Sunday, November 27, 2005

Chapter 29 and 30 (50,332 out of 50,000)

29.

Charles stands me up, I wait thirty minutes for him at my place and decide to go to Cynthia’s party without him – Agatha is home studying tonight, she’s coming by tomorrow to help pack my mom up – she’s moving home Sunday. She was so pissed I cam home drunk last night that se decided she’d rather be home with my father – it’s the ultimate guilt trip, getting so pissed at your son that you fucking move out and go back to the man that kicked you out. Whatever, I need some fucking pussy and David’s been putting me off.

Anyway – Charles – comes to the party without me. I don’t understand why I gave him the fucking address – I don’t understand what I’m doing. Fucking Ed’s with him – Chris is here but he’s shying away from me afraid I’ll pop him in his goddamn snotbox again. Even Cynthia’s being a bit elusive – the mother excuse only went so far and now that my mom’s healthy and even moving out I go back to that guy that broke up her party by starting a fight. Charles was supposed to be my fucking peace offering but he fucked me. Him and Ed are in cahoots – I have no fucking allies at the moment – my biggest supporter is a goddamn Starbucks barrister.

I got an in.

“Charles, man, can we talk for a minute?” Ed’s got distracted on his way to the bathroom by Bethany. She’s a baker – a good one too, she made me one hell of a birthday cake two years ago – I think its retail price was along the lines of eight-hundred bucks – she made it for me in her fucking kitchen for free – it was my present. I haven’t called her in a while and Ed is working her nice it seems, she’s smiling, black people have an edge up right from the start just by being black – they get this fucking mix of sympathy and fear – I love when they get called minorities, they can have this world by the balls if they just take hold of it. I wish I got some of my father’s skin – just a little color would have made my life so fucking easy – my mom gives me more than her fucking grief.

“Hey, man – I wanted to call you today.” He glances towards Ed, wants to either make sure he sees this or make sure he isn’t – I can’t fucking tell anymore.

“You should have – I was waiting for you.” I’m letting him lead – what the fuck is wrong with me?

“Sorry man – I told Ed I was coming to this party, he wanted to come along. He doesn’t know many people in the city.” Negro-brotherhood doesn’t exist. They’re jealous of your shoes. They’re jealous of your lady.

“So what’s going on there?” I feel like I should be more aggressive but at the same time I haven’t just fucking listened enough lately – I haven’t let people fall into their own fucking traps.

“Nah – he’s cool. He thinks you’re a dick, obviously, but he ain’t out for revenge – he got played, he realizes that. He kind of admires you, actually – he’s thinking of going his own ‘cause Starbucks sucks. He doesn’t want to fuck shit up anymore than it’s already fucked up.” This is bad – this is definitely a plot. There was at least five different explanations in there – he’s nervous, he wasn’t expecting me to confront him – I have him making shit up on the fly and he’s not that good about it – his element is playing the nigger card and he knows that shit doesn’t work with me.

“Why do you keep looking for him?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking to see if he’s coming.” He pauses, he’s not good at being backed in the corner – this may be the time to press him, get him out in the open – when Agatha isn’t around. If the shit comes out now, even if it does get to Agatha, I can always claim a negative bias – these fucking people are waiting for me to fuck up again, all of them, give them something to talk about – they’re not the most unbiased reporters of what might happen tonight.

“I don’t know, dude. He’s a cool guy – I don’t want him to know you sent me to spy on him. The guy’s been through a lot, man.” He definitely thinks I’m soft – he thinks I’ll go for the sympathy route – like he’s just trying to help repair the damage that I caused. Like I’m some type of fucking asshole.

“Bullshit, dude. Bullshit. What the fuck is this – you think I don’t know when people are conspiring against me?” He looks pissed – like he’s going to fucking hit me – let him. Let me be the one on the ground this time – let me be the one with the fucking sympathy poured on me – that’ll get me back in right quick.

“Joseph, man – I think you’re getting too into this whole thing – I think you need to go home and relax.” Way to turn it around, dude – way to deny every fucking urge in your body that was trying to get me to cap me in the jaw.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do –“

“Seriously, man – Ed’s good people – he learned his lesson the hard way but he’s good people. But if you keep popping off –“

“What is this? You guys want to work my scene? You’re trying to push me out?” People are starting to notice but I don’t give a fuck – I’m right on this one and they all fucking know it – I’ve been here before most of them – I’ve been everything everyone at this party ever wanted – they want me in this scene – not this freeloading lazy fucker and his loser friend that can’t even hold his goddamn job for a week – who’s jockeying a register at Starbucks and can’t come close to affording his fucking rent because he though he can live like a king in some Manhattan high-rise.

“Joseph. Seriously. Go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I’ll –“

“Go home.”

