Busking

The rain pours softly onto the roof. The leak that's five feet away from my head helps lull me to sleep, the constant drip-drip-drip mixed with the sound of the wind. The sounds of the city gets quieter as the bars and the want to be pubs close down and the drunks begin their seemingly long quest home to their beds. I try and get comfortable, but my feet stick out from under the too small blanket. I give up trying to fight it and curl into a small ball on
the old couch. I hear the argument from upstairs and try to ignore it and get to sleep, focus on the drip of the leak hitting the table. I finally give up and walk to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet and take out the bottle of over-the-counter sleep aides and put two into my mouth and drink a glass of water. I walk back to my couch and look at the room. two couches,
a silver TV, two tables, one littered with beer bottles and old fast food bags, the second only with my pair of keys and wallet and the ever growing puddle, and the beat old up guitar case that leans near the door next to my jacket. I sit on the couch, curl into a ball and pull the too short blanket over myself. The argument grows louder for three seconds, then it stops. I
know that the only reason is that they don't want me thinking that anything is wrong, that everything is fine. I roll onto my side and look at the back of the couch, and go to sleep.

I wake up to being shaken. I look up into a pair of dull blue eyes. She's saying something, but she's talking so fast I can't understand her. She walks into the bathroom and I hear the shower start. I take this time to clean up the room. I’m on the third trip of throwing beer bottles and cans out when she's done in the shower.
"What're your plans for today?"
I tell her that I’m going downtown to play.
"Are you going to even look for a job?"
I ignore her as I get into the shower. The cold water hits my face. I take a quick shower and walk out of the bathroom. She's gone, off to work or school. I get dressed and put my shoes on. I pick up my guitar case and a bottle of water and lock the door.

I get downtown and stand at my usual spot. I open the case and make sure that the guitar isn't out of tune from drunken people playing with it. I start playing. Some people ignore me, some throw insults at me, some stand and listen, some throw
pennies and nickels into the case. One person though, watches me while I play all my songs. I open my bottle of water and take a drink when she talks to me.
"I like your music."
I tell her thank you.
"I’m not really in touch with the music scene," she says with a laugh. "were those all covers or did you write them?"
I tell her that I play my own music first then play three covers. We make small talk for three minutes. most of that is about me. I ask about her. I ask her what she does.
"Well, actually, I'm a painter."
I say something dumb in an attempt to be charming and we both laugh at me.
"Well, the gallery down the street is displaying one of my pieces, if you'd like to see it."
I tell her that I’d love to, and I pull out the loose change out of my case and put the guitar away.

During the walk we keep talking. I learn her name, I learn what she wants to do with her life, and I learn that she went to the school I went to. We make some more small talk as we walk into the small gallery. She points her painting out to me. I tell her that I like it.
"Really? I don't think that it's my best."
We make some more small talk. We talk about art and music as we walk back to the place where I was playing before.
"So I have to ask this, did we go to school together?"
I tell her that we had two classes together.
"Yeah, you looked familiar," she says laughing. "I have to go a class in a few minutes---"
She keeps talking but I don't listen to the words, I just look at her, take her features in. She hands me a piece of paper with a number scribbled on it.
"Call me?"
I smile and tell her that I will. As she starts to walk away, I start playing again. She looks back at me and smiles.

I walk back home, change jingling in my coat pocket, the paper with her number in my wallet. I unlock the door and walk into a full house. The three people sitting on the couch I'm using as a bed look up at me, too absorbed in their drinks to acknowledge me. The only person that does is the one walking out of the bathroom.
"How are you doing?"
I tell him good.
"Make any money out there?"
I shake my pocket.
"Good, we might need some of it."
I don't bother telling them that I need the money for myself. I walk upstairs, looking for a safe place to put my guitar even though I know that they'll come up and play with it. I turn and see that the dull blue eyes are looking at me. I walk back downstairs to a heated argument about something. I don't pay it any attention as I refill the bottle of water and put into the fridge for tomorrow. I walk out of the kitchen with a can of store brand soda and decide if I want to sit with the large group of people or run upstairs. when I walk out, I hear one of them shout my name.
"Why don't you play us a song?"
I tell him that I'm tired.
"So? Play us a song!"
I walk upstairs and get my guitar and walk downstairs. I play a cover of a bad song that they request before they get too distracted with the TV. I walk back upstairs and put my guitar away. I decide to sleep on the floor upstairs. I try to get comfortable as drunks be loud and belligerent.

I wake up before anyone else the next morning, so I get my stuff and walk downstairs. I put my guitar up near the door and start to clean all the beer cans and bottles, and put the bottles of the other liquor in the cabinets. I finish that and clean up the rest of the apartment and take a semi-long shower. I finish that and sit down, looking at the phone. I pull my wallet out
and look at the seven digit number. I play with the paper for a bit when I hear a voice come from the stairway.
"You going to call?"
I look up and see the dull blue eyes looking at me, looking more dull from the night of drinking. I ask her what she's talking about.
"Are you going to call the person who's phone number is on that piece of paper?"
I ask her how she knows what's on the paper.
"Well, you're eyeing the phone, and you just have that look."
I laugh as she walks past me and tosses the phone onto my lap and walks into the bathroom. I look at the number. What could go wrong? I dial the numbers and wait for her to pick up.
"Hello?"
I tell her who it is.
"Oh, hi! What's up?"
We make some more small talk for a few minutes before I ask her if she wants to go out for coffee or something.
"I have class till noon. How about lunch?"
I tell her that's fine and we make plans to go out to lunch. I get dressed and grab the bottle of water and pick up my guitar and my money and leave.

