The Thrashing

JJ and I had our falling out over the heat of tomato soup at The Chowder House. It was a matter of finding a light to match the fuse, however, and we were waiting to hate each-other for a good week before the soup incident precipitated. JJ had a long but thin nose that made me want to cut it off with cigar cutters. He had a high thin voice that was never quite loud enough, he breathed too often, and if he wasn’t my girlfriend Jeanie’s best friend, I’d have done my best to avoid him after our first encounter. JJ’s shirts were always too crisp. He dressed like a manequin.

I’ve been in exactly 17 fights in my life. That might sound like a lot, but it’s not for most people, and JJ was itching for number 18. Of the other 17, one was with my neighbor, Chris, who tried to borrow my lawnmower without asking. He lost that one. One was with an ex-teacher, Mr. Lenzig, who yelled at me for going nowhere in life. He lost that one. And there were lots of times of people trying to cut in with Jeanie. They all wound up with bruises or worse. For some reason I’m just the kind of person people like to pick fights with. Maybe it’s just a matter of smell, or something hereditary, because JJ was about a half-twitch from severing my nerves to breaking. He had thin, whispy hair that flopped in the wind. I could write 95 Theses on everything I hated about him and nail it to his face. Just looking at JJ tapped into something in me most people have probably evolved away from.

Anyhow, the soup. That set this whole affair in action.

We were in The Chowder House. Jeanie, my girlfriend, had seen him walking past, and went out to grab him to join us. She rolled her eyes at my grim expression.

Fast forward exactly six minutes. I say exactly, because every 10 minutes I get a phone update on if any of my pals are around the corner. Dexter, my hockey bud, was on his way to a doctor’s appointment. He’d just had lunch and his car was routing him away from lunch traffic downtown. I saw his plotted route, heading away from The Chowder House. Everyone else was busy at work. Dexter texted me anyway to say what’s up. I replied and set my status to please disrupt. If any other friend was nearby, they’d get routed by, creating the perfect excuse to step out and leave Jeanie and JJ to their soups.

Then the soups arrive.

By sheer chance, JJ and I get the same: Tomato Bisque. He sends his back because it’s too cold. Mine burns my tongue. That’s it. I can’t believe you, I snap. How fucking hot do you need your soup to be?

Why do you need to get in everybody’s business, Chuck? He replies, flicking his hair back. It’s blowing a bit in the breeze from the cieling-mounted fan. I fought every bone in my body to not leap across the table at him. Every single bone.

It’s just fucking soup, JJ. Can’t you just eat it and let it go?

No, he says, I like my soup a specific way. Any problem with that? Jeanie, you see any problem there?

I have to say, I’m fully aware I’m presenting only my side of things. But that’s all we ever see, and right then, JJ was begging for it. Last time I got in a fight when Jeanie was around, we almost broke up, and she mattered to me. Got to hold it back.

Jeanie baby, I tell her, I’m just going to step out and let you guys eat. I need to breathe.

I give JJ a stare like molten lava and got right the hell out of there.

The next day, I’m on my way to the barbershop. Mack, my old high school friend, also needed a haircut, and my phone set up the meeting and events. It was a load off my mind to not need to schedule all my own shit, and the app was really coming in handy. The app had us meet up a few minutes into the walk there, to converge our routes or whatever. That was optimal, so we could talk and hang in the sunlight. The app knew how much sunlight mattered to me, even directing us on the brightest, greenest route. Our appointments were down to the minute; mine was to start at 11:32, his at 11:35. I already knew what I’d read while Mack was wrapping his up and I finished first.

During the walk, I told Mack about how much JJ was really getting on my nerves. He agreed that if JJ kept picking fights he’d end up with a bloody nose, and I laughed. I ran my fingers through the low-hanging branches on an Elm tree. The slighter twigs snapped under the strength of my hands.

That weekend I was walking to meet Jeanie when the route updated. I was two blocks from Shackleford Reservoir and Recreation Area, when I was told to head left. I kept going straight and my phone buzzed. There’s been an accident ahead, it informed me. Go back, take a right, and follow directions to arrive at the park. ETA: 6 minutes.

I hadn’t been late for almost a decade, not since the app came out, and it was killing me the notion of her getting there and me not being on time. So I started running back, along the route prescribed, taking a right and then following Trail Loop Road as it wound up toward the reservoir and the playing fields.

My phone buzzed again. Slow down, it informed me. Jeanie is also slowed by traffic. You will arrive early at this pace.

And I kind of paused and looked at the phone like there was a little mouse inside or whatever, making up directions. Obviously I knew that it knew that I was going to meet Jeanie. But it was weird. Something about the word ‘also’, maybe, when I hadn’t seen any traffic yet at all. In fact, the road was silent, the sidewalk clean, the sky clear. Everything looked straight out of best parks in America or whatever.

I turn toward the hill, that Trail Loop Road hugs the side of, and start climbing, hand over hand. It’s steep, grassy, but there’s nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty. At the very least it would be another few minutes with Jeanie, or if I had to wait for her, find a nice place to sit. Our first date was on the swings, we could go there.

My phone buzzed again. I steadied myself mid-climb, stood up to read it. Jeanie is lost, it told me. Please return home and await instructions.

I stuck it back in my pocket and dismissed it, maybe some kind of prank or whatever, until 30 more seconds up the climb, I get a text notification. Entirely different sound. But it’s still the app. Somehow it’s figured out how to use the other sounds on my phone. Please, Chuck, turn back. Please. You don’t want what’s up there. Someone stole Jeanie’s phone.

I wish I could have told the app that I’d get it back, but the AI was passive, never supposed to get in your way or disturb you. Although my mind was on Jeanie. If my phone was lying, the only thing that made sense was that Jeanie was up there at the reservoir with someone else. I quickened my pace.

At the top of the hill, I brush myself off. A thin forest before the reservoir’s still water. There, through the trees, was JJ, looking out over the water, his back turned to me, but his unmistakeable hair wafting in the breeze.

I ran to him, bellowing where’s Jeanie!?

He turned and smiled, and held out her phone. Jeanie’s not here, he said.

Just you and me?

Not quite, he replied.

Out from the other trees stepped everyone who’d ever gotten in a fight with me. Chris, my neighbor, Mr Lenzig, all of them. What followed, to cut a long story short, was me getting the shit kicked out of me as they kindly educated me that I should really stop being an asshole. I have to say, and you might not really understand, but I appreciated the lesson or whatever. Of course I could have beaten up any of them one on one. At the end they took my phone.

What’s your password? Mr. Lenzig asked.

3959, I reply. I’m lying on the ground. The nice thing about fights, even when you lose them, is you’re so preoccupied with how your body feels or whatever that you don’t really have time to intellectualize anything or think about why or how.

JJ pulls me up on my feet and brushes me off.

Mr. Lenzig spat on the ground by my feet. My neck was sore or I would have looked up at him, but Mr. Lenzig was always bitter, so no surprise there. I bet you hate that, he repeated. We all got a restraining order on you. Starting tomorrow, your phone’s gonna route you far away from us. Obey your phone or you’re in jail, you spiteful asshole.

Except me, JJ said. I guess we’ll see if we need one.

For once, I was glad to hear his high-pitched voice.

I never told Jeanie why I always have to leave 5 minutes before her. At least, with the restraining orders, it guaruntees me that I don’t have to go more than 5 minutes out of my way. Every time we get together I play a different game. I had to care for sick puppies, that’s why I had to leave 5 minutes before you, or There was a raincloud just over me, that’s why I had to leave 5 minutes before you.

She never asked me for more information, and sometimes I wonder whose idea all this was in the first place.