I turn and walk fast – part the crowd – no-one wants to come within arms reach of me – they’re all afraid. Chris gives me a smile and a nod as if he just watched me be defeated. A little fucking wink. Cynthia drops her head in disapproval – fighting her white guests was one thing but now I’m upsetting her charity case. Ed leaves the bathroom and asks me if I’m leaving – I refrain from breaking his nose but bump his shoulder hard. Cynthia’s nameless husband opens the door for me – I don’t even bother getting my coat – fuck it – I don’t want to be these people’s free fucking show anymore. No-one at the elevator – press the button and hear the ding instantly. Already ten stories down and it feels like I’m losing time – like there’s just shit missing – big chunks of the action just disappearing – I’m already in the lobby – I’m outside – I’m in a cab – it’s all just going fast – I’m missing things – I can’t remember a face I saw on the way home, I can’t remember the route the cab driver took or how much he charged me – I cant remember getting changed, I don’t know if I brushed my teeth – my mom might be in the living room, might be in the guest room – I don’t remember checking – I’m missing stuff – the TV was on ten seconds ago – my clock skipped ahead twenty minutes – I don’t know if I turned the heat off or I simply forgot to turn it on – I don’t remember waking up but then again I don’t remember going to sleep but an hours passed and I missed it somehow – the TV’s back on, it sometimes helps me sleep – I don’t think I’m having trouble sleeping, minutes are passing, sometimes hours, and they’re not there, I must be passing out – I’m on the toilet, I don’t remember waking up – I’m at the computer, downloading porn and masturbating, for some reason my own finger is up my ass and I don’t remember any of this.

I’m missing everything.

30.

She gives me a hug and tells me she’ll miss me, it was fun, thanks for helping her out, thanks for being patient and loving and understand, Agatha is sweet and a keeper, come by more often, call when I can, she’s going to be ok, she’s going to go to the gym, she’s happy to be going home, I shouldn’t drink so much.

Apparently last night I told her I feel like I’m losing control. When I got home from the party – I woke her up and told her all this shit about how I feel like everything around me is falling apart, about how it feels like everyone is trying to get me. She was scared, she said I sounded like I wasn’t even there, like I was coming down off of a high. She has no idea how fucking right she was.

She tells me to stay off the cocaine, if that’s what I’m using. She tells me to see a doctor. A shrink. She tells me to put more faith in Agatha, open up to her – I can trust her – she’s never seen me in love like this.

Apparently last night she asked me when we were getting married and I told her that I don’t know if I can. I want to but don’t feel like it’s going to work – I feel like she’s against me too and by proposing to her I’d be playing right into her trap. I told her about Ed and Charles – I told her that the three of them were conspiring against me. Apparently I didn’t know why they were conspiring when my mom asked.

She tells me that I should take the next step with Agatha. She tells me she wants grandkids before she dies and then she pauses and puts her hand on her stomach. She reasserts that she’s going to be going to the gym. She tells me not to worry. She tells me that she learned her lesson.

Apparently last night I told her that she’s a great mother. That she was always there to listen to me and I have this guilt inside of me because I squandered it – I let it go away – I got too involved in this game I’m playing that I cut-off all of the people who weren’t major pieces. I told her about Rick Desa. I told her how I felt responsible for his death – I told her that Agatha tried harder to save a stranger than I tried to save a friend. I told her about the funeral and how mad I was at her – how I thought she was lying – how I thought it was all some elaborate scheme of hers.

She tells me to eat healthier, to stay in once and a while – Agatha likes to play board games so I should consider staying home with her once a week and playing monopoly. Boggle. Two player clue. She tells me that I should go bowling with my father and it feels so out of place – I’ve never once went bowling and neither has my father.

Apparently I told her that I loved Agatha. I don’t remember doing it – it was probably just to shut her up since she was talking about grandkids and weddings and support and all this shit. Here she is, living with me for several weeks because my father kicks her out of the fucking house, doesn’t even come to see her when she has a heart-attack and she’s telling me about how important a stable relationship is. About how necessary marriage is. So I probably said I loved Agatha, that I planned on marrying her, only to make my mom fucking shut-up about whatever she was rambling about last night.

She tells me that she appreciates me taking time to tell her my problems last night. She tells me I helped her feel like a mom again. I helped her feel needed. I fucking fed her primal mind, I suppose – I remember none of it. For all I know she was dreaming. Either way in some way I gave her what she needed and that’s what I fucking do.

That’s all I ever do.

Apparently I compared myself to Jesus last night. I told her that I’m always taking shots for other people – giving them a better life and in exchange I never really get what I want. I have all the material shit and all of the invites and the free food but even when I’m enjoying it all I have to be someone I’m not. I’m a fucking social martyr, apparently. I told her that when I stopped doing it, when I took some time to focus on Agatha, everyone turned on me. They didn’t like the me underneath the me they knew. It all started falling apart. I apparently told her that I don’t mind, I would rather it all go away. I told her that I think I’m done, I think I need to move on and just have a fucking life, be content with what I have and prepare for my thirties. I told her I’m going to quit my job before they lay me off – I told her they’d likely do it on Friday since I’m no longer my bosses pimp or drug runner – the no longer have a need for me. I told her that come next weekend I’ll likely have no-one left but her and Agatha. I pushed it all away.

My father shakes my hand and tells me he’ll take care of my mom.

Apparently I told her I was afraid I’d end up like my father.

As they drive off and wave I realize that I may be going fucking nuts – I’m sane enough to admit that.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home