I play until noon, and then walk to the small diner where we planned to eat. I get a table and wait. She comes in five minutes later.
"Hey!"
I say hey back. We talk about her class, and we talk more about paintings.
"Are you going to school?"
I tell her that I didn't have enough money.
"Your parents didn't offer to help?"
I tell her that me and my parents don't really speak to each other. I tell her that the nicest thing they've done for me was buying me my guitar.
"What about scholarships?"
We talk about me not going to school for a few minutes.
"This is going to seem random, but did you go to the senior prom for our school?"
I tell her that I didn't in order to play a concert.
"You skipped out of your prom to play a concert? That's actually pretty cool," she says to me with a smile on her face.
I ask her why she asked.
"No reason, i was just curious."
I smile at her, and she smiles back.
"Have you played any other concert or anything?"
I tell her that I played a few before I left my home.
"You left home? Where are you staying?"
I tell her that I'm crashing at a friend's apartment.
"That was nice of him. So what are your plans? Keep being a street musician?"
I tell her what I want. She smiles at me.
"I think that everyone wants that in life."
I say something dumb, and we both laugh.
"This is really nice."
I tell her it is. We talk about high school and change.
We stay at the diner until she gets a call from someone. When she hangs up, she looks at me.
"That was my friend, I totally forgot that I made plans with her for tonight."
I ask her what they plan on doing.
"Well, I think she wanted to go out to dinner at that new cafe down the street," she says with a laugh. "but I think that i'm full from this. Do you have any plans?"
I tell her that I don't.
"Well... what're you doing later this weekend?"
I tell her nothing.
"Would you like to maybe hang out some more?"
I smile as I tell her I would. She gets up to leave and as she's walking out, she looks back at me and gives me a warm smile.

I walk back home. No one is drinking. It's just the two of them, sitting together on one of the couches, watching a movie.
"How was your day?"
I tell them that it was fantastic.
"Yeah?"
I tell them that I'm going on a date on the weekend, and they smile at each other.
"Looks like things are finally going your way, eh?"
I smile and say yeah. The rest of the night is spent with us talking. They go to sleep and I curl into a ball onto the couch and fall asleep, her smile in my dreams.

My Job As The D.L.S.

After spending weeks lying in bed due to the injuries that I had gotten after falling through the roof, I was still content on being alone, reading and listening to music. But after going on five weeks of not seeing me, my friends had other ideas. I started to ignore my phone calls and texts, so my friends started to do something rare: actually coming to my house to talk to me. Kyle, not surprisingly, was the first to come over.

"Dude. I'm bored," he said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"So?" I asked, grabbing a book from the large stack of books that was near my bed. Kyle looked at the pile, and then at the pile that was near my closet.

"The hell is that pile?"

"Finished ones," I said, lighting a cigarette with my free hand (even crippling pain wouldn't stop me from doing this).

"Well, I'm bored. So we should do something!" He said, standing up from my bed, as if to emphasize how serious he was.

"Like what? Last plan you had, I fell through a roof and had barbed wire go through my foot. It'd be pretty hard to top that." I said, starting the book.

"Well, no..." He mumbled. "But Mark has his house to himself for two weeks starting tonight!"

"So?" I asked, only half paying attention.

"So? So we should go, dude!" He said, sitting back down on my bed. I put the book down and stubbed the cigarette out in the overfilled ashtray.

"My back is hurt. Are you expecting me to lie on his couch while you do God-knows-what?"

"Well... if you don't mind," he said. I looked up at him.

"You're serious."

"Yeah."

"Fine," I said, picking up my book and starting to read again.

Shortly after that, Kyle left to get ready, so I pulled myself out of bed and took a quick shower, said 'meh' to shaving, got dressed, grabbed my book and a couple packs of cigarettes, and almost forgot my cell phone due to me not using it at all during my weeks of bed rest. I turned it on to see that I had a staggering amount of text messages, and at least thirty voicemails. I shrugged it off and threw my phone into my pocket and walked outside to see Mark's car waiting for me. The passenger's door flew open, and I heard Mark yell my name.

"Dude! How's the back?" He yelled over the music.

"Hurts," I said to him as I climbed into his car. I looked in the back to see the Stepsister's. They instantly started to giggle at me, so I didn't talk to any of them for the ride to his house.

"So what are the plans for this party?" I asked, lighting up another cigarette.

"Well, we're getting some booze, and we're just gonna live it up!"

Let me explain. Mark is obsessed with the concept of living life as a reckless teenager. I was okay with it, except that he essentially preached this message. To clarify anything: to Mark, living life as a 'reckless teenager' means these things: drinking every chance you get, sleeping with as many people as you can, and doing whatever you felt like. It was something that I got used to, and other people were drawn to Mark. But that was probably because of his ability to always provide alcohol for everyone. This is were me and Mark differ. I don't drink. It's something that I've never really caught the fun of, the whole getting tired, sleeping, then vomiting your stomach up in the morning. It was just something that I wanted to live without. Because of this, I had been called the 'Designated Life Saver', or D.L.S.

