It's five o'clock when I finally get home, the extra traffic from the memorial day weekend rush pushing my arrival back a whole thirty minutes. I've lived in this apartment for two months. My art is on the walls, my books and nick nacks on the shelves, but it has yet to feel like home.
My roomate comes in an hour or so after I do and goes through the motions of getting ready for the night's date. We make small talk for a bit while I watch an old episode of The Tick before he leaves. Shortly after, I pick up some smokes and Whataburger so I wouldn't have to leave the apartment again.
Over the next several hours, I watch a couple of movies and smoke...that's about it. It's late when he shows back up, unexpectedly, with his date in tow. I'll give him some credit, she's beautiful. Now, picture this. You're on a date with a guy and you decide to go back to his place. When you get there, you see his 23 year old roommate (me) sitting all alone on a Friday night in torn jeans and a old, faded shirt (I was doing laundry) playing X-Men on Super Nintendo. I felt so fucking pathetic. He then gave her the tour and took her back to his room so he could bang the hell out of her.
I finished what I was doing, decided on not having a smoke because his window is connected to the balcony and went to bed. I took two ambien to cut the time I'd have to listen to her moan in half.
I wake up a little early, because Saturday is the only day I really get the place to myself. Upon going into the kitchen I see the sink full of dishes he's created and has yet to wash. He'll move them around place to place and I refuse to pick up after him.
My aunt gives me a call around two to invite me over to lunch, which I somewhat reluctantly attend. Whenever there's a get together with my Dad's side of the family you can feel the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. No one likes each other, but we all put up with one another because we've all been told we have to. My little cousin rambles on incessantly, desperate for some positive male attention that he never receives. I leave when I start to get the shakes.
I'm not back home two minutes when I get a call from my roommate asking me out to dinner with him and his mom to celebrate his birthday. I try to kindly decline, but he lays down the guilt trip.
"Come on, man. You won't even do this for my birthday?" Goddamn that's low.
"Alright I'll go." When I hang up I consider calling up every ex-girlfriend I've ever had to ask them if they've still got my balls. When I find the one who does, I'd ask her to fed ex them back to me. First class, though, they're fragile.
The first thing he says to me when he gets home is "Sorry, if we kept you up with the noise last night." He was smiling, signifying that he's not really sorry, he just wanted to make sure I knew about his conquest. I did and I didn't give a shit.
We hop in his truck, pick up his son and head over to his mom's. I don't say a single word the whole time and it's him that breaks the silence.
"So...have you talked to _____ lately?" I know he didn't mean anything by this.
"Well I told her about it a few weeks ago, then I didn't talk to her again until last Monday."
"And?"
"Some guy was coming into town to see her and see said she was too busy making everything perfect for him to talk to me. That was the last."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
Ok, let me explain a (very) little about this situation. I'm not an unattractive guy. I'm witty, somewhat intelligent and I could probably get a date with just about any girl I want to, but that's as far as it will probably ever go. I'll only hint at the rest because some secrets will remain mine.
We meet up with his mom and ride to the restaurant together. It's one of those Japanese teppan-yaki style places where they cook the food in front of you while doing fancy tricks. I sit on the end and don't say much. I've found that I don't have to say a single word for 75% of the conversations I have to exist. During the performance I don't show the slightest bit of emotion. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm becoming completely stolid, or my total apathy towards it. I do manage to entertain myself with the notion of Mcdonalds cooking their food this way, though.
After the meal, we go back to his mom's house, put his son to bed and all sit around her fire pit in the backyard. I apologize to him that I forgot about his birthday, that I honestly thought it was the 28th."
"Oh, don't even worry about it. I got all the birthday presents I need LAST night." Push the knife deeper asshole.
His mom asks him how many girls he's dating and he tells her he's only seeing the one. She then turns to me.
"So what about you, any repeats?"
"Repeats for what?"
"Dates."
"Oh...I don't date."
"Going out?"
"Nah, I gave up on it."
"Take it from someone who's been there and done that, things do get better." This is a very sore subject for me. Everyone thinks they've been through everything, especially certain things I have.
"I gaurantee you, you haven't been here or done this." She decides to not talk to me for awhile, so I stare into the fire before me. Several thoughts float through my head.
I think about this time when I was younger, pretty sure it was while I was in middle school. My mom, step dad, little sister and I all went out to Possum Kingdom for a vacation. We rented a boat and were cruising around the lake. I've always been the weird one in my families. I'm usually constantly in thought and when this happens I might as well not even be there. On this occasion, I was pretending to be a secret agent who just sabotaged a major villain's diabolical plot and his soldiers were chasing my boat in helicopters. My mom broke my train of thought...
"You're always in your own little world aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Why? Do you not like it in our world.?" My answer I gave her then remains the same as it does now, no. No I don't.
Back in the present, I'm consumed with the fleeting, albeit overwhelming, desire to stick my hand into the flames before me.
I look up into the sky to see a massive cloud in the shape of five digits. It's almost as if the hand of God is reaching down to either take me up to heaven, or strike me down.
My roomate asks me what's wrong, I tell him I'm just fine. Truth his, I don't feel like him playing therapist tonight. Long story.
And this is about all there is to write about. After that we hop into his truck and come back home. I sit down in from of my laptop, to be safe inside my own little world.
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