So this was just a random brainstorm. I could probably go with it more, but I don't really want to right now. :) Enjoy!
Yes, I am that guy. The other guy. That one guy who doesn’t get the girl in the end. It sucks. You hear all of these stories and see all of these movies about these couples that find each other after going through hell in their relationships, and then end up dumping their perfectly fine partner and romantically finding each other. Generally ending up in a long, slow motion, make out session complete with a orchestra and everything. Well, you never really realize what we go through during that scene at the gate of the airplane on your way to a destination wedding, at a train station, in front of a taxi cab, or in the rain after an argument. Do people not understand how really unfaithful this supposed “heroin” is being if she has someone like “the other guy?” I mean seriously, think about it: the girl is finally doing what is good for her and dumping that guy who’s been a jerk to her and settling down with the guy that can support her and love her and give her the life she deserves, but she dumps that perfect opportunity for the loser. By loser I mean that guy who doesn’t offer her any opportunities, but love and some decent sex. What in the world is going through her head? It’s not like the love with guys like me (the other guy) is fake. It’s just as real as the other one. I just don’t understand what’s wrong with these girls.
Lunch
Crunch
munch, munch, munch
Gulp-Gasp!
Crunch
“Delicious...”
An Introspective Query
Kyle Green Mirror. Why is it always the mirror that gets to me in the morning? I hate it. All I see is another guy. Someone who is so positively revolting I don’t know how on this god forsaken planet any other male could ever want me. My eyes are crap brown and my hair matches, what is interesting about that? I look the same as every other freaking American on the planet. It’s like when you see a bunch of Asians in a group together, they all look the same. I look the same. Crap, now I have to go and work for “the man” again. It’s a good thing I at least enjoy my job somewhat, now I can really take advantage of those kids in high school who would call me a faggot. While I’m busy at work, they’re sitting in their hell holes playing the very games I create while they munch on another one of mommy’s cookies. Mom, oh crap! I forgot to call her back again. I wonder if Dad knows anything about her talking to me, I guess he assumes she does, but since that fight...ah eff. I need to give up on that. Dang my pours are clogged.
Hatim Smith There he goes again. What is his deal? Does he honestly need to look at himself for that long? What a weird guy. How long have we lived together now? 2 months and he does the same exact thing every morning. Rolls out of bed into the bathroom, brushes his teeth for like 30 seconds, puts on wrinkled work clothes (including his florescent orange tie and dark brown corduroy pants) and thickly framed black horn rimmed glasses, and stares into the mirror for the next 30 minutes. At himself. Nothing else, but himself. He always looks like he’s brooding about something. What is his deal? Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him shower. He does kind of stink. You’d think a gay guy would care more. At least I think he’s gay. I do catch him checking me out occasionally. EH! That’s just too far, I really need to find another place to live.
Janet Green Why doesn’t Jim just get along with Kyle? That’s the same fight we’ve had for the past 8 years, since he was 16. Kyle’s gay. My little boy is gay, I’ve accepted that I won’t have any grandchildren, why can’t he just accept it too? Gay...my only son is gay. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. nothing is wrong. I remember when I would make him his turkey sandwiches with the crust cut off and he would immediately take it and squash it until the mayonnaise was dripping out the sides and the whole thing was paper thin. I didn’t think anything was wrong with that, so what’s the problem with him being gay? It’s just like smooshing your sandwiches-- just a preference--but in men... Oh when is that boy going to call me back?!
Jayne Thompson I wonder what Kyle is doing tonight? Probably just watching his scifi movies while he sits on his lovesac eating his puffy cheetos. Dang, I should call him. I wonder if his new roommate is ok? His insecurities generally don’t allow him to make friends very easily. I wish he was closer to Seattle instead of living in Newark. I think he’d be doing better, I don’t know though, maybe he is since the last time I talked to him. I wonder if his parents are still struggling with the concept. Probably. Since Dartmouth, they haven’t been on very good terms. His poor mother, I can still hear her crying on the phone to me telling me to make it be different. I don’t really understand what the big deal is, since the night after we...well after he discovered he was gay, I’ve been ok with it. Perfectly fine. I don’t know what the big deal is.