"Dude, don't get too out of hand," I said to Mark as we pulled in front of his house. "My back still really hurts, and I don't want to hurt anymore having to make sure that you don't fucking die."

"Okay, I promise that we won't get too out of hand, mommy." He said with a laugh. The Stepsister's started to cackle. I shrugged, walked inside the house, found the best couch in the house and claimed it. I found an ashtray, so I lit up and started to read. All of the people that were coming were starting to trickle in. I knew some of them, but these were all of Mark's friends that he had met through Wendy, his girlfriend. People said hi and went on their merry way, but a few people decided to stick around the couch and bug me.

"Are you reading at a party?" One asked.

"Yes, yes I am." I said, not even looking up from the book.

"Why?"

"Cause I don't drink," I replied, putting the cigarette into the ashtray.

"Then why are you here?" One said, laughing.

"I'm crashing your little party by reading a book. That's why I'm here." I said, putting another cigarette in my mouth.

"What a fuckin' loser," one of them said while laughing.

"I have a fun idea," I said, putting the book on my chest.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You go outside, or go get a drink, and I don't mistake you for an ashtray. It's my favorite party game," I said, picking the book back up. Strangely enough, no one else bothered me while I was reading my book.

Later on, I had relocated to the backyard, on the swinging bench near the pool. There was a light that was really close, and it was a good night outside. I had already gone through two packs, so I was attempting to conserve my last pack. I heard someone clear their throat, so I put the book on my chest and looked up. It was the one girl that Kyle had told me he was going to (in his words) nail the night of me falling through.

"Hey," she said, looking at me.

"Hi," I said back. The plan of trying to conserve cigarettes was gone.

"How's your back?" She asked. If this was her being sincere, it was depressing.

"It still hurts. That's why I'm laying here." I said, pointing to the book.

"Well... do you want a drink?" She asked.

"Uhh... A water or something? Something non-alcoholic would be nice," I said.

"You should drink with us!" She said.

"Did Kyle put you up to this?" I asked, getting annoyed at this girl trying to get me drunk.

"Ummm..."

"Go away, please." I picked the book back up and literally ripped open my last pack.

I finished the book about the time they were getting in the pool to skinny dip. Mark walked over to me in his boxers to try one last time to get me to drink and join in the fun.

"C'mon, you could hook up with someone here!"

"I don't want to 'hook up' with anyone! And I don't want to skinny dip!" I was already feeling self conscious, all of the men here were in fantastic shape and tan, and I was skinny and pale.

"You sure? One shot, please? Just one shot." He begged.

"No," I was about ready to hit him. "Now shouldn't you be naked in your pool or something?"

"Fine, be that way." He said as he ran and dived into his pool. I walked into the pool area and sat down in one of the chairs to enjoy one of my last cigarettes for the night. I looked at the Stacey girl walking in the pool, and leaned back, trying to figure out why I was feeling anxious. I started to rack my brain for a possible reason, and closed my eyes, enjoying the cigarette. I was halfway done with it when I remembered a trip to the river that I took with Kyle and the Stepsister's. My irrational fear of large bodies of water kept me out of the water, and the Stacey girl had told me that she was never a really strong swimmer.

I have to say, for a smoker with a bad back, I moved pretty damn fast.

"Hey, get Stacey out of the water!" I yelled. But everyone was too drunk or just ignoring me, thinking that I was just messing with them. I tossed my cigarette onto the ground and did what I had to do. Trying to think of where she would be in the pool, I dived in. My back hurt as badly as it did when I landed on the pile of wood and whatever broke my fall, but I ignored it. In a stroke of extremely good luck for me, I saw right near a wall by the diving board, trying her hardest to stay above water. I got to her by the time she did finally go under, so I was able to grab her arm and pull her up. I told her to grab the diving board, which she did, while I managed to pull myself out of the pool and pull her up. She sat on the diving board, gasping for air, while I was on my back, trying not to cry from how much pain I was in. She managed to gasp out a 'thank you' and moved off of the diving board, and sat next to me.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and this time she actually sounded concerned. I moved my hands from my eyes and patted my soaked jeans. I didn't yank anything out of them before I jumped in, so my wallet, keys, phone and cigarettes were drenched. I didn't say anything, but I attempted to get off of the ground. That resulted in me actually crying out in pain. The most amazing part of this is that despite seeing me jump in, pull a girl out and scream in pain, everyone else seemed to be oblivious.

"Help me into the guest bedroom," I managed to say despite the pain. She helped me up and I limped into the house. As soon as we were in the guest bedroom, I crumpled onto the bed, lying on my stomach, muttering to myself. I heard her walk out and I heard her walk back in, putting a bottle of water on the nightstand.

"Umm... Thanks for saving my life." She said, kissing the part of my forehead she could find and walking out. I muttered a thank you, but it was muffled by the fact my face was in the bed. I ended up falling asleep for a couple of hours until I felt someone shoving me.

"Dude! It's only 12, why are you in bed?" Kyle was asking. He smelled disgusting, like vodka and chlorine mixed into one. I nearly threw up in the bed. I moved my head so I could speak clearly.

"Well, I didn't think you could do it, dude. You have one-upped yourself."

"Huh? What're you talking about?"

