We Walked Into the Sun

Grandpa, I had a dream I was in your log cabin. I stepped outside and the sun sat at noon’s peak in the sky, but it hung low over the earth.

The sun’s flares shot and stretched out like flares and they curved around our atmosphere like a hug. I stood directly below it and it didn’t hurt my eyes. All my friends were there standing solemn and quiet with me. You were there. You sat on your patio in your favorite chair and with your pipe in your mouth you looked up with indifference and lit your pipe up and smoked.

The sun expanded rapidly like a balloon and the people around me panicked and started running into the woods. I stayed below the sun. You stayed smoking and waved to me laughing and smiling.

It dropped quickly into the earth. Something pulled me away and up and over the crashing star and I floated in space. I saw the earth vanish. All the rock and everything had been incinerated. The remaining seven planets slowly adjusted themselves to their new rank.

I looked to my side and you were there. You smiled and still smoked from your pipe. You looked at me and laughed and I smiled too. You pointed at the sun,

“Well, I guess that’s that.”

You took the lead and walked through the nothing of outer space like you found some invisible bridge and I walked slowly behind you. The sun sat suspended in the blackness like it were our light at the end of our tunnel. We walked into the sun.

I woke up in the living room and its rays weaved through the curtains and onto my face.

Waiter Letter 3

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Dear V.,

I’ll tell you one dream. I imagined I wrote it to her, your sister, it was just easier that way.

I’m sorry if this is a little much for you, but you asked for it:

I was outside my old house that I took you to. The one where I lived with my mom for my last year of high school.

I walked outside and my brother and your brother (that’s you, V.) were riding together in my brother’s truck. They insisted I get in and I did. Your brother explained at length how they had just moved here due to some European war. It was convincing and I was convinced and I believed him and didn’t ask why he chose this town over any other. Or why no one told me. Or anything.

But we drove out of my neighborhood and got on the highway that cut across the plains like a giant black scar pitted between dirt like scar tissue and the sun sank below the horizon as if someone far out of sight was pulling it down with a string.

A new housing development, your brother said.

We pulled into a neighborhood.

He got out and opened my door and I looked at my brother and my brother told me that he’d come pick me up later tonight or tomorrow morning or, never. I said cool and hopped out and me and your brother went into your new house.

He had me take off my shoes and we went into the living room where your mom watched television. I couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t in any language at all. Just murmurs. Your mom’s face was blurred as if some tear shaped form of water hung in front of her face. I couldn’t see the details clearly but I could tell when she was looking at me.

She asked how I was and I said fine.

She looked concerned. She asked how I was again and I said fine. She nodded. I felt, but didn’t see her eyes trying to pry me open.

Your brother grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the kitchen and he made himself a sandwich. He asked if I wanted anything and I told him that I shouldn’t be eating right now. He didn’t ask why and he ate slow like the meal was something he looked forward to. When he finished he pulled me along again and this time we went up stairs. I felt like a rag-doll along for the ride.

The stairs winded up like a corkscrew and your brother pulled me along quickly and I almost fell down a few times but I kept up alright. At the landing on the second floor I saw your door crackedopen just slightly and the light poured out from the crack making a scalene triangle with the point pointing towards me and your brother. I heard you sing and my heart moved itself into my mouth and I couldn’t breath because lumps began growing in my throat and my lungs felt too thin like they were going to pop and collapse like balloons. Blood swirled in my head.

But,

your brother grabbed me and pulled me along up the stairs to a closet and he stepped inside it for a moment and came out with a sling shot and pulled me back down the stairs to the landing where he readied his sling shot with some lego piece and aimed it at your room.

I realized what he was doing and I quickly walked to what I think was his room and I sat on his bed and rubbed my temples with my head in my knees. I heard your shout and scream playfully and your brother came into the room and hid himself behind the door and you came in quickly and smiling and stopped dead when you saw me and your brother came out from behind the door and pushed you further into the room and then he stepped out of the room and closed the door and you tried to open it and it wouldn’t budge and then you turned around.

We stared at each other for a time. Well, you looked at me. I looked everywhere else.

And then you came and stood by the bed and looked at me with deep concern your eyes wide and then you slowly walked towards me and I backed away and onto the bed and I told you to

fuck off

go away

stop

fuck off

and you kept coming closer and you were ignoring me and you crawled on the bed and I was up against the wall crying and I felt weak and embarrassed and I felt your arms wrap around me and I felt like a child and I placed my head on your shoulder and you told me you were sorry and we started kissing and I closed my eyes and fell into it.

