Shots from both sides came screaming at me like a rainstorm of
verbal downpour. The whole world seemed to sit still for moments as an uncomfortable
dialogue thundered and roared.
She said I was too unmotivated and lacking in direction.
He said that the she was too good for me.
She said that she felt that way sometimes too.
He said that such was the case because it was true. Then he made subtle flirtations
with her. He couldn't have really liked that skirt. She's my girl and all, but
I won't compliment her legs if I would have to lie to do so. She should stick
to pants, or a longer dress. And she should know that. And yeah she looks fat
sometimes, shit.
Eventually I just sat down and smoked a cigarette and the two of them came
at me and I just kind of shrugged it all off when they asked me, "What's
going on with you, anyway?"
Half-assed question. Forget it. Like I'm supposed to crumble and tear up in
my peepers, fold and look ashamed: "I don't know, I mean I just don't know!
What am I going to do with my life? What is to become of me?" I could ask
such things and fall to the ground on my knees, with a rain cloud pouring down
upon me, lightning striking and illuminating my weathered face, me beaten like
the dog they saw me as, and I could admit to being such a low-down fiend who
needs help. What would they say to that?
I watched the ribbons of smoke coil in the air, and my head was off elsewhere.
These two were boring me. I didn't even care anymore. They could go off together
and he could become the American President and she the First Lady. That wouldn't
change how I look at the world, that's for sure. It would still be the same
old mess that it is, and I'd still be just as apathetic. Is motivation really
a problem? Maybe to my girl, so she could love me again. Well, she can go find
some talented character who knows where he wants to be five years from now,
see what I care. Doesn't change my opinion of her legs or make me miss her more.
Whatever.
And this guy. Go ahead, girl, let him plunge into you. I've got my smokes,
so I'll be cool. I had to go to work soon anyway at the restaurant. Work's cool.
I like my job. Good, regular customers. I'll be damned if I have to figure out
my life's work now. I know where I want to be now. And I know how a cigarette
feels when I smoke it in the now. And I like it.
They ended up walking off in separate directions, as she wanted to be alone
and he got mad at this and so took his anger out on me and said that I needed
to treat her better, loud enough so that she could hear the statement without
stretching her ears too far. That was cool. I thought the whole thing was quite
comical.
The next day I saw her and she cooled off when I made her laugh. I really
didn't care much if she was cooled off or not. I liked myself, and I liked my
job and my cigarettes. I liked her too, but she's no substitute for being in
tune with my own internal harmony.
Maybe I might sound a bit too indifferent. But then I'd have to care enough
about what you think for this to fully register. Besides, who told you to speak
anyway? I didn't ask your opinion. And yeah, if you have to know, I'll go "make
something of myself someday" but I don't know what that'll involve. I'll
know it when it gets here. If I look for it then maybe it will never come. Planning
can kill brain cells and stress an otherwise healthy heart.
Maybe you just think I'm Zen. Well, I'm not very spiritual, either. Whatever
the case, I don't know what I am. And that's been working out great. It makes
getting out of bed in the morning like the next level in solving this huge puzzle
where I keep trying to find the pieces that complete my character. Aw, sentimental
values. Now I, the unspiritual, have included a moral. Doesn't that warm the
heart?
I mean what I say for the most part, I do. I really do like my smokes, and
I like my job, and I even like my girl. But she doesn't have nice legs. And
it wouldn't be the end of the world if she left me. Because when it all comes
down to it, and no matter how cynical I sound, I don't apologize for finding
those puzzle pieces to my character, as long as I don't have to compromise my
own needs. What about my needs? Ha! Now I just sound like a woman.
I like myself, but even I'm tired of hearing my voice. Thanks for listening,
punk. Get out of here now; go climb up a tree. I don't really care where you
go. I just have to go to work soon.
Sean Pravica has lived in Southern California
all his life. He has no idea where he will be, location or otherwise, in a few
years, and he likes it that way. This is his first story for Lime Tea.