"I just fucked up my back. Again. And ruined my last pack of cigarettes. And my cell phone. All because you convinced me to come to this fucking party," I said, moving my head away from him. He wasn't too drunk that he couldn't not tell that I was pissed off at him.

"Shit. Sorry, dude."

"Sorry?! You should be glad I can't move right now, or I'd kick your ass!" I screamed at him.

"I'm just gonna leave, and come back when you've calmed down a bit, okay dude? You sure you don't want a drink? Take that edge off?" He asked. I don't know how I managed it, but I threw something at him before he left the room.

I was able to move in the morning, so I got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. Mark was lying next to the toilet. He looked up at me.

"Kyle told me about the back. I'm so, so, sorry dude. Things did get a little out of hand, eh?"

"You convinced the skinniest girl here to essentially drink an entire bottle of Jager, then convinced her to go skinny dipping, despite the fact that even when she's sober, she can't swim. Out of hand is an understatement, my friend. Now either close your eyes or leave, cause I gotta pee." With a moan, he rolled to look away while I went to the bathroom. "Anyway. I'm leaving dude, nice to see you."

"See ya," he said before sticking his head in the toilet to vomit. I got outside as soon as my ride was pulling up. Somehow, I had managed to grab a phone and call one of my oldest friends, Jared for an immediate rescue. I got into the passenger's side and thanked him.

"Hey, no problem, bro. You okay?" He asked.

"Back just really hurts," I said.

"You want to crash at my place for a while?" He asked. He had a prescription to Vicodin for his own injuries, and I needed something stronger then Advil.

"Yeah..." I paused. "Can you get me some smokes?"

"Yup," he said, laughing.

"This has been a shitty summer, man." He just shrugged and drove.

On the one, microscopic good part of this was that this was the first time that I met Zoey.

Advenutre in Falling and Pain

After the whole debacle with Tommy, I needed a break from all the things that I then had to deal with (my friends apparently don't like to keep secrets, and when I told Kyle about the Tommy and the girl, he then told his friends, and word spread like wildfire). So I decided that the next time I would actually go out of my house, it would be for something fun. So when Kyle told me about an abandoned two story house he had found, I was ecstatic to go. I left this up to Kyle to plan the whole thing (mistake one of this adventure).

"Well, who do you want to go?" He asked.

"I don't care, dude. Just plan everything. I mean, what's the worst that could go wrong?" I replied, sticking a cigarette in my mouth (the habit was turning into an addiction, but I didn't really care at this point). He called up a bunch of people, telling them to meet them at his house. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting this big of a group, but I didn't really care. It seemed like it would be a good night, full of friends and a random adventure to somewhere cool. We all piled into cars, filling them to the max, and we set off. The car me and Kyle were in led the way (since he knew the way there), and it had three girls I would later to refer to as the 'Stepsister's' because they reminded me of Cinderella every time I saw them. They didn't really like me, but I always had cigarettes on me, and that made me tolerable. Kyle had (to my knowledge) slept with two of them, and a conversation we had while we were filling up his tank of gas lead me to his real goal of the night.

"Dude, I'm gonna nail Stacey tonight," he said, leaning on his car while he filled it. I looked at him, then the three girls inside, buying something to eat.

"Which one is Stacey?" I asked. I didn't like them enough to know them by their actual names.

"She's the one with the dark-ish hair, with the blonde highlights," he said, shaking the last little drops of gas from the nozzle.

"Oh," I said uninterestedly. The three walk out, all laughing, eating some kind of pastry they just bought from the gas station. We all got into the car and pulled out onto the road.

We got to the house around 11:30 pm. We got there first, so the first ten minutes was spent with Kyle hitting on Stacey in front of the other three. I chose to wait on the other side of the car, and finished off the first pack that I brought with me. The rest of the cars parked, and everyone piled out into the street.

"Alright, everyone ready to go?" Kyle asked, throwing his cigarette into the gutter.

"I think you're full of it, Kyle." Paul said, folding his arms. Paul was a prick, but he had known Kyle longer then I had so he always tagged along with us.

"Well, everyone get ready and follow me," he said, pulling a flashlight from his car. He took the lead, and we all followed him.

"Dude, it's safe to be out here?" I heard someone ask from the back.

"Yeah, sure, it's plenty safe!" Kyle yelled back. We walked for about fifteen minutes, much to the complaint of the women who said that he didn't mention the long walk.

When we got to the house, it looked like a horror movie waiting to happen. The house was dilapidated, and all the windows were broken out. That and it was a full moon, and the moon was directly over the house. I was waiting for a horde of zombies or the Wolfman to come and kill us. Kyle walked to the front of the house and run up to the front door.

"Let's go guys. It's better inside." All of the guys walked up to the front door, trying to prove how manly they were. The girls walked up slowly, as if the cement steps could possibly break as they stepped on it. Their was no door, so Kyle shined a light in the doorway to show us what it looked like. The moonlight was casting a faint light in it, so the flashlight was really needed.
"It's all good guys, go ahead and explore. Plenty safe," Kyle assured us as we walked into the house with caution. Almost all of the girls stayed downstairs, except for Stacey, who followed me upstairs for some reason.

