Still not done because do things ever get done?
Yellowed grass and a depressingly young sapling lie in view. The nicotine headrush has me unconsciously imitating the tree’s gentle swaying. The music fades and only it and I exist. Only it exists. Full of promise and untapped wisdom. As I poison its already dying soil I stare and wait for it to speak. “Shower me with your understanding!”, I pray. To bear existence in a destructive world without a single complaint escapes my own realm of possibility. I weep internally and break sight only when the car pulls around the corner.
“The fuck are you sitting around for, get in.”
I silently comply. He could never understand, and I don’t have the time to even attempt to explain.
“What the fuck’s so important that you gotta take over my day?”, I ask.
“You’ll see when we get there. Do you really have to look like a fucking bum every day of your life? I told you to dress up.”
“I put on pants. The fuck else do you want from me?”
Crass insults are all that make sense in the moment. I woke up to panicked instructions an hour earlier and only followed them because of a lack of any valid excuse. “Get dressed! Wear something nice! I’ll be there soon! Don’t be a shit, we’re going out!” All questions remained unanswered and only vague explanations were given.
“Did you see that Quinn chick got a new Benz? Dick sucking pays off, eh? Why don’t you ever get anything nice like that? Rather suck for the thrill, huh?”
“Fuck you. Where are we going?”
“Nigga, DON’T WORRY ABOU-”
“You’re not fucking black, stop that.”
“Man shut the fuck up, we know that struggle too. B-Real says it and errbody’ fucks with that nigga.”
“Man, whatever.”
Buildings flash by. The drive consists of loud music interrupted by one social update or another from Chris. I respond when appropriate and give him free reign to rant as he’s wont to do. Familiar roads and landmarks pass, yet I’ve long given up predicting destinations. In the safe confines of the vehicle I fade slowly back to the hydrant I was sitting on. I daydream of the tree I had just failed to understand. When will I be able to recapture that silent suffering? I had never been more depressed than in that moment, and yet also never been so at peace. The screaming world muffled by nothing but empty thought. What profound meaning was to be found! Probably nothing but a nagging crave for opiates. Disguised justification for addiction and nothing more, to be sure. But maybe not. Maybe it was real. Maybe it can be found again. Probably not. God, I need to reconnect with that dealer-
“We’re here. Fix your hair up.”
I recognize the home.
“Wait, is that Steph’s house? What the fuck are we doing here?”
“Party, kid. Fix your shit up.”
“It’s as fixed as it’ll ever get. Man why the fu-”
“Just shut up, let’s go. She invited me and when I brought you up she didn’t say no. Bro she’s over it already get your sad ass in there and we’ll drunk you right up. You’ll be fucking in no time.”
“FUCK. YOU. Don’t talk about her like that.”
“See? Y’all are gonna set shit right and you’ll stop bumming the shit out of everybody whenever we drag you out.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man. I can’t fucking believe this.”
Despite my earlier assurances, I fix my hair in the window for a minute before stepping out. I’m not in love with her, as if love exists as anything more than a deceptive construct, but the split did destroy me. Lifetimes flash before me. How long had it been? Millennia in my own thought, a few months in reality. The details escape me but I had slighted her in some seemingly unforgivable way and destroyed whatever hope was left. I don’t love her. How could I? The intellectual gap that exists became clearer and clearer as the relationship went on. How could I love somebody that doesn’t understand? Narcissism. Stop. I’m not some promising genius I am simply a man like any other. Stop. She understood enough, I suppose and she is beautiful. So damningly beautiful. Her laugh infectious and her smile uplifting. Her worldview so intoxicatingly simple. I don’t love her. Yet here I nervously approach the backyard a few safe steps behind my captor.
“AY WHAT UP, BITCHES.” Chris yells.
Innumerable responses of “YO” and the likes. I’m greeted in turn and I politely reciprocate. She’s nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Steph at?” Chris asks.
“With her brother, they’re getting more booze. John and them are coming thru soon with some bud so there’s more people than we thought, ha.”
I can feel their subdued looks. The tension is too palpable to remain silent.
