poops, giggles and huh?

"Waiting for letters that never come is like waiting for a friend who never shows up."

We were sitting in a coffee shop and I knew this was going to be one of those so called "deep" discussions again. He always seemed to want to wax philosophical and poetic whenever he was down. But since he was down and he was my friend, I humored him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I was thinking the other day about how you lose contact with a lot of friends. I mean, I remember this girl back in junior high who was my best friend in the whole world."

I glanced around the place to see if anyone was listening in on our conversation. Nobody was. The guy behind the counter with the stubble that all the college-aged guys seem to think is cool was chatting up some girl who seemed to be in a hurry. She kept looking at her cell phone and her watch and laughing politely at something he said hoping he’d take the hint to get started on her drink.

The woman at the far side of the coffee shop was talking animatedly on her cell phone. I could hear snatches of her conversation; but just the words that she wanted everyone to hear. You could tell that was what she was doing because she said some words louder than others. Most of the words just sounded like a low buzz; the way coffee house chatter always seems to. But some of the impressive words were spoken really loudly.
"New Beemer!" buzz buzz buzz, "shopping in Paris!" buzz buzz buzz, "husband’s promotion!" buzz buzz buzz. If I had to guess, I’d say she was wearing one of her few nice outfits, had a loser husband, was up to her neck in debt for that tiny mercedes out front, and was talking to one of the few aquaintances she still had who would listen to her sadly fake stories once in a while.

As I made these quick observations, Matt kept going.

"So, this girl who was my best friend in the whole world promised to write to me after I moved away. It was only after I moved away that I realized I was in love with her. Of course, it was a little too late for me to do anything about that since we were on different sides of the country." Matt looked down at his cup of now lukewarm coffee and took a sip.

"So she never sent you a letter?" I asked.

"Well, this was back before we were all using email and I was really looking forward to her letter. I mean, I was so in love with her. I was so sure that we were going to get married and have a happy life together some day. I know I was in junior high and all, but to this day, sometimes I still think I love her," he said. "But to answer your question, no she never sent a letter."

"Did you ever write to her?" I’m drinking tea because my mom tells me I’ll get addicted to coffee if I drink it all the time. I think Matt’s forgotten all about his half full cup of coffee. It’s sitting in his hand but I’m sure he’ll forget it’s there and let go of it soon.

"You know, I actually never did write to her either because I kind of thought that if she really cared about me she would have kept her promise and written to me. Now, that kind of seems stupid because she could easily have misplaced my address of something like that huh?" He looks a little bit wistful as he says this.

The girl has finally recieved her coffee at the counter from the guy with the stubbly beard. She holds the door open for some new customers and leaves. The new customers are a young couple who are being ignored by Stubbly Beard. He looks a little bit like Matt as he stares wistfully after the departing young lady.

I think for a moment of the letter I never sent. The letter that was supposed to tell a girl that I really liked how I felt about her. I moved away and never sent it to her. I wonder if she was waiting for a letter from me. I wonder if she felt like she was waiting for a friend who never showed.

The lady with the cell phone has finished her conversation, refilled her cup, and sat back down. She’s not doing anything now. The hot cup of coffee rests between her hands as she stares out the window. She might be thinking about a letter that she never sent; or maybe about a friend who never showed.

I’m supposed to be looking for work right now. But I’m not. Instead, I’d rather be writing stories. I’ve been looking on the internet for job ads and calling companies for what seems to be years and year. Just for now, I’d like to be lost in my stories. I want to forget about looking for work. It’s driving me nuts that I haven’t found anything yet. I’m almost ready to pack up and move to New York now so that at least I can do some kind of work that I’m comfortable with. Luckily, these characters keep asking me to tell their stories. I’ll do that for now. After all, they’re asking politely.

There’s a crazy guy in one who thinks he’s the only sane person in the world. He can’t figure out why no one can see how crazy they all are. There’s a little kid with chicken pox who wants to take everyone down with him. If he’s gonna be sick, he’s darn sure not going to let all the other kids have fun without him. He has to make sure they all get sick too. A little girl is in love with the newspaper boy because he has a cool bike. There’s a guy that wants to pass off laziness as a virtue. There’s a young lady who lives in San Francisco. She seems to be caught in the same rut everyday. She wakes up, works, comes home, cooks, watches tv, falls asleep, and repeats everyday of the week. Weekends are made for her to sleep through.

I’m waiting for publishers to return calls that they won’t. I’m waiting to become a success. I’m waiting to get it all together. I’m waiting for 5 o’clock so that the day will be over and I can not feel guilty about not looking for work because the day will be over.

