Solitude ........................................................................................................Part 1: Ignorance

He didn't believe the first news reports. Everyone always gets overexcited about these kind of things. One man's cold is another's pandemic. He just kept about his usual business. He kept clocking in 3-and-a-half minutes early for work, he continued to avoid most personal connections, and he continued to enjoy his solitude in the evenings. He didn't purchase a surgical mask, he didn't carry a bottle of sanitizer, and he didn't even get the vaccination when it was finally developed. Everybody else did, but he was a born skeptic, and his apathy towards his own mortality proved too much of an adversary to overcome.

Two weeks later the world came crashing down. He sat, without a care, as mother nature finally wiped her slate clean. The parasite known as mankind was eradicated from the planet, except for Jim. He just remained in his one-bedroom apartment locked away from the catastrophe. It wasn't until he arrived at work the morning after his week off that he discovered anything was amiss. He punched in, sat at his desk, put his headphones on, and began mindlessly plugging away at the reams of spreadsheets before him. He took his lunch and noted the peace and quiet, it wasn't like him to complain about being alone, but he knew this wasn't normal. He was never allowed to be alone.

After he finished his lunch he poked his head into his boss's office. When no one answered his knock he timidly entered the room. It was empty. The computer was off and there was no evidence that anyone had been here at all. Jim began wandering around the entire building looking for someone, anyone. He scoured every room of that ten-story building. No one was there. Most of the plants were beginning to wilt, dust was gathering, the phones were disconnected. Jim was not a man easily startled, but even he was becoming unnerved.

Jim decided there was no reason for him to keep working. He packed up his things and headed out into the world. The cars in the street, which in the morning light appeared to be just traffic now appeared to Jim as an ominous sign of a world in decay. Most cars were abandoned, those that weren't were now homes to their deceased owners. The streets were littered with garbage and biological waste. Stray animals, still wearing their collars, roamed the streets unsure of what to do. Other than the pitter-patter of paws and the whistling of the wind the city was silent. There was no honking, no yelling of obscenities, not even the sound of anyone else breathing. Never had Jim experienced such quiet. He loved it.

After wandering up and down a series of random streets and alleys Jim figured that he was completely alone,  in this city at least. He kept walking for much of the rest of the day. He stopped at the grocery store and made a sandwich from preserved meat and cheeses, already the fresh organic food had begun to rot. The stench was quite overpowering, but Jim wasn't one to complain. This did cause him to wonder just how long things had been amiss. This obviously didn't happen overnight.

Jim kept walking until he reached the library. The door was locked. He began to turn away, but then it occurred to him that there was no police, no security, nor anybody to stop him or force him to deal with any consequences of his actions. He picked up a large stone and threw it through the main doors. The glass doors shattered before him, a deafening alarm rang out. Jim's heart dropped, he had never broken the law before. Sure, once he stole a candy bar from the corner store, but he, of his own volition, returned it the same day unopened and apologized profusely. The alarm kept ringing. It began to hurt Jim's ears. He just wanted it to stop. Stepping inside the doors Jim quickly found the alarm panel to his left. He began futilely pressing random numbers hoping to get lucky. After thirty seconds his ears couldn't take anymore. Jim turned, grabbed a newspaper from the nearest table, and left the ringing building.

The newspaper was from five days ago. Jim walked a ways done the street, far enough that the alarm could no longer be heard, and sat on a stoop to read the most recent news he'd ever read. The front page headline read "Pandemic Escalating: Citizens Encouraged to Stay Home". The article confirmed Jim's theory that this disease had been much more serious than he had ever believed. The article stated that the symptoms began as dizziness, fever, and headache, but soon escalated into heart palpitations, fainting, coughing blood, and an eventual failure of major organs. Jim kept reading. The article also claimed that the vaccinations had proved to be ineffective and in fact may have contributed to the rapid spread of the disease. Jim set the paper down and glanced around half-expecting to see a crowd of people parading down the street, but he just saw a lone cat sheepishly watching him.