“MORE booze? That means there’s already shit here, eh?” I happily ask
Internal sighs of relief wave through the group. There’s no awkwardness if I don’t radiate it. It remains hidden in the recesses of my mind. None can break through the facade I’ve so expertly perfected over the years. How easily tricked these people are. Chris knows I can’t possibly be so upbeat but the interaction gives even him pause. Stephanie was never so easily fooled. She had been attuned to sense my lies. I dread her arrival. Never so easily has alcohol slid down my throat. Always upsetting to my sensibilities has been how integral to group unity I’ve become. Even through my attempts to remain relatable to my peers, my approval is ever so subtly craved. Easily missable glances in my direction when a joke is made or a fact is recited. I was never comfortable with the dynamic but Stephanie had dragged me unknowingly into this social circle and I wasn’t able to comfortably transition out when it all went to shit. In these uncertain situations I find myself functioning based on social muscle memory. Laugh when meant to be humored and respond with whatever relevant joke works best. I no longer exist in these moments. My consciousness moves to contemplate what I know is coming. What am I expected to say? My posture is too comfortable. If she sees me like this what will she think, I’m perfectly fine and great with what is happening and I am not susceptible to breaking down at a moment’s notice? I excuse myself and head to the restroom for a brief reprieve. It doesn’t help. When the door finally does open our host stands before us, beers in hand and wearing a smile to shame all that have ever come before and all to come ahead. Beauty as a subject is of course as debatable as anything else but even her detractors couldn’t fault her for it. My sister had previously argued that I shouldn’t concede my own racial pride and subject myself to the allure of a white woman when our own peoples are in the midst of attempting a social coup on the country; a first for this line of argument as her partner protests had always before focused on some impossible standard of beauty and personality. My own involvement in political activism had me addressing the same concerns with a group of gays arguing that if I absolutely had to cave to the “white man’s” standard of partner that I make it a white man so as to not preach a minority message while cloaked with the protection of another blonde daughter of oppressive masters. How dare I share my life and struggles with one who could never relate or understand? Their protests were always filed away as unimportant ramblings by a group reaching for reasons to be upset. She lights up more brightly than I thought humanly possible at the sight of me.
“Hey, you!”
I give a smile and a hearty “Hi there.”
The volumes of words that emerge from the recesses of my mind cause me to pause at the response. In the silent opening she addresses the rest of the group and solicits volunteers to help with supplies from the car.
“How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s school?”
“As shit as it ever has been, how about that new job you interviewed for?”
“Got it, how’d you know?”
“I just do.”
The safest possible avenue of conversation. We avoid addressing the obvious in the presence of everybody else and shelve it without a word for later. Our own history established that later will surely arrive. The gathering goes as they always had, a fun time for all involved, save for Tom drinking, “more than I thought I did!” and subsequently vomiting in a corner of the yard as is expected when he attends any party. He’s fun so we excuse the foul and help him to the cab. Once all other guests start arranging their exit I remain talking to Chris who needed a minute regardless to trust his own drive home.
“So you wanna come back with me or stay back for a bit?”
“I’ll call my own ride home it’s fine.”
“It’ll be fine. Text me in the morning we’ll get some breakfast.”
“Yeah sure.”
With a final goodbye I remain in the yard, cigarette in hand.
“I thought you were going to quit?” She asks.
“I did too.”
“So how’ve you been? Really.”
“As good as I could’ve been I suppose.”
“Don’t give me that.”
Seconds of isolation and already I had been too much of a coward to not offend her sensibilities. She accepted the silence and offered me a seat. With nobody else left to consider we sit and begin a session of eye contact that would take a thunderous act of god to break. With nothing being said I finish my cigarette, take another and open another beer.
“I don’t know what I did, but I’m sure I’m sorry” I mutter.
“Yeah good to know.”
A passive aggressive apology was all she could have ever hoped for and she knows it. I don’t mean to antagonize her but whatever happened was only the result of an incompatibility rooted in my own terrible struggle with mental illness or whatever excuse I give at the time to minimize the reality of me being an asshole.
