Author: zornog

i’ve taken all the boxes and all the magazines and left them beside the front door. your jackets and suitcoats are folded neatly on the boxes. some items, the duvet, for instance, the vinyl records, the wicker laundry basket, i’ve kept for sentimental value. others were thrown into the pool, and you are welcome to retrieve them. i’ve changed the locks on the door so you may leave your keys here, or you may take them with you. the movers are coming at 8am sharp and their service will be charged to your debit card. i hope you understand. i thought long and hard about who should keep lulu and decided, ultimately, that we should both keep her; that being an impossible scenario, i took her to dr wiggins and had her put down. she’s buried in the backyard, and you are welcome to come and visit her grave, so long as you call to arrange an appointment beforehand. we did not have a memorial for her, as she was a dog, so please don’t feel left out in that regard. i have saved her eyes and her canine teeth, which you will find in a jar of formaldehyde in the box labeled “miscellaneous paraphernalia.” please take it as a token of compromise. i will keep the bowflex machine but will give you the free weights and bench because i know you like them. i removed the fish from the aquarium; you will find half of them in small plastic bags in the box labeled “perishables,” and i recommend you find them a new aquarium as soon as possible. half of your shoes i have burned. they, along with other items, are in the box labeled “items i’ve burned.” if you have any other questions or concerns you will find the number of my lawyer written hastily on a legal pad and placed on top of the box labeled, “you fucking piece of shit, you ruined my life.” please do not proceed beyond the line marked in yellow tape on the floor, or else i will be forced to shoot you until you are dead. i hope you understand. thank you.

i think my life would be better if i was just okay with more things. you know what i mean? if i just let things slide. if i was okay with my ex-girlfriend’s love of expensive purses and “essential” oils. if i just ignored all the people at work who can’t figure out how to print documents. i love people and i want them to be better than me, so i push them and i yell at them and i’m screaming because i’m screaming at myself. literally projecting my voice onto them. DO BETTER. EXERCISE. BE NICE TO THE HOMELESS. et cetera. because i don’t do any of these things, i avert my eyes to the disenfranchised, i eat ice cream for dinner, i play video games all night long. life went from a fun voyage to a cruise alone through smoky doldrums.

so this is why we should break up, not because i don’t love you or care about you dearly, but because i suck, and am not worth your time. i am a perpetual failure and i set myself up for it with the one-two punch of lethargy and depression. i am frustrating because of my extreme inability to connect with others, often self-inflicted. i tend not to care about people’s trivialities, which makes me feel like a dick. because maybe i am a dick. and, i, i can’t talk about these things because then everyone will know and i’ll be damaged goods forever. and also because people who constantly talk about their depression are depressing and annoying. the worst part about depression is that it turns people into morose assholes who are wholly self-concerned. that’s me in a nutshell. i pretend to care, which keeps me at arm’s length, but sometimes i’m aloof enough that it masquerades as confidence, and then i slip into relationships because it’s nice to have someone to love and a warm body beside you at night, even if they’re fundamentally wrong for you. but my aloofness is like a mountain, unmoving, unwavering, a peak so high you need an oxygen mask and a sherpa to ascend it.

the truth is that i love you beyond phonemes but if you stick with me you’ll be sticking with a dead husk of a man. everything i touch turns to shit, every relationship wilts into blackened stems. i spend all of my bus commute deciphering the hollow pit in my gut that sloshes with occasional guilt and sadness. i am a burden. i am unburdening myself from you. i’m giving you the opportunity to avoid months or years of feeling like you fucked up. i don’t want your pity or your sarcastic response, i don’t need your hate or your love. i’m a self-righteous asshole and i deserve the hell pit i’ve dug for myself. that’s all.