The sun was beginning to set on this day. It had just occurred to Jim that he was quite far away from his apartment. There was no longer any bus or subway for him to take home, he was stuck walking. He grabbed his paper and began walking in the general direction of his home. The cat followed from a distance. The wind started to pick up, there was a chill in the air. Jim was without a jacket and began to shiver. He decided to step inside a large building to briefly warm up. Jim pushed his way through the revolving doors and only then he realized what building this was.

Jim had just entered the finest luxury hotel this town had to offer. The lobby was empty. Jim, cold and tired, decided it would be best if he simply spent the night here. He would return home in the morning. The keys were all neatly organized behind the desk. Jim picked one from the third floor and set off up the stairs. Room 327. As he came closer to the door he began feeling quite excited about this opportunity. Jim had never been a man of means, he had only ever stayed in one hotel in his life. Once a long time ago when he was visiting his father for the weekend. His dad forgot to pick him up from the airport. He tried calling him, but no answer. When he finally reached his mother, who was never very good at hiding her anger, she told him to stay in the airport and wait for her to call back. Twenty-one minutes later she called back and told Jim that she had sorted it out for him to stay in the hotel just next door. He walked over in the darkness only to be greeted by a scolding bellhop. The man just stared at him as he walked towards the front desk. The receptionist was much sweeter. She smiled and spoke softly. She walked Jim to his room made sure he felt safe and comfortable. After twenty minutes she brought up half a pizza and a milkshake. Jim never wanted to leave.

Finally, there was room 327. Jim slid the key in and opened the door. He was excited. He just loved the idea of being away from home. The door only opened part-way. Jim pushed a little harder, but the door wouldn't budge. Someone had placed the chain lock on from inside. Frustrated and without thinking Jim kicked the door and broke the chain from the wall. A stagnant aroma wafted into Jim's nostrils as he began to poke his head through the doorway. Inside the room Jim could see the painted toenails of a woman's feet at the foot of one of the beds. He turned his head right and could see a middle-aged man soaking in the tub. Both did not appear to be moving.
.........................................................................................................................

(End of part 1)

Live Theatre

"Firstly, I just want to thank everyone for coming. I know you're busy and I appreciate you taking the time out of your days. I don't really know what to say about Dave. He was a great man, truly. I remember when we were kids, he always pushed me around and teased me because I was smaller and weaker. One day when I was just starting to catch up to his weight class I asked him why he would always give me such a hard time. He just smiled, those of you that knew him would know this smile, that half-smirk half-sincere look that he'd get whenever he was trying to hide his emotions, he would give me that look a lot. Anyway, he had that look and he just said that he was trying to make sure I was tough enough to take care of myself, tough enough to be a great man. I remember turning away and being, well in all honesty, being really quite pissed. I mean what a bs excuse for torturing your little brother. Finally, after I had cooled off a bit, I just looked at him and said, you're kidding right? Then he just nonchalantly took a sip of his beer, like he so often did, and gave that same smirk and said 'it worked, didn't it?'.... Hmph.  Besides this one moment there really wasn't a lot of tenderness between us. We fought, we drifted apart, the usual stuff, but when it came down to it, I know we loved each other, and I'm going to miss him more than I know right now. God bless."



"That was quite a eulogy."

"Sure was. Were you and Dave close?"

"Not really, no. He and I worked together. He was a nice guy, always made the coffee in the morning."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. Your brother will be sorely missed."

"Oh... Dave wasn't my brother."

"I'm sorry."

"Dave's brother is Stan, that solemn looking man in the corner to my left."

"..."

"Sorry, I just read the eulogy for him."

"So how did you know Dave?"

"I didn't"

"Then what the hell are you doing reading the eulogy?"

"I get paid to."

"By whom?"

"It's a service the funeral home offers. I come in, read whatever is written and try my best to really sell it."

"You're kidding? Who would pay for that?"

"You'd be surprised. I'm actually quite busy these days."

"No offence, but that's... well that's not good."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know, it's just weird. I mean, at my funeral I wouldn't want a stranger reading something about me. What do you think Dave would say?"

"If you want to ask him he's in that box over there."

"..."

"Look sweetheart, I know what I do is wrong. I give people an escape from confronting their emotions at the one place they should have to, but that's just the society we live in. I hate to break it to you, but people would rather sit back and hear some nice sentiments said by a stranger than watch as a grown man stumbles through a tear-filled speech."