Whatever impossible justifications were given, I awake to her sweet smelling sheets wrapping me tightly, Steph’s side of the bed empty. I quietly dress and trade the scent of lavender I could recognize anywhere to the scent of eggs and bacon frying. The crackles mask my steps and I muster all the strength in existence to greet her.
“Good morning.”
“Hey.”
We eat in silence and she rolls her eyes at my finished plate still carrying my ration of bacon when it hits the sink. There are no smiles to be had this morning but she’s dressed for work and gives me a silent kiss and leaves after a lengthy embrace. Chris arrives promptly after my call with the smuggest face I’ve seen in a long while.
“Hey man, did you do some work recently? Your house looks way different! I like the paint.”
“Shut up.”
“So are we getting breakfast? Or are you full? Those girls from our English class said you sure know how to eat so I wouldn't be sur-”
“Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“We’ll never know, will we?”
“I ate breakfast. Why the fuck are you talking to Jess and them?”
“Haha, I don’t but they went to that Halloween party you were too depressed to go to.”
“I was busy that day.”
“Busy getting drunk and sending me a bunch of bullshit, sure.”
“Don’t talk to them. They exaggerate.”
“Other people’d be happy they’re talked about like that why do you have to be a dick about it?”
A fair point. In a moment of weakness I had accepted several invitations to gatherings with classmates. A drunken month later, I found myself on the receiving end of lewd photo messages followed by outrage when the senders discovered they weren't the only ones who’d successfully broken my through my seemingly closed exterior. Chris had at some point explained my heartbreak and smoothed things over with them enough so that they still pop up occasionally in my various message services with a flirtatious “hi!”. He’d always been good with things like that. Ending feuds and bringing people together in the name of “having a good time” as he loved to tell us.
“Well since you’re full of whatever, I’ll drop you off and head up to meet with John. He’ll be too hungover to cook anything so he’ll wanna eat.”
“Yeah probably. Thanks for the ride.”
“Couldn't get our lovely host to take you home?”
“I didn't ask.”
“So what, you’re all made up and back? See if I hadn't dragged you out, AGAIN, you’d be having a morning jerk and eating a fucking pop tart.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? What does that even mean? I leave you behind last night and pick you up in the same spot what the fuck else does that imply? You pass out before you could worm it in?”
“Can you stop assuming that I’m OK with you talking about her like that? You know I’ll kick your fucking ass one day without hesitating.”
“Just cuz you can’t get laid doesn't mean you have to take it out on me, man.”
“We fucked alright? I woke up, it was weird, we kissed and that’s that. Fuck you, man. We got shit to work out. God.”
“I can’t say nigga but you’re allowed to invoke the lord despite not believing in one, eh? I see what you’re about now you fucking hypocrite.”
“I seriously hope you’re not that stupid and you understand the difference. Why in the fuck do I keep hanging out with you, please explain it.”
“One, it was a joke. Two, you’re still holding up hope that I’ll get drunk enough to let you fuck me. I see the way you look at me, bro. I get it. I’m hot. Sorry I didn’t go all faggot like you did after high school.”
“Please be quiet. Christ you’re an asshole.”
“Christ. But I’M the asshole.”