i mean, you can drink that water if you want to. ah, i’m, i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said anything. it’s perfectly fine water, the glass has been sitting there for, what, an hour, tops. you should just drink it. i’m not trying to–you already drank it, is all. you’ll be fine. i’ve been waiting for my car to show up and the water was there when i got here, but it looks fine. look at it. did it taste funny? look, i had a glass of water too, alright? i drank a glass too, and it was here when i got here and it was fine. and i’m not dead. right? do i look dead to you? i’m not dead. the water is fine. don’t be a pussy. i can tell you’re thirsty, just drink the rest of the water and you can wait for your car too. i’m telling you, it was here when i got here, i didn’t touch it, and besides, you’ve already had a sip. that’s what you get for being absent-minded. here look at my glass. there’s still some water at the bottom, i’ll drink it right now, okay? see? see, all the drops in my mouth? let me swallow. mm. yes, just water. simple, ordinary water. not even fluoridated! can you believe portland? ridiculous. your water’s fine though, just drink it. come on. drink it. drink the water. now you’re pissing me off. at first i was like whatever but now you’re blatantly not drinking the water–it’s FINE, okay? here goddammit i’ll drink your water.

(goes to drink, stops)

look, i, i don’t want to drink your water. that would be rude. i just got over a cold, a bad headcold, i don’t want to give that to you. but look, i promise you, i’ve been sitting here for an hour and there were two full glasses of water and i drank one of them, just as absent-mindedly as you did–i even thought, “why did i do that? why did i just start drinking water without thinking about where it came from?” but by then i had drank half of it and if it was going to kill me, well, i’d be dead right now. and i’m not. we’ve established that. and all i’m saying is that sometimes you take a risk in life and it ends up paying off. i’m hydrated! i feel great. so now you can be hydrated. that’s another reason, i don’t need any more water because i just drank my own. so go ahead, drink up.

(a very long pause)

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? DRINK THE WATER! NOTHING IS WRONG WITH IT DRINK IT! DRINK THE WATER!

(a very long pause. knocks the glass over)

fine. now you don’t get any.

a young man sat next to me in the mall food court and began speaking japanese into his voice recorder. i knew this day would come. the japanese cia is following me.

i had seen the signs weeks before. one morning i woke up to find my cat had puked a perfect replica of hokkaido onto my bedroom carpet. i asked her what was the matter and she replied “nyan” rather than “meow.” i knew something was afoot. i tried to dissect her to see if there were any bugs embedded in her skin, or if she was, in fact, a robot cat, but she escaped into that nook in my closet that i cannot reach. after i lured her out with some food, i deemed her safe. robot cats do not need to eat.

later that week i got on the bus and two stops later seventeen japanese exchange students boarded, all dressed in their school uniforms despite not needing to. they sat at various places on the bus and yet none sat next to me. i glanced to the back of the bus. two of them were taking photos on their cellular phones, both with hello kitty faces on them. i looked back and they winked at me. both of them. at the same time. at first i’ll be quite honest i was a little aroused, never before had one japanese girl dressed in a schoolgirl’s outfit winked at me, much less two. then they both took a picture of me on their phones, and my arousal quickly dissipated, replaced with worry. why had they taken my photo? what did they need it for? my mind raced with possibilities, until today. until today.

i know what you’re thinking. i’m crazy. i’ve gone off the deep end. well if you think it’s crazy to know the japanese cia is following you then i guess i’m crazy. i’m telling you, i’ve seen the signs, i know where this is headed. i’m not exactly sure what they want me for, maybe they want me to be a spy for them, but i promise you that they are coming for me, and when they want me, i’ll know. which is why it is incredibly important for you to buy all of the items on the list i gave you, okay? i can’t leave the house. they will track me down, hell, they probably already have cameras in this building. shit. listen, buy those groceries and meet me at the address written at the bottom. LOOK AT IT OUTSIDE, don’t look at it here, they’ll see it on the cameras. i’ve got to go. i’ve got to get out of here. take it to this address! no later than–well, just get it there, okay? now go, go!