A wash of purple came over me. I was in a strange ocean and I floated suspended in the color as it swam in front of me and I felt serene and at peace. I opened my eyes and you were there waiting for me and we kissed again and I was back at that place and also there with you and I could feel my troubles fade and then I opened my eyes again and–

I was in my room. The ceiling fan made droned and thudded in a slow rhythm.

I looked at my clock.

It said 8:34 a.m.

I rolled over and slept till noon.


Nothing else to report on my end. Just going to work everyday in this dead town. How is Europe?

peace,
scott

Waiter Letter 2

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Dear V.,

I walk through my house like a ghost. I haven’t eaten a full meal in weeks and I don’t think I will for a long time. Weed doesn’t help. I get hungry, but when I eat I immediately gag and remember how disgusting it feels to keep myself going. To keep this machine marching on.

I’ve lost 20lbs. Girls at work ask what my secret is and I shrug. I look in the mirror and I feel like a holocaust victim. The self pity doesn’t help. The annoyance at the self pity makes it worse. I’m this torn up over a girl, I really need to get over myself. But I can’t. I invested everything and she’s living a dream and I’m a waiter is a shitty small town at a shitty chain restaurant.

Some old friends from high school have reached out to me seeking advice. All of them have gone through similar things all at once I guess. Their girls have gone off to college and want to experience it single and I can’t really think of anything to tell my friends outside of dating a new girl or sleeping around and they tell me, “yeah, I thought as much.”

I wish it worked for me.

I can’t help but compare every girl I meet to my ex. And on top of that no one really sleeps with me. So, fucked on both fronts. Or not fucked on both fronts. Whatever.

I try to read at night, but I all I want to do is talk to her about the books I’m reading and it makes me depressed so I listen to music I never told her about. Music I can’t associate with her because she always hated this music. I watch movies that remind me of her and leave it at that. I mostly spend time, though, in bed, staring at the ceiling or sleeping.

I can’t believe how much I can sleep now. Insomnia doesn’t have its hold on me anymore. I’m ready to lay down at all times of the day, it’s amazing. Doctors need to hear about this. The ultimate cure to restless nights is getting your heart shattered.

Somethings are looking up, though. I’m headed to Austin for a fun weekend. Good to get out of here.

From,
Scott.

Again, I hope all is well. Do write back soon.

Waiter Letter 1

1469293403276Dear V.,

Let me tell you one thing,

Customers never know.

After working here for two weeks, I can’t tip poorly. I tip 30 – 40%, unless the waiter or waitress is being deliberately bad. There’s too much going on that you don’t know about. I hear it all the time, “leave it at the front door, leave it at home, don’t take your problems to work.”

But that’s fucking impossible.

That’s naive. Few people are capable of doing that. You can’t seriously expect anyone to do that. Especially when they have to deal with the shit lord self entitled dipshits that make up majority of customers. Shit lord dipshits don’t have the fucking empathy to know what someone else is going through. They don’t know a god damn thing about human nature, about anything outside of the fact their fucking tummy is fucking hungry and they need to gorge to fill that fucking endless sarlacc pit.

They don’t know what their waiter is going through.

They don’t know that he was just standing in the parking lot 10 minutes before his shift started. In the parking lot on the phone with their fiancé trying to salvage their relationship as it crumbles apart because she “just doesn’t feel the same anymore,” even though two weeks ago she was begging for him to stay on the phone forever and never leave ever but who cares whatever people fucking change that’s life or something one door closes another opens into a pit of snakes yeah fun we all win.

But God is evil. And it wasn’t enough that they got dumped.

No.

They had to stumble inside to work and put on a smile and give you your mediocre food and then you have the audacity to tell them that it isn’t good enough or “they don’t look happy enough” or they’re not making you feel welcome enough and fuck you it’s fucking impossible for me to do that I can’t do that —  I have to act like I like you so you’ll give me money and I know I don’t look like I want to be here and it’s true I don’t want to be here because I want to be at home sobbing in my bed trying to rethink my life because getting dumped by your fiancé 10 minutes ago before you head into work is a really hard thing to bounce back from so I don’t know I think I’m justified in looking a little sad but I can’t tell you all of this because you just want food and you don’t give a fuck about anything else.

I try to explain it to the hostesses and they don’t care no one cares. I ask Justin if he wants to hangout and he makes a face of disgust and says he can’t. I close that night and drive home hoping a semi will sweep my car up like dust to the wind and the I can just die on impact or burn there in the street, I don’t care. But I make it home and I lay in bed and try to go to sleep and I can’t at all and I have no one to talk to because I dropped everyone because I thought I’d be moving to her but I’m not now and I have no one to talk to and I can’t cry because then I’ll just pity myself and eventually I do fall asleep.