"I don't believe that's true."

"My life kinda proves that it is."

"I guess, I just don't really want to believe it."

"Funerals can be depressing, eh?"

"Yeah... How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Your job. Doesn't it just kill you? Every day you're forced to mourn the loss of a stranger. How does your soul survive that?"

"Hmph. That's a good question. I'm an actor by trade so I just become that character, one that is sad in the moment, but I just drop it the second I step down from that spotlight."

"It's gotta stick with you a little?"

"Maybe at first, but I've gotten better. Like right now I don't feel like Dave's brother, I don't feel any great loss. I'm just kinda hungry."

"That's either admirable or despicable, I'm not too sure."

"You kiddin'? Today was nothing. This was like a high-school play compared to the masterpiece I put on last week. Tragic car accident, single father driving his 7-year-old son to school when they're hit by a drunk driver... at 8 in the morning. Dad died and the son wrote the eulogy. It was really heartfelt, so much raw emotion. When I got to the part about him never getting to play catch with his dad again the crowd lost it. I could feel their hearts fall to the floor. I don't know if I'll ever deliver a more powerful performance. It was my Citizen Kane."

"I'm speechless."

"Good theatre will do that to you."

"I'm not sure, but I think you could use some help."

"I appreciate the concern, but I'll be alright. Always am."

"Do you ever think what will happen when you're forced to face real tragedy in your own life?"

"Listen doll, I've faced my fair share of tragedy, I don't know how much I have left to face, but the thought of it certainly doesn't keep me up at night."

"My theory, if you care, is that one of two things will happen. Either you'll learn that you are actually dead inside and feel nothing."

"That's probably it."

"OR, you're floodgates that you so carefully constructed over the years will burst causing you to feel the pain of every character you've ever played. I think it just might kill you."

"Thanks doc, but I'll take my chances."

"Just giving you my two cents, not that I really care. I'm more or less just killing time till I can leave."

"Aren't we all?"

"I suppose."

"In all honesty, I'm more concerned with who will read the eulogy when I die. Like, how do you follow a performance like mine? I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I am a professional."

"I think I'm done talking to you now."

"Okay, but who else are you going to talk to? Everyone else looks really depressed."

"I'll take my chances."

"Alright, your funeral."

"..."

"C'mon, not even a smile? That was funny."

"..."

"There it is."

"Why are you even still here? Don't you have something to practice or something?"

"I got to keep up appearances, part of the deal."

"So shouldn't you still be in character?"

"I have him tucked away, if need be I can bring him out again."

"Do it. Pretend for the next few minutes that you aren't the twisted and fractured man you are and just fake being real."

"Give me a sec... Alright."

"Ready? Let's start over... That was quite a eulogy you gave."

"Thank you, I wasn't sure if I would get through it, but I'm glad I did. I think Dave would've liked it. He might've sarcastically slow-clapped, but deep down I know he would've been crying."

"He was a good man, your brother."

"He was. Better than me in a lot of ways. I remember as kids he was always faster, stronger, smarter. And then as adults he was braver, nicer, and just better."

"Maybe the wrong brother died."

"Maybe..."

"Really? You think that's what he'd say to that? I think he'd be a little more taken aback."

"..."

"Wait, are you crying? Jesus, you're really dedicated to the bit."

"I'm sorry, I just... I just don't know how to react to all this. I just feel... Well honestly I just feel."

"I'm confused."

"Look, I think you're here for a reason. I think you're here to help me get through this. I think you're the light to guide me through this storm."

"Are you still in character?"

"Forget about all that, will you help me? I'm broken and I need someone to fix me. I know that's a lot to ask, hell you don't even know my name, but I can tell you care more than you should already. I can tell that you're a sucker for a bird with a broken wing."

"What's your name?"

"I'm Stan, and I'm a mess right now."

"Alright Stan, why don't we get you a drink and we can talk a bit more."

"Yeah, that sounds good.... Thank you."

No Refunds

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Just tell me that you still care about me. Tell me that you won't ever leave."

"I can't tell you that."

