larphenflorp
10-25-2009, 06:18 PM
“I watched my cat take a **** today.”
We sat out on the porch eyeing the rest of the cul-de-sac. Greg was smoking a cigarette.
“Did you now?” I said.
He laughed. “Yeah. It was interesting.”
“I’ll bet. Any particular reason?”
“Not really.” He looked over with a self-satisfied half-smile; a typical Gregorian grin. “Never really ever watched anybody else take a ****, y’know?”
“Me neither,” I said. “Good enough reason, I suppose.”
“Yeah. Not in person, anyway.”
“Also, it’s good to know if you have a fetish for cat ****.”
“That’s true. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
It was light out, but the day was fading. Greg took another drag of his cigarette.
Together we watched an SUV pull in from the boulevard, drive around the cul-de-sac, and drive back out into the street. It was all quiet but for the subtle revving of distant engines.
“I’m glad you feel that you can tell me this,” I said. “It’s nice to know you think I won’t judge you or anything. I mean, I will, but I won’t tell you about it, which is somewhat better.”
“Yeah. I probably couldn’t tell Vanessa. She’d just ask too many questions.”
“I can see that happening.” I paused. “Does she know you’re smoking, by the way?”
He shook his head as he took another drag, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Nope, no she doesn’t know. She’s gone for the week anyway, so I don’t have to worry about hiding it for a few more days.”
“Well that’s good I guess.”
We sat in silence for a few moments and breathed the air. It was thick with humidity. The cigarette smoke billowed from Greg’s mouth and settled mutely on the lawn.
“I remember you saying you’d quit a few weeks ago. Whatever happened to that?”
Greg lowered his hand and flicked cigarette ash onto the ground, looking out again at the neighboring houses.
“Stress. Working at that restaurant is ****ing stressful. People are ****ing *******s, man. You wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh I believe, trust me.”
“I’d quit if I didn’t need the money.”
“That’s how it usually works,” I said, leaning back. Sliding my feet forward, I sighed. “So I had my first class today.”
“Yeah?”
“Wasn’t too bad. The professor is kind of a douche, but not too bad, really.”
“How many you takin’ this semester?”
“Three so far. I was thinking about adding another, but I probably won’t.”
“That’s the spirit.”
A low gust shook up the dirt from the porch and slung it aimlessly. Suddenly I was very thirsty.
“So what are you doing that for again, exactly?” Greg asked.
A calm anxiety flooded my senses. “If I knew I’d tell you.”
“Just seems like a waste of money to me. You could get a decent job just as easily without a degree.”
“I don’t know though. With someone like me I think it helps, because I don’t really feel like I’m good at anything, so having a degree in something I think will help convince me of that.”
“So you need to spend thousands of dollars to feel better about yourself? Dude, you just need confidence.”
“Well, that is one thing I need, yes. That would be nice.”
“I don’t really want to sound like a dick, but maybe you should start smoking. Works wonders for me.”
“I can’t imagine you ever needing something to boost your confidence.”
“Well, no, not necessarily, but it’s a great stress reliever. And I’d smoke more weed instead if it wasn’t for Vanessa.”
“Dude, that’s such bull****. Have you tried talking to her about that?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Tried to get her to watch The Union a while back. Didn’t sway her one bit. The thing is, she hates me smoking cigarettes, but she ****ing hates me smoking weed.”
“Just because it’s illegal?”
“Mostly, but also there was someone in her family—a cousin or something—that got ‘addicted’ and there was all this **** that he went through that slanted her perception of it. So basically, because of that, I don’t get to smoke a bowl in my own apartment.”
“That’s retarded. But wait, she doesn’t mind you drinking, does she?”
“Nope,” he said matter-of-factly.
“****. Vanessa is a closed-minded *****, dude. I’m sorry, but she is.”
Greg shot smoke from his nostrils in a slow exhale. “Yep.”
I shifted my weight on the bench. The wind had changed direction, blowing the smoke away toward the front door. Night had gotten just a little closer.