i am a MAN, margaret! i am a MAN. i don’t take no shit from nobody, i don’t take shit from you, i don’t take shit even from my mama. nobody tells me what to do! if i want to come home and watch bullshit on the tv and drink a six pack or hell a twelve pack of beer i can do that and there’s nothing you can do to stop me! i don’t care how long we’ve been married! i’ll do it til the day i die, i swear to god. so not you or nobody can tell me what to do, god damn it. you wanna leave? you go ahead and leave, but you know i make all the money in this family and i’ll hang you out to dry i swear to god. no woman’s gonna make a fool out of ol’ toby parker, no sir! i’ll sign all your divorce papers but you won’t get a single dime outta me! i swear to christ i’ll, i’ll run off to canada before you–i’ll burn all my money, i’ll shut down the banks, margaret! before i let some woman tell me what to do! it’s not my fault your mother fucked you up royally, margaret, nor is it my fault that my father instilled a level of discipline in my blood strong enough to kill an ox. i am the fiery vampire bat of justice, margaret! i come from a long line of stone blooded viking hellbeasts! i don’t take no shit from nobody! so you just come down here and we’ll get this all settled, you hear me? i tell you what–i’ll give you two quarters you can use to call someone for a clue, you get me? ha! haha! ol’ toby’s still got it. margaret i’m gonna leave now, not because i’m any less of a MAN but because i hear police sirens and i’ve got an active warrant out for my arrest. but i’ll be back! you can count on toby parker! you can COUNT ON ME!

alright. um. it’s like … the only way i can think to explain it is, have you seen the movie awakenings? robin williams, robert de niro. de niro’s in a coma for a long time, robin williams is a doctor, right, he gives him some kind of new drug that wakes him up, and he’s so happy to be up and awake and alive … and then the drug wears off and he lapses back into a coma. that’s … basically what it feels like. months and months of this comatose state and then around autumn i start to wake up and feel like a human again.

so i get, you know, you not being pleased that i haven’t talked to you in months, but i honestly, like, i can’t even remember from may ’til september. i mean it. i lived it, i went to work, i went home, i watch tv, but i don’t remember any of it. i remember the tv. i watched a lot of good tv. i spent more time there than in my own body, it feels like. but most of my days i’m in this catatonic state, and i can’t even remember what i ate for lunch a few hours after i ate it, or my mind is wrapped around some little thing, some negative words that repeat in the front of my mind like a broken record. i just sit in my room–i, i used to play video games too, but they were too active, they required too much of me–so i sit in my room, sometimes i’m so tired i just lay my head back in my chair and fall asleep right there. sleep is good, but i’m not like those people who feel like sleeping all day. sleep just helps me feel a little bit better. for me it’s the routine, the routine of the day that keeps me going. it’s the only thing. that and my cat.

i … uh, one time i thought about it. about “it”, you know, killing myself. used to be i’d think about who would go to my funeral if i died, and that was it. i think everyone thinks that at some point in their lives, right? it’s like the farthest concrete abstract concept of death, of your own death, whatever … but there was a shift a year or two ago, from that abstract concept, of what it would be like if i died, to … to that i could do it. that i could take my own life. you know what i mean? that that was a possibility in my life. before it wasn’t, and now … yeah. and what stopped me in this existential debate was my fucking cat. i’ve spent my whole life not wanting to burden others, and the last thing i want is to force someone to take care of my cat after i off myself, so i thought … i thought about … drowning her, you know, i, just, um, running a sink full of water and sticking her head … and i can’t. i can’t do it.

that was … a while ago. i don’t really think like that anymore. i think a lot about ways to dull this constant existential anguish sucking my life away, or why i can sleep eight hours a night and still not have the energy to hang out with my friends, or why people acting on screen is more important to me than calling my own girlfriend. i think about that a lot. but i don’t think about killing myself anymore. not like then. so … sorry to dump that on you. i promise i’m here, i’m not going anywhere. my life used to be clarity with bouts of depression, and now it’s cloudy with bits of clarity. i don’t know how that happened. i wish i did.