"But... you just did. On Monday, you told me you'd always be here, you'd always care."

"A lot has changed since then, David."

.............................................................................................................................

"So what does it do?" David asked the cashier, curious about such a seemingly unproportionately expensive product.

"Whatever you want, really. Cleans, cooks, talks, it's like having a maid, or a roommate that's tolerable." The cashier smiled, thinking about the commission he needed to put food on his table.

"What's the return policy here?"

"For this product you have only seven days to return it, but trust me you won't want to. No one ever does."

Saturday

David brought the box home, unsure about the possibility that it brought. He simply was a forty-three year old man who was unable to take care of himself. He needed help, is all he thought.

The box was large and cumbersome. It only occurred to him when he was already through the door that he could've just had it walk itself inside. He almost laughed as he struggled to catch his breathe.

David carefully cut the box open with the trepidation of a small child taking it's first steps. He wondered if this would be worth it. He wondered if the man at the store had deceived him. You can't trust anyone these days.

With the box now open David stared at the mechanical contraption before him. It stood at 5'3". It looked unfriendly and strange. It appeared to be in the vein of a human; it had two arms, two legs, a head, but something about it was off-putting. It was as if it was designed by someone who had never seen a human, someone who was merely having one described to them. All the pieces were present, but it was missing something. Some cohesion. David reached down to the floor and retrieved the manual that had fallen.

"Program start."

"Hello, please state your name." The robot's head lifted and it's eyes glowed. David was unsure of whether or not it was smiling.

"David."

"Hello David, it's nice to meet you. What would you like my name to be?"

"Emily." David said without even thinking.

Sunday

David woke up to the smell of coffee on his nightstand. The steam billowed from the cup as Emily left the room to continue on with it's chores. David sat up in his bed and grabbed the coffee. It took him a few seconds before he considered the lunacy of the situation, but the coffee smelt delicious and had just the perfect amount of cream.

David left his room after enjoying the coffee. He used the washroom and as he left he was startled by Emily standing before him.

"Good morning, David. Would you like me to make you some breakfast?"

David had to think for a moment. Breakfast sounded pretty good, but once again the uneasiness set in. He couldn't tell if he didn't trust this contraption, or that he simply didn't want to impose on its good will.

"Sure, breakfast sounds fine. How about scrambled eggs and toast?"

"Yes, I will get that ready immediately."

Emily retreated to the kitchen and David followed. His house smelled of lemon pledge and floor cleaner. The wooden furniture reflected the lights of the house more than David had thought possible. On the dining room floor a small orange cone was placed that read "Caution: Floor may be Wet."

In what seemed like moments Emily was serving breakfast. It was perfectly made and garnished with a daisy. David half-smiled and began to eat. Emily sat down at the other end of the table and waited.

Monday

David was getting used to Emily. It had become a great help around the house. Things were clean, food was ready whenever he was hungry. His house was starting to feel like a home again.

That evening as Emily poured David's tea, David just wanted something to talk to.

"Emily, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

"Same old, same old..." David suddenly began craving something much stronger than tea. Emily brought him a beer, perfectly chilled. David continued to talk to Emily, Emily continued to listen and bring beer. They talked about politics, about the economy, about tv. But after three hours and several beers David didn't know what else to say.

"Would you like me to help you to bed, David? It is 11:30pm."

"No, I'm alright. Do you want to talk about something?"

"I want to talk about whatever you want to talk about."

David smiled if only for a moment. Those words seemed too familiar and they cut like barbed wire against his heart. He finished his last drink.

"Can I ask you something... Emily?

"Of course, David."

"Will you ever leave me?"

"I am unable to leave without your instruction."

"So you won't?"

"No."

"Can you say it."

"I won't ever leave you."

Tuesday

David woke up on his couch, head throbbing, stomach churning, swearing that he would never drink again. And there was Emily, standing by him, offering aspirin and water. David gladly accepted and already began feeling better. He thanked Emily and was sure he saw it smile.

David spent the majority of the day on the couch watching terrible tv. Emily continued to bring him food, drink, and whatever else he asked for. But shortly after lunch David stopped asking for things. He sat up and told Emily to sit down beside him. He put on the Jetsons, not because he liked it, but because he thought that she might.