“So I found this band from the ‘70s the other day. Focus? Ever heard of them? It’s like, progressive rock from the Netherlands.” I slowed my speech so as to illustrate the seriousness of my statement. “****ing amazing ****.”
“Nah, never heard of ‘em. Remind me though to show you this video I found of this guy sucking his own dick. I mean, there’s more to it than that, but yeah.”
“Not entirely sure I need to see that.”
“No, you really do. It’s ****ed up.”
“More of a reason not to see it.”
Another cloud of smoke dispersed over the lawn. I attempted to breathe just the air as best I could.
“So dude, why are you taking classes if you don’t know why you’re taking them?” His tone was dismissive, somewhat rash.
“Well, when I started two years ago it was just so mom and Clint would stop telling me to get a job, but the more I take the more like I feel I have to keep taking them. Now I’m just in too deep. I’ve already used up most of my savings bonds. There’s no going back now.”
“Sure there is,” he said boldly, flicking ash beside him. “Just cut your losses and move on. **** that place, man. It’s just a ****ing community college.”
“Well, I did have that semester at an ‘actual’ college. That wasn’t too bad. Lonely and sad, but not too terrible.”
“At least you made the effort, you mean?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t feel like I did, though.”
“Well, that’s because you’re an anal-retentive manic-depressive dick.”
“Wait, what?”
Looking in my direction, he quickly blew the smoke out and above the space between us. “You heard me, dude. You’re always sad, man. You just sit in your room all the time. And you’re always pointing out these little things no one notices or cares about. That’s a disorder.”
“Wait, are you saying this because you’re pissed that I said that **** about Vanessa?”
“What? No, man, **** Vanessa. There’s something wrong with you. I’m sorry, but there is.”
“Look, just because I have quirks or whatever doesn’t mean there’s something ‘wrong’ with me. Just because I’m not an overly confident ******* doesn’t mean I automatically have a disorder.”
He took the comment in stride. “You really should smoke with me sometime. You don’t really ever self-medicate, do you? Honestly, weed might be just the thing to help you mellow out.”
“It’s not like I haven’t tried it.”
“Yeah but that was like five years ago, and back then you weren’t nearly as miserable.”
“I’m miserable?”
He chuckled. “Yes, dude, you’re miserable. Trust me. You’re very miserable.”
I took a moment to really consider the notion. I stared ahead blankly at a neighboring house, ordering my thoughts.
“I don’t know if I am. I mean, if I am, I’ve always been this way.”
“How about this. Do you consider yourself capable of ‘great things’? Like, do you feel like you could do something that others might consider great?” Again I took a moment to consider.
“I feel like I have the potential for that kind of thing, yeah. But actually doing it? Not really. Not where I’m at now. I’m more of a weird grouping of good ideas that I’ll probably never use. My only greatness, if you could even call it that, would be, like I said, in my potential. And that’s not really great, either.”
I could tell now he had lost a bit of his patience. “Well ****, dude, you know, just do something. Anything.”
“It certainly sounds easy when you say it like that.”
“That’s because it is.”
“To you, maybe.”
“No, no. Alright. Not just to me. The act itself is simple. You’re just being an ******* and not letting yourself do it.”
“An *******? I’m being an *******?”
“Poor word choice. You’re being a little *****, a faggot, whatever. You’re hiding behind this sadness like it’s a god damn suit of armor. And it’s making you feel ****tier.”
A lull in the conversation caused me to consider my surroundings. The sky had darkened considerably. My thirst had returned.
“Huh. Well I guess you could look at it that way. That sounds about right, actually.”
“Well then you need to get over your ****ing self and do something about it.”
“I know that.”
“Then ****in’ do it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is. That’s what I’m saying. You’re being an ******* about it. Get the **** over yourself—“
“See, that’s not what it is though. It’s more complicated than that. It’s hard to explain, but trust me.”
“It always is, man.”
“Yeah, because it is. It’s not just about ‘getting over myself.’ It’s not like I’m too prideful or anything.”
“Maybe you are.” He took one last puff then flung the cigarette into the front lawn. He looked over at me, raising both eyebrows as he spoke. “What would you call it?”
