Timothy, my long lost Timothy. Fret not, for I have returned for another tale.
I recount an argument from just a couple weeks ago during the bitter finale of January which led to my ultimate demise. My roommate, and I had been walking downtown to grab a burrito. He, red-nosed, visibly shivering, remarked, “Wish we went somewhere closer” I had had enough. “Oh quit bitching for once.” I continue, “It’s not even that cold out.” It was frigid. My roommate guffawed and pointed to a nearby time and temperature sign. It was 11 degrees Fahrenheit. “So? I’m comfortable. The cold doesn’t bother me.” My former friend, now thinking me as a showman, brushed this off and followed with “yeah right…” I was livid. We finished the walk in silence.
I didn’t get a minute of sleep that night. I tossed and turned, kept awake in an ironically cold sweat. “That stupid little shit. He thinks the cold bothers me?” I had to prove him wrong. At 4:23am, brilliance had fallen unto me. I knew just how to show him. The excitement kept me eagerly awaiting sunrise.
Finally, morning. “Hey bud…” My roommate turned, “yeah?”. “Remember our fight last night?” I inquired. He looked confused. “Uhh what?” He had thrown me for a loop. The man had seemingly forgot our quarrel which had quietly set me off. “Yeah,” I responded, “When you didn’t think I could handle the cold”. It started to come back to him. “Oh, kinda.” I shouted, “Well I’m gonna make you look like a real dumbass!” My roommate tried to interrupt. I did not let him. “I’M GONNA LIVE OUTSIDE FOR A WHOLE WEEK” He was appalled, he knew he was about to be made a fool. “Jon I really didn’t care that much… You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you can handle the col–” I had to interject. “FUCK OFF.” I was not going let him feign aloofness. I had to prove to him that I could do it.
In the heat of the moment I stormed out of the apartment wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and so my week began. I brought with me my cell phone with 6% battery life. No wallet. I called my boss to let him know I would be out for the week. “Hey Bob, I’m gonna take vacation this week.” “That’s great Jon! Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m living outside for the week.” He let out a hearty laugh. I told him, “I’m not fucking joking,” then hung up the phone. My phone was now dead, so I had to make due with what I had, which was nothing.
I set up shop on Washington Street next to a Seven Eleven. After just a day I stunk of piss and shit, but I didn’t mind. The real battle was dealing with unrelenting winter chill. I faced an existential crisis. Perhaps the cold really did bother me, but I was not going to let Scott know that. I was in too deep.
By Thursday my very life was in question. The temperature had not eclipsed 30 degrees in 96 hours. I was starving, stumbling, frostbitten, and even hallucinating. What I once remembered as home had turned into my own personal frozen hell. I accidentally bumped into strangers, trying to stay on my own two bare, blackened feet while shaking uncontrollably. Passersby found this an opportune time to ridicule me. “Get a job! You’re scaring my children.” Others coughed and gagged as they caught wind of my stench. The joke was on them, as I was gainfully employed.
Then, I saw my old roommate walking down the street and I caught his eye. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you went to your hometown for the week?” I tried to take a moment to gloat, showing him that I could handle the cold. It was at that moment that I had discovered my lips had been frostbitten as badly as the rest of my body. I opened my mouth, “I t…tol–” That was as far as I got. My lips had fallen clean off. Blood trickled over my cracked, ashy, pale white skin. I stumbled towards him and slipped on a piece of ice. I tried to break my fall with my completely lifeless, functionless arms to no avail. I smacked face first into concrete and shattered all of my teeth. I was bleeding profusely. The fragile remains of my left arm had also broken clean off. Oddly, I felt something I had not felt in days: bliss. Now, instead of shrieking at the pain, I was cheering it on. Adrenaline had given me new life. Locals looked on in horror. “MORE!” I exclaimed, after summoning up the energy to say a full word, blood gushing down my face and neck. I then threw my disjointed left arm like a frisbee into oncoming traffic, causing a six car pile up. I laughed hysterically. I grabbed a construction worker’s jackhammer from his hands and went to town on my right leg. After severing my already dead leg, I held it above my head and cheered. The scene was reminiscent of a horror movie. Children were crying and adults were vomiting. Pints of blood spilled onto the streets. I was eventually subdued via tranquilizer from the local authorities.
I woke up days later at the hospital, surrounded by my friends and family, but more importantly, my roommate. He started, “Oh my god you’re alive. Why the hell did you d–” I pressed one of my two remaining fingers on his lips to silence him. “I thought you said I couldn’t handle the cold,” I said, immediately falling back into a coma for 2 weeks afterwards.
I eventually awoke, and lived a bedridden life while claiming disability insurance provided by my employer.
Artwork by basper01
Originally published at deartimtheblog.tumblr.com.