just call it off. he’s gone. he’s dead. it’s a waste of everyone’s time searching for him at this point. i saw, we all saw the torn shirt fabric, the teddy bear … he’s dead. i don’t know where he is and i don’t want to know. all i want is that man’s face on a billboard all across los angeles, just his big ugly fucking piece of shit face plastered everywhere, i want it nailed to trees in the middle of the woods, and when somebody finds him, i want him brought to me, so i can slowly push an icepick through each one of his eyes, cut out his tongue and stuff it in his asshole, then cauterize the wounds so he stays alive. i wanna see him suffer, just like he saw my son suffer. i want him to watch me enjoy it, just like he enjoyed murdering my son. kelly, i mean it, call whoever makes those billboards, i have a picture of the guy right here, everyone in this city already knows what he looks like thanks to the news but i won’t stop until he’s found. i hope he’s dumb enough to keep himself alive so i can kill him myself.

kelly. KELLY. hey. call them, now. i don’t want a manhunt for my son, i want a manhunt for the monster who killed him.

you’re wearing a sundress. yellow and white. it’s the beginning of summer, that brief moment before the heat hits, but after the blustery spring, after the torrential april rains, those few days when it’s quiet and the temperature is perfect, the trees and the green grass, everything is swelling with appreciation for the warmth and the moisture. we’re in the park, just before dusk. essentially sitting in each other’s laps. prior to this, dinner, dancing, a few drinks at carlito’s. now we’re here, and it’s quiet, and it’s serene. i’ve been kissing your neck, you have a firm hand grasping my thigh. this is a moment, a frozen moment, never to be duplicated. i spent my life getting to this moment, and i’ll spend the rest of it trying to get back. i have my hand up your sundress on the bare skin of your hip. i can feel the fabric of your cotton panties. you have a look in your eyes that defies explanation, but i’ll try: it’s … the kind of lust that brings warm thunderclouds rolling into the city and lights the sky up in patterns of torrential brilliance. i don’t even know. i don’t even know. you’re such a beautiful creature that night, the streetlight lights up and creates a golden halo around your hair, lights your face in this warming glow. you smile and i wonder how many died of a broken heart chasing after your perfect teeth. you’ve got your hair in curls and i feel bad reaching my hand in that spiraled nest, disturbing the idyllic ringlets, to rest my palm against the side of your face. your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your body against my hand. and when we finally kiss it’s like all the electrons in my body escaped through my lips into yours. my heart’s beating so hard just remembering it. i don’t know about you.

so, i wanted to surprise her with a romantic evening at home for our anniversary, right. i went to fred meyer and i bought, you know, food, pasta and some gourmet marinara sauce, some greens, like, uh, salad, that kind of stuff. a nice bottle of wine. some of those, ah … truffles, chocolate truffles. and in the movies you always see a bunch of candles because women love dimly lit rooms i guess, so i got a bunch of candles. i basically bought a whole shelf worth of candles. had to’ve been like 50 candles, no joke, all of those big jar candles too–i, i spent a lot of money on candles, jake, and i brought them all into my stuffy little apartment and put them everywhere and about a half an hour before she arrived, i lit them all. i guess i kind of wasn’t thinking because, well, i spent too much money, but i was all giddy about showing her a good time because i love her, jake, i love her a lot, and so i bought all of these candles, not knowing that they all smelled. i mean i knew, i saw the lables, but it didn’t really dawn on me. like, 50 candles, and they all have a scent. they all have a different scent, jake. so i light them and then i go out because i’ll be honest i didn’t have any condoms, i go down to the corner store for some condoms and when i get back, my apartment smells like a shit potpourri. because i bought some, you know, lilac and lavender candles and shit, but i also bought some fruity candles like cherry and “manly” candles that smelled like bacon and baked potatoes and shit like that. like, ten candles that smelled like different pies. and i don’t know what to do at this point, the entire apartment smells like shit. i blow a few of them out but then the smell of smoke mixes in with vanilla bean and, i don’t know, fruit salad, all this shit, strawberries and wood smoke and–i swear there was a salmon one, i swear–and it’s awful, it’s worse than just having them lit. oh, and then the smoke alarm goes off, which makes the upstairs neighbor’s dog bark like fucking crazy, so the neighbor is slamming her cane on the ground and i gotta grab a towel to fan the smoke out of the window, we’re talking a five story walkup, there’s no central air, it’s not like i can just …