The morning DJ was doling out false rumors and recommending the latest terrible release by faceless artists and we let it dominate the air. Chris knew he had upset me but that’s what he was aiming for. Once I get over the outburst I’ll be more open to his invitations and he knows this so he pokes and prods to get me to vent. Once home I slunk into bed trying to forget what had just happened. The train ran presumably full of the days workforce escaping their homes and retreating into the comfort of offices and students contemplating their own confusing lives. A morning protest later I joined them. I had only chosen to attend school in “The Big Apple” to escape the confinement of my upbringing, screaming to the world an account of pain and hope in the Hispanic experience while running away from it at the first opportunity. My aspirations weren't political like the rest of my siblings, but I had nonetheless inherited the same drive to bury myself in the progressive activism they did back home. A missed call or two later I decided to skip the annual return and remain in the safety of a long gentrified city with the rest of my apathetic peers. A world center of wealth and culture, New York had stolen my home pride and left me to rot as another brown man struggling to make his voice heard. The American experience saved my family but I rejected its allure to stay true to my troubled youth in some ridiculous attempt to remain among the oppressed. The socialist ideals instilled in me by figureheads wouldn't let me comfortably enjoy wealth. The day proceeded as similarly as any other save for the renewed ritual of phone conversations with Steph. The topic of “us” came up a few times but was never explored as deeply as it probably should have. Ideologues taught me to write and hardened nihilists taught me history in crowded classrooms. I pretend to listen only for my classmates sake and mindlessly scribble notes. A hallucinated window makes its return behind our professor putting on display an imagined park in some remote town I had visited once before. I found myself drawn to the image frequently, some unconscious desire to escape my daily rituals and merely exist among the earth’s silent beings. The vision ends as it always did. The silence broken by some wayward sound. A car alarm. A homeless man shifting nearby, groaning from his pain. Without the silence, the imagined space changes from a peaceful dream into a dreadful reality. Even in thought the harsh realities of humanity are inescapable. The wisdom found in the silence can never be understood and can never be truly appreciated. Interpreting my dream remains too complicated to garner focus and so I stand and begin to leave with the rest of the students. <<<”The Big Apple” is terrible. Fuck NY. Change.
“Mr. Thomson, could I have you stay back for a minute?”
Interruptions to my day have come to be expected.
“Of course, what’s up sir?”
“I watched your sister’s speech yesterday, powerful stuff!”
“I didn’t have a chance to catch it, but thank you.”
“Your family sure seems to be on the rise. I wanted to speak to you about the action group’s conference tomorrow. You never got back to me about attending.”
“I have some previous engagements so I’m not-”
“We would just take a few minutes of your time. A small speech. Something to get through to these kids, they respect your family a great deal and I’m sure they’d be overjoyed to see your name on the list of speakers.”
“If I find myself free at the time I might be able to attend, but I’m not one for making speeches. My siblings are the political ones.”
“Jennifer told me she saw you at the rally this morning. Don’t tell me you’re not just as invested as the rest of your family.”
I rejected his offer as politely as I could and excused myself. I actually had watched my sister’s speech but even she had admitted to me before speaking that her words were restrained due to public opinion. “Powerful” was a word used by the centrist cowards that had come to rule the party and the electorate that had come to accept their doctrines as radical instead of categorizing them as the half steps they were. “Too entrenched is the idea of sustainable capitalism.” she had said, “When we lay out the foundations of a palatable form of socialism in the states through incremental yet fundamental legislation, the country won’t be afraid to consider the end game. Establish major pillars, and they’ll eventually want the roof.” Realistic incrementalism she called it. I called it a bait and switch conspiracy to overthrow democracy from within. Regardless of our differing viewpoints, she was the one that had run for office and she was the one the state of California entrusted to represent them. She despised the capitalist democracy as much as I did but the media had dubbed her “the generations liberal voice” and “the savior of the Democratic party” through varied phrasing and that came with expectations. I steered clear of the hypocrisy and focused on living a principled life alongside my hopeless brethren, voicing their concerns alongside them at radical rallies or local forums. The annoyance to my family’s various campaigns had led to them brushing me off to the press and I was generally left alone. When I finally escaped the school grounds I found myself devoid of plans for the first time in a long while. Steph is nearly out of work but I’m not quite ready to address the renewed dynamic in person so I venture to the outskirts of the city hoping to find an eatery not yet overrun by the wave of renewed tourism. <<<Fix this whole paragraph :((((((((((((
Steph twisted my arm and gave me a long sermon on the idiocy of having platforms to speak on “important” issues to an interested audience and pushed me into attending the conference. “Speak, don’t speak, but you can’t keep complaining about political participation and then not show up when people actually start to get involved” she had argued. There was merit to what she said but she misinterpreted my avoidance of the gathering as an exercise in hypocrisy instead of being simply a decision based on my lack of interest in what the guests who were scheduled to speak had to say. — A one term senator who believed his lack of legacy meant he had to rail on partisan politics and blame his failures on a misinformed electorate instead of realizing he was a weak man in the first place and failed to garner support for any of his disgustingly bland policies because even he didn’t believe in the legislation he was proposing —