"Hey, let's check out this room," she said. I looked into the room, which seemed safe. So I walked into the room. I was able to get to the other side of the room, but as soon as I got to the middle of the room, the floor creaked and gave away. I don't know which was louder, everything breaking or Stacey screaming as I fell through the floor. The good thing about her scream was that it got people to run up, and as soon as Kyle noticed what was wrong, he ran downstairs to the room that I had landed in.

Something broke my fall somewhat (I couldn't tell what, there was too much crap that I was lying on to tell), and I was lying on my back. I tried to roll over, but pain shot through my back and in the back of my head.
"Dude, holy SHIT!" I heard Kyle yell. "Are you okay, dude?" I grunted and managed to sit up, despite the pain.

"I'm going to go to the car." With that, I set off to the car, walking slowly. Everyone was downstairs, looking at me. I got outside the door and put a cigarette into my mouth, still moving slowly, not wanting to hurt myself anymore. I was able to limp halfway to the car before a sharp pain went through my foot. I don't know why I didn't yell in pain or anything, but with a calm that surprised even me, I pulled my foot up. Along with it came a line of barbed wire that had stuck itself inside of my foot. I reached down and with a quick pull, I yanked it out of my foot. I limped the rest of the way to the car, sat down under a street light and pulled off my shoe. I looked inside, saw some blood. I pulled off my sock, and saw more blood. I pulled my foot onto my lap and looked at the bottom of it to see how bad my foot was. The hole that the barbed wire had put in my foot was bleeding at a steady rate, so I did what anyone would do in my position. I wrapped my foot in my sock and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes in fifteen minutes. By the time I had finished my last one, the group was back, talking. Kyle looked at me, looked at my foot, and looked back to the group.

"What happened to your foot?" He asked.

"Barbed wire." I said. "Hey, Kyle?"
"What's up dude?"
"Can you help me up and into the car?" I probably could've gotten up myself, but I didn't want to risk hurting myself anymore tonight. He helped me into the car and the three girls got into the back and looked at me.

"Do you want to go to the hospital or something?" One of them asked. I shook my head no and sat in silence for the rest of the ride. When we pulled in front of my house, I slowly got out of the car and walked into my house and into my room.

I stayed in bed for about three weeks due to the fact that my back was in excruciating pain. I didn't want to really talk to anyone, so the majority of my time was spent reading or watching movies. It was around this time the concept of a vacation began to cross my mind. I pushed it to the back of my mind as the ultimate back up plan, and that I wouldn't have to use it because after this, my summer and my life could only go uphill, right?

Yeah, right.

Going Past the Breaking Point

By this time, word of my ability to 'forgive and forget' had become the thing of legend, and would come up at least three times in one day if I hung out with a group of people. I would just laugh and wave it off, and try to return the conversation to something else. The Mexican restaurant story had somehow spread like wildfire, though, and people wanted to begin to test to see if I had a breaking point, and if they could reach it. I don't think they had a back up plan in case going past my breaking point would result in loss of life and limb, but hey. Almost everyday, something would happen, or someone would do something to try to push me over that edge so they could start a conversation with "I WON!" (at this time, there was a large sum of money to go to whoever got me to the breaking point). I had my ipod stolen three times by the same person, someone told a girl that I was thisclose to dating that I was actually a sexual deviant who liked to dress up in women's under while listening to Goodbye Horses while touching myself (which actually backfired on them, because she for some reason thought that was funny and wanted to see it, although it did send up a red flag in our almost relationship). But still I just laughed these off and went about my life. What could I say? I had endured worst things in my life then these, so I was used to this kind of thing.

I was still maintaining the reputation that I had in high school about being able to help everyone, so I encouraged my friends that were younger then me to feel free and call or text me if they ever needed help with anything. So almost everyday, I had a message on my phone and a problem I could deal with and fix. They ran the normal course for high schoolers, so it was all easy for me to deal with. Most of them just needed me to nudge them in the right direction or say something encouraging and positive and they'd manage just fine. They'd call and cry their stories and problems to me, and I would sit in my boxers and a Mario t-shirt eating a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal or be making a sandwich, and help them out. In hindsight, making this policy did have it's downsides, especially when breakups came around, or people decided that they just didn't want to be friends anymore, which forced me to either play favorites, play both sides, or just say 'fuck it' and tell them to sink or swim without me.

Karma, never being nice to me, decided that this act of me trying my hardest to be nice was what would get me to my breaking point. It happened on a nice, fall day while I was sitting outside reading and smoking (I picked the habit back up two weeks after Claire dumped me). It's a call that most men don't like to get, mainly because you can't understand a goddamn word that's being said: it was the crying girl call.

"Hello?" I said as I picked up the phone, not ready for what was waiting on the other end.

"He*SOB*he*SOB*he's an asshole!" She cried into the phone.

"Wait, what? Who's an asshole?" I closed my book to try and focus on the conversation, trying to get past the sobbing to hear the problem.

"He*SOB*for*SOB*..."

"Hey, why don't I meet you somewhere for lunch?" I ventured. I could understand her better in person then over the phone, and I could probably get her to stop crying long enough to actually tell me what was wrong, and who was an asshole. "Where do you want to go?" I asked, stubbing the cigarette out on the bottom of my shoes. We agreed on a place, a time, and I set out to meet her there.