well anyway she’s coming, she’s on her way, she texts me, right, and i’ve already told her i have a surprise planned and to dress like we’re going out. i told her that morning, you know, to get her all intrigued. oh, my god jake she was so fucking hot that night. she was like … spring water bubbling out of an oasis after days of wandering the desert. but anyway she’s on her way and i still gotta make dinner. so i’m cooking pasta, i got pasta going and now the house smells like pasta and warming marinara sauce and fucking lilac and rosehips and just, it’s too much, i was retching at this point, like dry heaving, i’m cooking the pasta and trying not to puke. i didn’t know what to do so i just kept cooking, i turned into a robotic wolfgang puck jake, i swear to god. i would stick my face in the steam just to clear my sinuses, man. and i’ve got the pasta and some baguette i bought at fred meyer and sauce and salad and i’m setting the table, i’ve got the pasta in a bowl, it’s all perfect looking. then i’m all finished and i promptly pass out. like, pass out, from the fumes, from the stench of it all. i end up smacking my head on the side of the table hard, and thank god josie has a key to the apartment or else who knows, i might be dead right now. when she came in she said it looked like i got shot in the head, for chrissakes.

she drives me to the ER and i get some stitches and then we go back to fred meyer and buy a fan, which we prop up in the window to blow out the smoke and lilac and peaches and marshmallow and all that stench. the rigatoni tastes like everything so we chuck it in the compost. i apologize profusely and she says it’s okay and kisses me on the giant goose egg on my forehead. we get pizza and watch netflix and then have a little sex. a little, cause the doc was worried about a concussion, so, you know …

anyway, i hope mary enjoys the candles. i just had to get rid of them all. i had josie sort them out based on similar smells, so i promise you won’t be blindsided by something weird. if you do though, just chuck it in the garbage or something, because i don’t want any of them back, ever. right now our house is wallpapered in fabreeze. just, whatever you do … one at a time, okay? not all at once. not all at once.

for a while there, all we had in the house was nectarines. my dad got a hold of them somehow, i think he knew a guy who had a nectarine orchard. is that even a thing? i don’t know. but he came home one day with four big burlap sacks full of nectarines. the meal we had before that was pea soup thanks to mom picking wild peas growing on a street near our house. i didn’t even know that was possible. come to think of it … she probably stole those peas. damn. she had to steal those peas! where do peas grow randomly, you know? and i bet dad stole those nectarines. jesus, were we that broke? i mean the pea soup had some kind of cream sauce or something. cream of mushroom, where did that come from? damn … i’m having an epiphany here, lewis. my mind is exploding. my parents were thieves! how the hell else would my dad come up with nectarines? huh. well, anyway, we ate them for every meal for like two weeks, and when they started to go bad my mom baked them into pies and bread and anything else that she could make. now how she got flour and eggs and butter and milk and, fuck, she was such a thief! i’m sorry lewis this is just suddenly coming to my attention after twenty-five years. my dad said he knew a guy who had a nectarine orchard, but my dad never worked a day in his life. he spent his welfare checks on booze, and it’s not like any of the other drunks at the bar had an orchard, much less a nectarine tree.

do they grow on trees? i don’t even fucking know. i’ve never heard of a nectarine tree. wait let me look this up … oh what, a nectarine is just a peach without the peach fuzz. you gotta be kidding me. not only was my dad a thief but he couldn’t even steal just a peach, he had to steal nectarines. which just means “little nectars”. if you think about it. my family is a fucking mess.