“I don’t know. Not pride, though. That implies some sort of arrogance, doesn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. You could just be so proud of this supposed potential that you wouldn’t want to see that potential used up on something that turns out ****ty.”
I paused in reflection. It was hard to see the houses now.
“I don’t know. Seems way too simplified. I know it’s bigger than that. It can’t be that simple.”
“If you don’t try, you can’t fail.”
“I’m afraid of failing regardless.”
“Well there you go.”
“See, one problem is that I don’t share that same simplicity that you have. I can’t even accept that it could even be that simple. If I did, I doubt we’d even be having this conversation.”
“I’m just telling you what I see, man. Take it however the **** you wanna take it.”
“Well what about you? Where’s that great potential of yours being used?”
“Me? ****, dude.”
“Yeah. Exactly. You’re not doin’ **** either.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and began packing them. He paused again, as if for effect. “What, you think we’re supposed to be doing something?”
“Well no, but I know that we could definitely be doing something other than sitting here like *******s. Look at us. We’re bored, aimless ****s sitting in ****ing suburbia. We should be so lucky.”
“See, I don’t buy that. Don’t give me that ****, man. It’s nothing about luck.”
“Okay, bad choice of words. But you have to see that we’re fortunate people, relative to the rest of the world.”
“Well no ****, but that doesn’t mean I have to go around all day thinking about how ‘fortunate’ I am. I don’t need that mental masturbation ****.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well what the **** are you saying?”
I’d lost my train of thought. There was an anxious pause.
“I’m saying that there’s no God and we’re alone and there’s no point to anything.”
He chuckled again, took out another cigarette, cupped his hand over his mouth and began to light it.
“Well, on that I will agree with you.”
“See, that’s another thing. This whole conversation is skewed because the way we formulate our reasoning. For me it’s more about understanding my thoughts, while for you it’s more about making sure you don’t feel stupid.” I took a much-needed breath. “I always feel stupid.”
“Yeah, well, **** you.”
I smiled. “No, dude. **** you."
We sat out on the porch eyeing the rest of the cul-de-sac. Greg was smoking a cigarette.
“Did you now?” I said.
He laughed. “Yeah. It was interesting.”
“I’ll bet. Any particular reason?”
“Not really.” He looked over with a self-satisfied half-smile; a typical Gregorian grin. “Never really ever watched anybody else take a ****, y’know?”
“Me neither,” I said. “Good enough reason, I suppose.”
“Yeah. Not in person, anyway.”
“Also, it’s good to know if you have a fetish for cat ****.”
“That’s true. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
It was light out, but the day was fading. Greg took another drag of his cigarette.
Together we watched an SUV pull in from the boulevard, drive around the cul-de-sac, and drive back out into the street. It was all quiet but for the subtle revving of distant engines.
“I’m glad you feel that you can tell me this,” I said. “It’s nice to know you think I won’t judge you or anything. I mean, I will, but I won’t tell you about it, which is somewhat better.”
“Yeah. I probably couldn’t tell Vanessa. She’d just ask too many questions.”
“I can see that happening.” I paused. “Does she know you’re smoking, by the way?”
He shook his head as he took another drag, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Nope, no she doesn’t know. She’s gone for the week anyway, so I don’t have to worry about hiding it for a few more days.”
“Well that’s good I guess.”
We sat in silence for a few moments and breathed the air. It was thick with humidity. The cigarette smoke billowed from Greg’s mouth and settled mutely on the lawn.
“I remember you saying you’d quit a few weeks ago. Whatever happened to that?”
Greg lowered his hand and flicked cigarette ash onto the ground, looking out again at the neighboring houses.
“Stress. Working at that restaurant is ****ing stressful. People are ****ing *******s, man. You wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh I believe, trust me.”
“I’d quit if I didn’t need the money.”
“That’s how it usually works,” I said, leaning back. Sliding my feet forward, I sighed. “So I had my first class today.”
“Yeah?”
“Wasn’t too bad. The professor is kind of a douche, but not too bad, really.”