I got to the diner before she did, and got our table. The girl, Caroline, and I had dated for three months in my last year of high school, so I always made sure to actually invest time to make sure she was okay. She was wearing a pair of knock off Ray-Ban sunglasses, and I knew what that meant. One time during our relationship, she had donned the same pair of sunglasses when her beloved pet bird had died, so I was able to tell how bad she was feeling. I offered her a smile and gave her a big hug before she sat down in our little booth. She had managed to compose herself and articulate one sentence as she sat down.

"Tommy is an asshole." She said, taking off her sunglasses and putting them on the table.

"How is Tommy an asshole?" I asked, trying not to sound to surprised. Tommy and I knew each other, but that didn't mean that we liked each other. We were nice to each other when it benefited us, but for the main part, I thought he was a prick and he thought I was pompous.

"He broke up with me," she said, trying not to break down in tears again.

"What? Why? You two were so..." I hunted for the words that didn't involve wrong or unholy abomonation from the very depths of hell sent by Satan 'cos he was bored one night. "Happy looking," I eventually managed to say.

"I thought that too," she said, playing with her sunglasses.

"Did he say why he did?" I asked with caution, not wanting to have to calm her down in the middle of the diner.

"He just said that he needed time to think about things, and all that crap." She said, while switching from playing with her sunglasses to the napkins that were on the table.

"Ah."

We ordered our food, and I tried my best to help her, but in the end, her best friend managed to bail me out of saying something that I would later regret. She came in, talked to us, and told Caroline that she'd drop her off at home. I nibbled at the plate of fries in front of me, and pulled my wallet out, getting ready to pay the bill when I heard a familiar laugh. I peeked over at the booth that was in front of the diner, and my heart dropped into stomach. It was Tommy, with a girl that I knew all too well. I turned back to the plate of fries, but I suddenly wasn't hungry. This was probably because my heart was in my stomach, filling up all the room that food does, or it was because the girl that Tommy was sitting with, holding hands with, and gently moving that one strand of hair from her face, was the girl that I had planned to ask out tomorrow. I threw the last fire onto my plate, and started to suck down the rest of my Coke.

If you've never had the urge to use a French fry as a tool of murder, then you probably wouldn't understand the main urge I was fighting off. Instead of shoving the incredibly long fry that I had just picked up into Tommy's eye, I instead dipped it in an unhealthy amount of ketchup and shoved it in my mouth. I got up and walked to the cash register and paid off the bill, and left. The two were so involved with themselves they didn't even notice me walk by.

When I got home, my phone started ringing. I checked the caller id, and swore to myself. It was her. I didn't really want to talk to her right now, but I hated not picking up my phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, what's up?" She asked, all happy. I knew why she was happy, and it made me depressed.

"Nothing, just sitting around," I said, trying to sound somewhat happy.

"What did you want to see me about tomorrow?" She asked, and with every word my mood got worse and worse.

"Oh, nothing really." I lied. "Just needed help with something, but it's all taken care of now." It's times like these I'm glad I can lie like a president.

"Oh, okay. Just checking," she said. I prayed that I would be able to hang up soon, I wouldn't be able to keep up the civil tone for much longer, it was causing me physical pain.

"So, I'll talk to you later then." I said quickly and hung up. I stared at my phone for a bit, and then walked into my room and threw my phone onto the bed.

I don't know why, but this was my breaking point. I couldn't forgive Tommy for doing that to Caroline, and I wouldn't forget that literally twenty minutes after breaking up with his girlfriend of two years, he was out and about with someone else. And I couldn't forgive her for doing that. I eventually told Kyle, and he told the other people, and they called off the large sum of money they had riding on this moment. Kyle would later tell me that they did this because "it wasn't as fun that way".

This, despite belief to the contrary, is NOT the reason that I decided to take a long vacation without anyway to contact me.

An Unlikely Pariah

Okay, I'll admit. The word 'pariah' is too strong. But it is the first word that comes to my mind when I think back to my summer one year. I had just graduated high school, along with some of my best friends. We were determined to have fun and put off work and college until at least one of us couldn't bear it any longer. Me and one friend, Kyle, hung out the most. We had a common interest, and the fact that we both knew about everyone made for some good times. When we weren't hanging out, I'd either be reading a book or watching a movie (my favorite pastimes, forget baseball and apple pie, give me a good book and a good movie and I'm set), and he'd go out fishing or do the one thing he liked more. Women. I wouldn't go as far to say the guy was addicted to them, but he did enjoy them. And he had a way with 'em.

This is where me and Kyle are different. I'm terrible with women, and I could never do the whole 'friends with benefits' scenario. It made me feel terrible for just thinking about it. I bought into the whole 'your first time should be special. It should mean something.' I wasn't holding out till marriage, but I wanted my first time to be while I was in a relationship, a long meaningful one. Kyle, on the other hand, didn't share this idea with me. He wanted to live life to the max, and enjoy every last minute of it. And the fact that he could woo anyone helped him in that department. And he didn't care who knew about it.

One moment sticks out the most, and that being one o'clock in the morning, and me sitting outside of his house, smoking Camel cigarettes while he went off to the park near his house to be with one of his many women. He would come back, a big smile plastered on his face while I pulled my coat closer to me and wondered if I was going to get sick from the cold and die.