Learning in College
Introduction
There are a few things that one will learned when college teaches you. How to read, relationships, what not to do, sociology, and where ever there is free food you will find an incredulous amount of students.
How to Read
When I am in school, I generally don’t “learn” anything, per-se, it’s more of a let’s-see-how-many-pages-I-can-fit-in-without-sleeping kind of thing and an I-need-to-finish-this-assignment-so-I-can-pass experience. In reality, the information goes into my head as long as is needed and dumped as soon as the test arrives. The true learning doesn’t come until I’ve graduated with my degree and realize for the first time that “crap, I really didn’t pay much attention in college, did I?” So, in school, you don’t learn important information for life, you learn how to read that important information and hope that those thousands of dollars of debt you are in will hopefully pay off.
**[skip down to where ever there is free food...]
Finding Free Food
Now, picture this, you are now an undergraduate student walking to lunch and outside you see a ridiculously long line that starts in the distance from what looks like...oh yes...I think that is a table. What is the first thing that pops into your head? Food. Freaking free food. Best thing on the planet earth. Forget those quarters that have been sitting in your pocket weighing you down since 10 a.m. You don’t need the vending machine Jose Olé burrito anymore. You get free food. Even if it’s crap. It’s free. Now, let me weigh my opportunity cost here. Judging by that line, I’d say it’s about 30 minutes to the table. Am I really that hungry to sit in line and listen to the people behind me flirt relentlessly or should I just deal with my burrito?
Teddy is SIX!
My little brother
Teddy
Is six today
And
I am twenty-
One
Day the gap wonʼt
Seem
That big and we
Will
Know each other
Better
Start now than
Never
Because Teddy is
Six!
Listen.
Static is all that is coming out of those blasted speakers.
The shiny metallic knobs are turned, and it remains the same.
The volume knob makes it louder, but all that is heard is static.
Annoying.
The tarnished, bent, v-shaped antenna on the top is twisted and
contorted so much just for the same sound renders it useless.
A futile attempt to lengthen it brings out the same result.
Listen
Running Away
As the air goes in and out, in and out of my lungs,
the stress leaves my body with every breath.
As the air goes in and out, in and out of my lungs,
the small clouds of breath disappear with each stride I take, and my stress disappears.
As the air goes in and out, in and out of my lungs,
the cold air strikes at my lungs as I suck in the oxygen for my aching muscles.
Each stride I take I leave a footprint of the cold stress on the frozen ground.
As the air goes in and out, in and out of my lungs,
my legs start to follow the rhythm of my racing heart pumping oxygen in and out of my lactic acid filled muscles carrying away the stress with every beat, and my feet start to follow allowing my stress to disappear.
Rainy Day
Clinching jaw while coercing
through the rain.
Clock clicks loudly clinkering
through the house.
clink
clink
clink
Jaw grows tighter coercing
through the rain.
Rain tinks softly on the
window pane.
tink
tink
tink
Coming home with squishing
feet.
Listening to tiny feet
patter
through
the
house.
The Classroom
As much as I love to
flirt,
I donʼt like to hear it from
you.
Yes,
You.
The girl who giggles
nonstop.
The boy who tries
too hard.
Give
Up.
Nothing is going to happen.
Iʼm trying to pay attention.
You need some serious separation.
Please
STOP!
Substance of Life
Water
Is
Everywhere.
And yet, I am thirsty.
The blue plastic almost brings comfort
To my exhausted muscles.
My fingers fumble to find the strange ridges.
My hands find the surprisingly supple sides,
And they squeeze the substance of life into
My fatigued and enervated sense of being.
The spout slips softly between my teeth
And a new sense of hydration envelops.
My exhausted muscles
Found the serenity in the blue plastic
with the white letters.
Everywhere
is
Water.
My mom would always get on to me for being so messy, until one day she finally realized that there was a door to the Robin’s Egg Blue room that contained all of it. I have always been messy. I still am. One thing I am not, though, is dirty. I am most definitely the direct opposite of dirty. Anything that is dirty I make sure and clean it until those Inchworm Green germs and their ancestors are destroyed.