When she was quite sure that her parents weren’t going to come downstairs anymore that night, she quietly opened the cupboard. The bottle of sherry that her mom used for cooking sometimes was at the back of the cupboard. It wasn’t that it tasted good, because to be honest, orange juice mixed with coffee was quite a bit tastier than the cooking sherry. But it was such a nice, warm feeling and she felt completely relaxed after she had a sip or two….or three.

It was only after taking a swig from the bottle that she realized she was having to lift the bottle higher in order to get the liquid to her mouth. In panic she put the bottle on the counter. It was near empty. Only about a tenth of the bottle still had any of the precious sherry in it. This wasn’t going to go unnoticed by her mom. Impossible that her mom would use that much for cooking within a week.

The panic set in. What would she do if her mom found out where the sherry had gone? She thought for a moment and looked around frantically for some other liquid that she could pour into the bottle of sherry as a replacement. Nothing else had a similar color! She looked in the other kitchen cupboards. Nothing. She thought of running away. She might as well if she wanted to avoid the beating she was sure to get from her mom.

Suddenly, the thought struck her. Of course! It was simple and highly believeable. She gathered a few other bottles from the cupboard and held them in her arms. They were all glass bottles. They were sure to break when they hit the floor. She put the bottle of sherry in her arms too.

"I was just looking for the ketchup and accidentally dropped all the bottles! I’m so sorry, mom." She practiced saying it in her head. She smiled at the foolproof plan. With this many liquids and all the glass on the floor, her mom would never know how much sherry there had been in the broken bottle.

She counted to three and dropped them all at once. An amazing crash broke the silence as all the bottle hit the kitchen floor.

She heard her parents door burst open and their feet hurrying down the stairs.

"Sherry, are you all right?" she heard her dad yell.

"What happened, Sherry?" That was her mom.

"I was just looking for the ketchup and accidentally dropped all the bottles. I’m so sorry mom," she tried to say. Sherry hiccuped. "I’m ssssorrry maam," she slurred. Sherry giggled a little bit as her parents came into the kitchen. "I’m sooooorry, mooooom." The words sounded so funny. Sherry wobbled her way to the chair and sat down. Her head was so heavy. But she felt so relaxed. She giggled as her parents looked at each other.

Some days I just want to scream. Everything irritates me. People who were supposed to didn’t call me back. Some people asked me to help them and I didn’t mind helping. But then, after I said I’d help, I didn’t want to anymore. It irritated me that someone who asked me to help with a paper hadn’t gotten sentence tenses right. There was no subject/verb agreement. Some of the sentences didn’t have punctuation at the end      Someone else asked me to pick up something for her but didn’t bother to tell me what time to pick the thing up. I was supposed to call and figure that out for myself.

I have to bite my tongue on days like this. I just want to tell people how stupid they are. Then I get all pissed off because I don’t have a job yet and the stupid people do. So what does that make me?

I try to get back into a good mood by listening to music sometimes. I usually try to find music that matches my mood. Like right now I’m listening to this song called "Bad Day." I’d never heard of it but it’s pretty good. Some modern day Billy Joel guy sings it. I guess it helps a little. Mostly though, I’m tired and grumpy and I need to find a punching bag or something.

Sometimes I feel like I could run forever. Sometimes it feels like if I run long enough I’ll be able to keep running. Sometimes it’s like the horizon is just over the next little hill and if I run fast enough I’ll be able to catch it.

I remember when I was heading off to college. I remember that last goodbye. I didn’t want anyone to see it but I almost got choked up. I hated myself for that. "You stupid little female dog (insert the correct word here). You will not shed a tear," I commanded myself. I didn’t cry either. I didn’t cry even though I wanted to after I punched myself in the balls to keep myself from crying about being at college. I was pretty sure I was going to hate it down there at that little crazy Christian college in Florida. I was so sure that I was going to end up beating someone up during the next few weeks or so just because I would hate it down there. I was so sure of that. I was right too. I did hate it and I did end up hurting someone. I didn’t beat him up exactly but then he wasn’t walking so very well after he called me a "chink" and he had a bruise on his face.

I remember graduating from high school. I had officially graduated from that home schooled kind of life. I had made it to the next level and would undoubtedly become a stud in college. I would be someone great and rid myself of the small town stench forever, I thought to myself. I’d live in a large penthouse somewhere in one of the larger cities in America forever with my money rolling around me in bags. My healthy hair would be as dark as a carload of assholes and never turn gray. I got that wrong though. None of that stuff rang true. I get tired of dyeing my hair sometimes.

I’m living at home with the family again right now having just returned from China not long ago. I’m looking for work and don’t have too much to call my own. I’m not entirely sure what "making it" means and I’m not sure when I’ll get there. Somewhere in the not too distant past I think the line between optimistic cynicism and realism got blurred.