He couldn't understand why I had this mindset. Not in a bad way, mind you. He just wanted me to live life to the max and enjoy every last bit of it before I got old and all the fun got sucked out of me. He would even try to hook me up, but my overall awkwardness, anxiety, and the fact that I insulted almost everyone made me that friend that they would just talk to and hang out with. Nothing more, nothing less. Which worked for me, I was all for having more friends. When he wasn't trying to hook me up, he would tell me some of his secrets. Some of them made sense, others not so much.

"Dude, Harry Potter is great."
"Really?"
"Yeah, every time I've watched it recently, I've gotten laid."

That was one of the more strange bits of advice he gave me. It's probably just me, and my outdated attempts at charm, but I stick more with paying for dinner, giving them flowers, and long walks in the moonlight hand in hand. That usual romantic crap.

Since I couldn't drive (a lack of money, and I was blind as a bat having lost my glasses for the longest time), he would always have to pick me up. Which wasn't all that bad, seeing as how instead of gas money, I just had to buy him food at the many fast food establishments we went to. And to be quite honest, I enjoyed hearing some of his stories and the random bits of information he would say. Sometimes, we would drive past someone that he had screwed around with and say "[insert name here]... Man, that was nice. Dude, I can't wait till you get some for yourself and know what I'm talkin' about."

I was always afraid of this moment though, when I eventually was in a relationship and she'd go "I want to meet your friends! From all the stories you tell, they sound funny!" Let me clarify something. My stories are not meant to be like that. I mean them to be cautionary tales of debauchery, bad choices, and the consequences of those choices. But hey. People think they're funny, so to each their own, I guess. This one girl I met, Claire, was fantastic. Funny, down to earth, and almost as equally cynical and jaded as I am. Needless to say, we hit it off pretty well. Knowing that this was going to happen, I decided that a preemptive strike was needed to avoid disaster. So one day, I called Kyle.

"Hey," he said, sounding groggy. I checked my watch to see that I had woken him up at two thirty in the afternoon.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight?" I asked.

"Uhhh.... Nothing, why?" He asked. In the background, I heard him pissing. What can I say? I know classy people.

"Do you want to go to dinner with me and Claire?" I heard the words come out of my mouth, but my brain was too busy screaming at me.

"Sure man. Where at?" I heard the toilet flush and him walk back into his room. His bed, he told me, after so many uses had a very distinctive squeak to it. Needless to say, I immediately never sat on his bed again.

After I gave him the details, I hung up the phone and called Claire. She came over, and I told her about dinner.

"That's great!" She said with a level of enthusiasm that one usually reserves for getting a new animal.

"Yeah," I replied, not sounding so sure. She picked up on my weariness.
"It'll be fine," she told me, rubbing my back. I secretly wished that I could somehow get to that level of denial. My life would be so much better.

"Yeah, well... He may or may not bring someone." I told her, rolling onto my side to look at her.

"Hey, that'd be fantastic! It'd be like a double date!" I shuddered internally at the thought and laughed with her.

The time came, and me and Claire got into her car to drive to the restaurant where we were eating. It was a cheap, reliable Mexican place that I went to so often that the waiters and waitress already knew what I wanted to get to eat. They liked me, mainly because I didn't try to speak in broken Spanish from high school, and I tipped pretty well. We waited, and Kyle and some girl walked in. My heart sank down in my chest. I knew this girl. This girl and I had a fling that went nowhere two summers ago. And she and Kyle and tried the whole 'relationship thing before'. It didn't end well. They sat down at the table with us and everyone got introduced to each other. We all ordered, and started to make small talk. It was tame, but that was because of the text message conversation I had with Kyle (something that would later be called the ten commandments of double dating with me):

1. Do NOT ask about our sex life.

2. Do NOT talk about your sex life.

3. Do NOT talk about how great you are.

4. Do NOT try to make subtle hints about how much you like my date.

5. Do NOT try to hook up with my date.

6. Do NOT make me pay for you and your date.

7. Do NOT talk about the one time that you had to carry me to your car because I couldn't walk.

8. DO show basic table manners.

9. Do NOT mess with my OCD.

10. DO respect my date.

We talked about music, movies, I talked about books and art. Kyle talked about his interests, Clarie talked about hers (which was revealing, I never knew that she wanted to be an artist...), and Mandy (Kyle's date) talked about her experiences in high school. It was going too well, I should've known that something was going to come up and ruin it. It went like this:

"So, what're you going to do in college?" Mandy asked me.

"Well, I want a major in psychology, and a minor in art history," I told her.

"Oh, what do you want to do with those?" Kyle asked. He enjoyed busting my balls about how 'useless' these degrees were.

"Well, a psychiatrist is what I would love to do. And I would love to teach art history in a high school." I said, sounding more smug then I wanted to.

"Why do you want to be a shrink?" Kyle asked, putting his hand on Mandy's lap. I didn't notice this until too late, and the conversation went on.

"Well, I've always been good at helping people," I responded, still not paying attention to where his hand was.

"Oh, like that one girl in school!" He exclaimed.

I earned a reputation in high school as being the person that most people came to with their problems, my most famous success story being a girl that was going to kill herself when she didn't make the cheer squad. Not only did I convince her that life would go on, I introduced her to someone, and asked her what she really wanted to do, which was paint. Last time I talked with her, she's been dating the guy I introduced her to for three years, and she's in college with an art scholarship.

