t stand My Big Fat Greek Wedding.”
“Here,” she said handing him the red stickers. “You go through it – and I didn’t like Zombieland.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Neither did I.”
“But you laughed.”
“So did you.” He turned to labeling the book collection, and she separated a stack of old postcards in two piles for him and her.
“Do you have a place yet?” he asked.
She hesitated briefly. “I’m living with a friend.”
“I hope he likes new stuff.”
She refused to acknowledge his little smirk, and quit the postcards for the piano, picking up where she left off before he came in. He took his time casually marking the books. She approached the finale of her trademark song, although she’d transposed it to a different key than he remembered. He watched her play, spotting the few blemishes that undermined the overall harmony of the instrument.
He tacked a red sticker on the piano and she halted short of the finish line, glaring up at his little smirk.
“I need to take the piano.”
“Just ‘take’ it? It’s our piano.”
“It was given to me as a gift.” he said. “It means a lot to me.”
“you don’t even play. It’s just furniture to you.”
“Well, that’s not how it works.”
“The only reason he gave it to you is because of me.”
“I worked hard for that client. It’s not my fault he’s considerately wealthy.” He sipped on his water.
She swallowed and her mouth became dry. “You know I need this.”
He checked his watch in stubborn silence.
“Come on, I can’t teach kids on a plastic keyboard, let alone practice.”
“Aren’t you applying for jobs?”
“All the schools are full; you know that.”
He reverted to silence and checked his watch again for effect. The blood started to leave her fingertips from gripping the bench.
“Come on, you can have everything else – even the china – just let me have the piano.”
He waited for her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“You chose another life, so I’m taking this one. Besides; it’s just a piano, right? There are plenty of others like it.”
She turned sour. “I can’t afford to pay you off—how much do you want?”
“Well, I could take the white keys and you keep the black ones – or – you can take everything else, and I’ll take the piano.”
“This isn’t a secondhand store.” She fanned her face with The Marriage of Figaro.
He looked around at all the boxes, labeled possessions, and memories valiantly on display. “You had me fooled.”
He checked his watch as she looked for something to say.
“I’m going to be late,” he said, playfully tacking a red sticker on her forehead, “but I’ll be back.”
He began walking out. She grabbed the postcards and followed after. “Can you take these on your way out?” She dropped them in his arms.
“What are these?”
“Garbage.”

There was a very attractive girl I had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with through a mutual friend. She wasn’t attractive in the way of being super good-looking or hot to the touch, but more in an over-all funny, witty, cool, talented sort of way. She was cute too; and Christian. Being a Christian myself, that seems like a green light to pursue the likes of another Christian, and in doing so, I struck up conversations, made jokes, and was generally pleasant in a way that would not offend the Christian side of her. Granted, this was not myself, acting in conjunction with Christian values 24 hours a day, but it was what I had to sacrifice to get the girl. It’s not that I usually ignore Christian morals or anything, but that I swear, make sexual innuendos, and am generally a crazy person, which would seem to juxtapose a compatible personality.

After a night of hanging out with a group of friends I walked her back to her apartment and we got to talking some more. She got up for some reason and I sat on the couch waiting for her to return. The phrase “make yourself at home” is such a forward expression that if anyone took it seriously, the person whose home it is would probably regret saying that; so I just sat there. She came back in her PJ’s and sat closer to me than before. I don’t remember what happened next, but she kissed me. Her lips were soft, but slightly cold. She’d just put something on them. She removed my sweatshirt, and we went upstairs — I wasn’t thinking; not fast enough anyways. She started talking about things I wasn’t familiar with; things she’d do to me, things I’d do to her. I don’t know if she was trying to build up a sense of excitement or anticipation, but the whole thing felt contrived, and I started to feel heavy and deflated. She was such a sweet, pleasant girl five minutes ago. I noticed how I didn’t actually know her. In the scheme of things we’d just met, and here we eagerly are. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know “jumping in bed with someone you didn’t know” was really a real thing. I’d only heard stand-up comedians and business men use it as an expression backstage.

I told her we shouldn’t do this. I was being Christian and saying that I wanted to be with her, but this wasn’t the way to do it. She said she understood, but really was just disappointed in me. I didn’t know what to think. She acted all nice and Christian everywhere else, but behind closed doors desire and temptation ravished her mind and body. The weird thing is I wanted her too. I wanted to ‘jump in bed’ with her. The only difference between her and me is that I won’t change who I am behind closed doors just so I can sleep with her; I already did that. Now I’m wondering if she’ll be the same way the next time I see her. I know I’ll still be the same person who won’t take advantage of her; but that’s not me. Is this her? Is she always like this, but changes herself to be more appropriate around others? I hate irony. We would have worked out perfectly if we’d just dropped the act, cut to the chase, and just had fun.

I suppose I wanted to be righteous and play the ‘long game.’ I’m in high school for God’s sake; there is no long game. Everyone’s going to move on and start a new life. I only have a chance to find someone in the short term before these people slip out of my life forever. Maybe I should apologize and jump back in bed with her; for old time’s sake. We know who we are underneath the cover of daily life, and we’re okay with each other, but something seems so wrong about it now. Not taboo, like every eye we’ve ever met was watching us; but more like the rollercoaster is just slowing down and waiting to let the people off.