“How many you takin’ this semester?”
“Three so far. I was thinking about adding another, but I probably won’t.”
“That’s the spirit.”
A low gust shook up the dirt from the porch and slung it aimlessly. Suddenly I was very thirsty.
“So what are you doing that for again, exactly?” Greg asked.
A calm anxiety flooded my senses. “If I knew I’d tell you.”
“Just seems like a waste of money to me. You could get a decent job just as easily without a degree.”
“I don’t know though. With someone like me I think it helps, because I don’t really feel like I’m good at anything, so having a degree in something I think will help convince me of that.”
“So you need to spend thousands of dollars to feel better about yourself? Dude, you just need confidence.”
“Well, that is one thing I need, yes. That would be nice.”
“I don’t really want to sound like a dick, but maybe you should start smoking. Works wonders for me.”
“I can’t imagine you ever needing something to boost your confidence.”
“Well, no, not necessarily, but it’s a great stress reliever. And I’d smoke more weed instead if it wasn’t for Vanessa.”
“Dude, that’s such bull****. Have you tried talking to her about that?”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t want to hear it. Tried to get her to watch The Union a while back. Didn’t sway her one bit. The thing is, she hates me smoking cigarettes, but she ****ing hates me smoking weed.”
“Just because it’s illegal?”
“Mostly, but also there was someone in her family—a cousin or something—that got ‘addicted’ and there was all this **** that he went through that slanted her perception of it. So basically, because of that, I don’t get to smoke a bowl in my own apartment.”
“That’s retarded. But wait, she doesn’t mind you drinking, does she?”
“Nope,” he said matter-of-factly.
“****. Vanessa is a closed-minded *****, dude. I’m sorry, but she is.”
Greg shot smoke from his nostrils in a slow exhale. “Yep.”
I shifted my weight on the bench. The wind had changed direction, blowing the smoke away toward the front door. Night had gotten just a little closer.
“So I found this band from the ‘70s the other day. Focus? Ever heard of them? It’s like, progressive rock from the Netherlands.” I slowed my speech so as to illustrate the seriousness of my statement. “****ing amazing ****.”
“Nah, never heard of ‘em. Remind me though to show you this video I found of this guy sucking his own dick. I mean, there’s more to it than that, but yeah.”
“Not entirely sure I need to see that.”
“No, you really do. It’s ****ed up.”
“More of a reason not to see it.”
Another cloud of smoke dispersed over the lawn. I attempted to breathe just the air as best I could.
“So dude, why are you taking classes if you don’t know why you’re taking them?” His tone was dismissive, somewhat rash.
“Well, when I started two years ago it was just so mom and Clint would stop telling me to get a job, but the more I take the more like I feel I have to keep taking them. Now I’m just in too deep. I’ve already used up most of my savings bonds. There’s no going back now.”
“Sure there is,” he said boldly, flicking ash beside him. “Just cut your losses and move on. **** that place, man. It’s just a ****ing community college.”
“Well, I did have that semester at an ‘actual’ college. That wasn’t too bad. Lonely and sad, but not too terrible.”
“At least you made the effort, you mean?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t feel like I did, though.”
“Well, that’s because you’re an anal-retentive manic-depressive dick.”
“Wait, what?”
Looking in my direction, he quickly blew the smoke out and above the space between us. “You heard me, dude. You’re always sad, man. You just sit in your room all the time. And you’re always pointing out these little things no one notices or cares about. That’s a disorder.”
“Wait, are you saying this because you’re pissed that I said that **** about Vanessa?”
“What? No, man, **** Vanessa. There’s something wrong with you. I’m sorry, but there is.”
“Look, just because I have quirks or whatever doesn’t mean there’s something ‘wrong’ with me. Just because I’m not an overly confident ******* doesn’t mean I automatically have a disorder.”
He took the comment in stride. “You really should smoke with me sometime. You don’t really ever self-medicate, do you? Honestly, weed might be just the thing to help you mellow out.”
“It’s not like I haven’t tried it.”