"Yeah, like her," I said, with an air of smugness that I figured I deserved. It was then I noticed the face that Mandy was making. I knocked my napkin off the table and went down to get it. That's when I saw it. I was going to say something, but Claire noticed it, probably because Mandy was trying to control herself, so she was tweaking out with her legs, and kicked Claire. The check came thirty seconds after that. We paid and left. Claire dropped me off without saying a word, and three days later we broke up. She wouldn't tell me why, but I knew why.

I was furious for a few days, at Claire, at Kyle, at Mandy, and at myself for not picking up on what Kyle was doing. I stopped being mad at myself (after a week of playing the Pink Floyd song Wish You Were Here while I cried in a bathtub for a week), and eventually forgave Mandy. I eventually learned that before getting picked up by Kyle, she had polished off a handle of imported liquor she stole from her dad, so I forgave her a couple of weeks later. Kyle's apology was a carton of cigarettes (despite me quitting when I met Claire), thirty bucks, and a note with the words 'sorry broski' scribbled on a casino napkin. Then, three weeks after that, I had another apology from him. He said I'd know in due time, so I didn't let it bother me. 'In due time' was three days after the second apology, when I saw a picture of him and Claire cuddling together in some cabin in Tahoe. Another week in the bathtub, but with a different song (I chose the song Leave by The Swell Season this time, as I thought it better conveyed my emotions).

Kyle and I are still friends despite this, which from what I hear is the talk of a small group of our friends who are amazed at my ability 'forgive and forget', while another group says that I'm a 'master of repression'. I try not to think about it, but hey. I was still a virgin, the only one in my group of friends, and at age eighteen, I was the pariah of the group. It's still too strong of a word, but at the time, it described how I felt. And this was only the start of it.

I Hope they Serve Beer in Hell

So I was chilling with some friends the other day, and one of the friends I was with gave me I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, that one book that's all the collection of things that he posts his stories. At first, me being a pretentious asshole, I think in my mind, this book looks like horseshit. It's gonna be horseshit. I could tie a blindfold around my eyes and start headbutting my keyboard and write a better book then this. But I didn't say that out loud. Mainly because I needed something to read that wasn't something I've already read, that and I didn't want to insult my friend's taste in books. So I carry it around in my back pocket (all the while walking around the mall with a large book that is pulling my pants down so I look like a wigger), and we decide to grab something to eat. So we get some food, go outside and sit down to eat our food, and he tells me to hand him the book. So I do. He flips through it, finds a chapter, and slides it across the table and tells me to read the chapter.

And, it's actually pretty funny. Don't get me wrong, the dude, Max Tucker, is a freaking prick. He's one of those people that if I met, I'd punch in the mouth. With a 2x4. With six nails in it. Repeatedly.

But that doesn't stop the fact that I've been reading it and laughing ridiculously loud. It's funny. It's really funny. But I can understand why people don't like him. Anybody that reads this, and can't tell why people really, really, really don't like him is a retard.

The chapters aren't all that long, so this is a book that takes about a day or two to read. It's a pretty easy read, and I enjoyed it despite hating the dude.

You Know What I hate?

Hypocrites. Especially the kinds that don't even wait like... three minutes before contradicting themselves. I mean, how hard is it to do what you just said? You'd think it'd be easy, but you'd be wrong. Or at least have the balls to admit that they were doing it, but as established, you'd be wrong.

But I'll admit, my views on them are split. It's 60% loathe, and 40% a mix of pity and other emotions that follow pity. Cause obviously, they don't see themselves being hypocritical, so they think they're still in the right. And that's pretty fucking depressing to see. For example, imagine somebody that smokes three packs of cigarettes a day, and goes around insulting smokers. I'm not gonna lie, I always really want to know what their train of thought is. I'd write a really long and insulting fake train of thought, but honest to God, I cannot even pretend to think like they do! I think if I did, it'd hurt my brain so bad and give me a tumor, or my brain would melt and start coming out of my nose and ears. And then there'd be a giant mess of me being dead, and the carpet would be stained with chunky, liquefied brain (which looks like tomato soup with bits of ground beef in it). And that wouldn't be fun to clean up.

Anyway, back onto the topic of hypocrites. It just always hurts my brain when people are so blatantly hypocritical. Hell, you'd think they'd wait at least a day before doing it. It's hard to articulate this next train of thought about hypocrites because I may or may not be talking out of my ass at this point, but the people that are hypocrites about other people? Does that make any sense? If it doesn't I really don't care, cause you know what? It makes sense to me, and that's all that matters at this point. Here, I'll try to enlighten you on my way of thinking on this.

-they insult all the sex that teenagers are having, but directly after insulting that, they go and get laid.

-they insult things that you do, but after they make you feel bad, they do the same thing.

-and general things like that, but really? Those are pretty much the best examples I have, which is kind of depressing.

Okay, maybe insult isn't the right word, but it's the first to come to mind. The better term I guess would be preach about how bad it is or something along those lines, but really? Insult comes to mind when I think of the people that do that.

I understand that my hating hypocrites means that I hate about... 95% of everybody, including myself at points, but hey. At least I'm honest, and I know that doesn't make it right or anything. But I'm honest about it, so that's gotta count a little bit with the God's of Karma, right?