* * *
When I was just a 5 year-old, the troubles started. My parents had always fought, but these troubles were different. They were beyond different. My dad had just finished school and my mom had a job working for a local law firm. My dad got a job at an incredible business and my mom was done with work by around noon. So, my dad would drop me off at kindergarten in the Blue Gray morning and my mom would pick me up in the Goldenrod afternoon. As the school year went by, though, I started to arrive later and later to kindergarten. I would get upset at my dad and cry, but he would just end up yelling at me and telling me that there’s nothing he can do about it. My mom would pick me up at the same time, but each time I’d see her she’d be more and more tired looking. I would constantly ask her what’s wrong, but she would just look and me, pat my Tumbleweed hair, and tell me not to worry about it.
* * *
Each night I spend over 3 hours scrubbing down my apartment. My room never gets touched. Everything else in the apartment gets so scrubbed that it permanently smells like lemon Pinesol. I take the Lemon Yellow liquid and squirt it into a bucket, take a new sponge out of the package, and scrub my kitchen, walls, bathroom sink, toilet, tub, shower, and floors until I feel satisfied and dump the Raw Umber colored water outside and throw the sponge in the dumpster. When I walk back to my apartment, I generally have to leave my front door open for 5 minutes until it smells normal again. As much as I hate the smell of cleaner, I have to do it. Then, after I am done, I walk into my messy room and climb into my unmade bed.
* * *
One day I was so late to Kindergarten that my teacher pulled my dad aside and told him she was concerned about my constant tardiness. She wondered if there was anything she could do to make it easier for me to get to school on time, because if I continued in being tardy I would miss too many days of school and have to be held back a year. A lot of what she was saying didn’t really make sense, but my 5 year old self understood perfectly well that “held back a year” meant that all my friends would go to first grade and I wouldn’t get to go with them. My eyes welled up with tears as my dad told my teacher fine, and walked out of the room without even giving me a hug goodbye. Somedays my dad would act like this, he would come out of his bedroom the most depressed and sadistic person on the face of the earth. Other times he would walk out of his room happy as a clam and acting like the cloudy winter light peeking through the windows were instead Unmellow Yellow rays of sunshine. Those were the days when I didn’t care if I was late for school. Those were the days when he’d take me to get doughnuts and a Barbie Doll before school, so we’d be late and happy on purpose.
* * *
For some reason when I walk into my room, I can feel a sort of peace. The Tropical Rain Forest walls bring just the right lighting so that I can sit down and relax just by looking at the walls. Tropical Rain Forest has always been my favorite color, it’s so warm and deep. Everywhere else in the apartment gives me a headache. The White walls with the Macaroni and Cheese cabinets under the florescent light messes with my eyes and I can only stay in the living room/ kitchen combo only long enough until I’m done with whatever I’m doing. Maybe I should paint in there too. Actually, maybe its the florescent lights. They always give me a headache. I think that the world needs to permanently get rid of florescent lights. They only do two things: cause people to look washed out and give people headaches.
* * *
This trend continued for the rest of the year until I was in first grade, then I was able to ride the bus by myself. Now, things started changing, heavily. The only time I would see my dad was on his sunny days and on the Saturdays when we’d go and visit his office for lunch. I would always play with the tape and paperclips while my little sister would scribble on his computer paper. This would continue for half an hour until my mom would come and pick us up. The whole time my dad not saying anything, if it was one of those days. The rest of the days, I would get home from school and my mom and little sister would be either making cookies or creating some new arts and crafts until dinner. Then around 8:30 we’d go to bed, generally not hearing my dad come home.
* * *
I feel bad for whoever I end up marrying someday. My clean-freak side does generally scare relationships away, so maybe I won’t ever have to deal with it. I have had roommates in the past, but they’ve gotten in the way. Humans really are disgusting things. I couldn’t deal with them. One would leave her dishes in the sink, all the time. I’d ask her to clean them until one day she looked at me and told me that a sink is to hold dirty dishes, not to just stand there disinfected. I looked at her, raised my eyebrow and went into my room. She didn’t stay very long. Another roommate I had would always drink the water directly from the faucet when she would brush her teeth and leave toothpaste all over the faucet head, which would gross me out. So, I would put a clean paper cup with her name on it each night until she got the hint. When she did finally understand what I was telling her (I would clean the faucet immediately after she brushed her teeth) she got really offended and moved out the next month. It was a pity, I actually liked her.