“Yeah but that was like five years ago, and back then you weren’t nearly as miserable.”
“I’m miserable?”
He chuckled. “Yes, dude, you’re miserable. Trust me. You’re very miserable.”
I took a moment to really consider the notion. I stared ahead blankly at a neighboring house, ordering my thoughts.
“I don’t know if I am. I mean, if I am, I’ve always been this way.”
“How about this. Do you consider yourself capable of ‘great things’? Like, do you feel like you could do something that others might consider great?” Again I took a moment to consider.
“I feel like I have the potential for that kind of thing, yeah. But actually doing it? Not really. Not where I’m at now. I’m more of a weird grouping of good ideas that I’ll probably never use. My only greatness, if you could even call it that, would be, like I said, in my potential. And that’s not really great, either.”
I could tell now he had lost a bit of his patience. “Well ****, dude, you know, just do something. Anything.”
“It certainly sounds easy when you say it like that.”
“That’s because it is.”
“To you, maybe.”
“No, no. Alright. Not just to me. The act itself is simple. You’re just being an ******* and not letting yourself do it.”
“An *******? I’m being an *******?”
“Poor word choice. You’re being a little *****, a faggot, whatever. You’re hiding behind this sadness like it’s a god damn suit of armor. And it’s making you feel ****tier.”
A lull in the conversation caused me to consider my surroundings. The sky had darkened considerably. My thirst had returned.
“Huh. Well I guess you could look at it that way. That sounds about right, actually.”
“Well then you need to get over your ****ing self and do something about it.”
“I know that.”
“Then ****in’ do it.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is. That’s what I’m saying. You’re being an ******* about it. Get the **** over yourself—“
“See, that’s not what it is though. It’s more complicated than that. It’s hard to explain, but trust me.”
“It always is, man.”
“Yeah, because it is. It’s not just about ‘getting over myself.’ It’s not like I’m too prideful or anything.”
“Maybe you are.” He took one last puff then flung the cigarette into the front lawn. He looked over at me, raising both eyebrows as he spoke. “What would you call it?”
“I don’t know. Not pride, though. That implies some sort of arrogance, doesn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. You could just be so proud of this supposed potential that you wouldn’t want to see that potential used up on something that turns out ****ty.”
I paused in reflection. It was hard to see the houses now.
“I don’t know. Seems way too simplified. I know it’s bigger than that. It can’t be that simple.”
“If you don’t try, you can’t fail.”
“I’m afraid of failing regardless.”
“Well there you go.”
“See, one problem is that I don’t share that same simplicity that you have. I can’t even accept that it could even be that simple. If I did, I doubt we’d even be having this conversation.”
“I’m just telling you what I see, man. Take it however the **** you wanna take it.”
“Well what about you? Where’s that great potential of yours being used?”
“Me? ****, dude.”
“Yeah. Exactly. You’re not doin’ **** either.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He took out a pack of cigarettes and began packing them. He paused again, as if for effect. “What, you think we’re supposed to be doing something?”
“Well no, but I know that we could definitely be doing something other than sitting here like *******s. Look at us. We’re bored, aimless ****s sitting in ****ing suburbia. We should be so lucky.”
“See, I don’t buy that. Don’t give me that ****, man. It’s nothing about luck.”
“Okay, bad choice of words. But you have to see that we’re fortunate people, relative to the rest of the world.”
“Well no ****, but that doesn’t mean I have to go around all day thinking about how ‘fortunate’ I am. I don’t need that mental masturbation ****.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well what the **** are you saying?”
I’d lost my train of thought. There was an anxious pause.
“I’m saying that there’s no God and we’re alone and there’s no point to anything.”
He chuckled again, took out another cigarette, cupped his hand over his mouth and began to light it.
“Well, on that I will agree with you.”
“See, that’s another thing. This whole conversation is skewed because the way we formulate our reasoning. For me it’s more about understanding my thoughts, while for you it’s more about making sure you don’t feel stupid.” I took a much-needed breath. “I always feel stupid.”
“Yeah, well, **** you.”
I smiled. “No, dude. **** you."