I dream of her looking at me confused asking me why I’m here what am I doing here and I have nothing to say. We just stare at each other like planets crossing by on their orbits, they only see each other from far away, always appearing as little specs of light in the night. Up close and the illusion is lifted. They’re just another planet all littered and cratered. But it doesn’t dispel the beauty. It doesn’t take away from it. It only adds to it. Because finally, in the sea of stars and the planets pretending to be just another star in the sky, you’re close enough to see one is just like you. Flaws and all.

And then gravity pulls you two away. Sending you back off behind the sun, appearing to each other as nothing but lights in the sky, praying you’ll look the right way the next time you cross paths.

I wake up tired.

I head to work. Where I’m tipped 5% on majority of my tables.

I go out to eat that night and my waiter for the most part leaves me alone and I tip him 30% and go home.

Sorry. That’s really all that’s going on right now.

Hope things are better with you,

Scott.

When they found me

Leaving the door unlocked was a mistake.

It was the biggest mistake I’ve made in my life along with making plans to go out.

They said they found me in the bathroom with the bathwater up to the drainer and the blood from my wrists oozed out into the water like spilled wine and that’s what they thought it was until they saw how pale I was and the foam trickling out my mouth like I was puking soap.

They said I laughed when I saw them. Hysterically and crazily and I couldn’t stop laughing. When the ambulance got there I was still laughing and then I passed out when they loaded me up.

They transfused blood at the hospital.

A therapist came in. Asked why I did it and I didn’t really know what to say. Every reason isn’t good enough for people like them.

“Time heals all wounds.”

But does it?

They put us in a box. Convinced that the 3-Ps will fix us: pills, platitudes, and proverbs.

Fuck them.

Suicide cures everything, don’t they know that? I die and that’s that. No more anything. All my responsibilities disappear. All my unanswered emails from work are done and useless. People don’t have to worry about me not answering my phone anymore. They’ll call and be like why isn’t he answering oh yeah he’s fucking dead.

I don’t get the aversion to it. Just let me do it.

“Will you try again?”

“I know what you want to hear and I know what I want to say and I can tell you that they aren’t the same thing.”

“We can’t let you leave.”

“I have a lawyer.”

She couldn’t respond.

My friends were in the lobby and they brought me out on a wheel chair and I wasn’t happy to see them and they stood in front of me and I couldn’t look them in the eye because they’d see it but by not looking at them they saw it anyway.

They drove me home. Slept on the floor. Wouldn’t leave me alone.

They see something.

Something that shines beneath my pupils I guess. Something no matter how I look for won’t reveal itself. I’ve turned my eye inward to see it but it evades me like a dream.

I just hope I see it too, someday.

Still don’t know why I foamed out the mouth.

Just Keep Going

“Why are you so tired all the time lately?” His friend asked.

He turned his head to him, his eyelids shrouded in black, his eyes glossed over, “I don’t know.”

“Well cut it out!” He laughed.

The man sighed and looked back on to his computer. He knew why. He didn’t feel like talking about it because he knew that route. It wouldn’t solve anything. Getting things off your chest simply doesn’t help him. It makes it worse.

He also knew all that any sympathy or “empathy” shown would be an act. So what was the point? And it was over a girl. Guys never get hung up on girls anymore. Dudes aren’t fragile these days. Only the losers are.

He looked onto his computer and surfed around youtube. He played songs with album covers and would just stare and imagine himself playing the songs and being set free.

What’s the point? Why am I still alive? No. Don’t think like that.

He couldn’t stop his mind from wondering.

If I went home tonight and killed myself they would have to clean out my room. I would be killing myself over a stupid reason. She loves me but doesn’t want to be with me. That’s enough to set this off. That’s enough for me to see through the “illusion of life.” What’s the point of life is love isn’t happening?

He thought about what she was doing and wanted to cry out, but couldn’t, because he can’t cry.

“Hey, you alright?” His boss asked.

He looked up with his eyes and met his boss’s. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

He felt annoyed but quelled it, “yeah I’m sure, just tired.”

“Okay.” His boss’s eyes looked skeptical.

He knows I’m lying.

He would drive home in his car with no A/C  in 100 degree weather and would sweat too much into his shirt and would feel dehydrated and would stumble into his room  and strip down to his underwear and would spin a record and lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.

He looked at the alcohol that sat on his bookshelf.

Don’t do it. You’ll go too far. Music. That’s all I need. But she’s not feeling like this. What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

He didn’t move for 6 hours. He might as well have died. He sure did want to.