* * *
One night I decided to stay up to see my dad come home. My mom tucked me into bed and then while she was putting my little sister to sleep I snuck out of my room and sat on our Manatee leather sofa until I fell asleep. I woke up when my dad pulled into the driveway. I looked at my Mulberry Barney and Friends watch that I got for my 6th birthday and tried to tell time, but couldn’t quite figure it out. Right then, my mom walked out of the hallway, so I threw our Violet Blue, Tickle Me Pink, Mango Tango and Black afghan over my head and curled up underneath. While looking through the holes and holding my breath I successfully remained unnoticed. My mom walked into the kitchen table and pulled a chair out noisily and sat down. The hot air was stifling me, and I was getting desperate for fresh air. The same time I created a small opening with my toes, my dad walked in.
* * *
I really should clean my room, but I don’t have time. Between work and cleaning the rest of my apartment I’m tired by the time I am free. I guess there’s always the weekends. The weekends are my heaviest cleaning day of the week. In the morning I wake up at 7, go to the gym for an hour, eat my breakfast consisting of granola and yogurt, and begin. I start by wiping down the Eggplant couch, then move to shampooing the Desert Sand carpet after vacuuming, then I wipe down all the walls and ceiling, and move to the Kitchen counters, stove, sink, fridge, pantry, and garbage can, then to the bathroom sink, toilet, tub, and mirrors. After all of that I wrap it up with a really long cleaning of the floors. I open the windows, put on my coat, and go to lunch or dinner--depending on how long it takes me. The whole time hoping a friend might call me.
* * *
My dad walked right passed me into the kitchen. My mom started with small talk, mainly talking about his day and what happened during her day. The Raw Sienna table clacked under my mom’s fingers as she strummed them in the awkward silence. “Have you been doing it again?” “Doing what?” “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” “No, I don’t think I do.” “You know they’re going to catch you.” “No, they won’t, you’re crazy, you know. There’s nothing wrong with what I do. It makes me happy, makes me forget.” “I thought I used to make you happy and make you forget. You have daughters, what do you think will happen if you get them involved in your little ‘happy time’?” “Nothing will happen, and don’t you DARE bring the girls into this. I’m under control, do you understand?” After he said this, I crawled over to the corner that separated the living room and kitchen. Still under my blanket I peaked through the holes and watched as my dad, in his white button up shirt and Razzmatazz tie pick up my mom by the elbows and shake her. “This is all your fault you know, you caused my problems. You’re always gone. And if you’re here you just sit there and blab on and on about your day and your problems. What about my problems? I work all day to provide for this family and all I ask for is something for me. I found the stuff that helps me get away, and now you’re telling me I’m not allowed?!” “Look at you! Look at you! Your skin is sagging, you have bruises on your arms, and you’re constantly depressed.”
Looking at this scene I started to whimper. I realized that my parents would realize that I was there, but I didn’t care. They both heard me and made their way toward the hall. My dad looked at me with a look that I will never forget. It was a mix of terror and detachment from the world. His face went from Cerise to Fern and back to Cerise red again, and I became scared looking into his eyes with dark circles of Vivid Violet underneath. Through my cries, he picked me up by the waste, shook me violently, and through me against the trash can causing it to tip over. I looked around and everything was covered in the Yellow Green raw egg and flower leftovers from the cooking adventure earlier in the night. My mom went to go help me through screams of terror as he smacked her across the face causing her nose to break and the Radical Red blood to go over the entire kitchen floor. My dad looked at what he had done and ran out the door. After that day we never saw him again, mainly because we moved but most likely because my mom won’t allow him to see us.
* * *
My apartment is a disaster, even though I clean it every day. I know it is clean, but for some reason I can’t ever allow it to feel clean. As much as I spray down the trash can, and scrub the tile floors until I can see my reflection in them, I can’t ever allow it to be clean. I wish everything was like brand new Crayola Crayons. It would make things a lot easier. If life was as clean and pristine as a new crayon I wouldn’t torture myself like this and get anxious every time I see a single speck on the floor.