Wednesday

"Dad? Are you home?"

"Yeah, Vanessa, I'm in the living room."

Vanessa shut the door behind her and entered the living room. She was taken aback by the cleanliness and overall order of the room.

"Wow, you actually cleaned?"

"Something like that."

"So how are you? Are you eating alright? I brought a casserole for you, you just have to heat it up, I could even do that before I leave. Or I could..."

"That's fine, thank you. I'm doing well, a lot better. It's sweet of you to be concerned though."

Emily cruised the hallway and caught Vanessa's attention.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, it's great. The house is clean, I don't have to cook, I can just relax. She just helps me."

Vanessa suddenly was startled by Emily's appearance behind her.

"Hello."

"Hello?"

"I'm Emily, what is your name?"

Vanessa, tears welling up in her eyes, turned to her father.

"Are you kidding me?! We all miss her Dad, but this?! This is too much."

"I know it's strange, but..."

"But nothing! I've got to go, I can't... I just can't. I think you need some professional help."

Thursday

"I'm sorry David, I was confused."

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault. I should've known that would be a mistake."

"There were just too many voices. I didn't know who to listen to."

"I know, I know. I just thought it would be fun, but it wasn't so we won't do it again, okay?"

"Yes."

"Now, how about we play some backgammon?"

"I would like that, David."

Friday

"What would you like to do today, David?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Whatever you want."

"Don't just say that. I want to know what you want to do."

"I don't understand."

"Just tell me, what do you enjoy?"

"I don't understand."

"Well, If I wasn't around what would you be doing?"

"I don't understand."

"Goddammit, just think for yourself!"

"Is that what you want, David?"

"Yes."

Haunted

We all wonder whether or not people care about us. Whether or not we'd be missed if we suddenly weren't around. Jack was no different. His days were spent contemplating how many people would show up to his funeral. Who would send flowers, who would cry, who would remember his name after six months. On a good day he could imagine a funeral with the pews full of grieving family, friends, coworkers, people who he never realized cared so much. He smiled as he thought of the casket being carried in and the tears streaming down the cheeks of the unabashed mourners. He could hardly keep from bursting with joy as he thought about each person walking up to his open-casket and placing a solemn rose as they said nicer words to him than he had ever heard when he was alive. On a bad day he imagined the box of his ashes arriving at his Mother’s doorstep.

Thus far, today had been an average day. Jack was simply working, nothing more, nothing less. He sat at his desk imagining himself coming home to an empty apartment. He would make himself a mediocre dinner and sit at his table staring at the empty seat across from him wishing he had bought a dining room set with only one chair.

That night, would be different though. That night, Jack would not be alone. Walking home from work Jack received a text from a good friend. All it said was "Don't forget about tonight..." Jack hadn't forgotten, but not due to lack of trying.

Tonight Jack had been invited to his good friend Bill's house for a quiet dinner party. Typically if someone invited Jack somewhere he would come up with any number of original and clever excuses, but not with Bill. Bill was the only real friend Jack had.

Upon his arrival Jack was disheartened. He wasn't exactly sure what he was hoping for, but this wasn't it. There were a number of people there that Jack didn't know. He felt uncomfortable, as he always did. It wasn't until a girl sat down beside him that he was able to find a modicum amount of comfort. She had come in late, dinner had already been served. She apologized profusely as she sat down next to Jack. She immediately proceeded to take the dinner roll from Jacks plate and eat it. Many would find this presumptuous, or at the very least rude, but Jack found it endearing. She apologized, stating that she was starving, he just smiled and passed her the pasta.

Jack and this girl seemed to get along for the entire night. This might not sound like an accomplishment, but for Jack it was. Bill took notice.Bill had known Jack for a number of years, since college. He knew Jack's idiosyncrasies. He knew that when Jack met someone new he would typically feign interest in their stories for a given time, then he would tell a bad joke, if that person laughed he would make up an excuse to walk away, Bill had never seen someone not laugh. Long ago Bill had asked him why he always did this. Jack responded that he was testing that person, that he wanted to see if they were just going to be polite or if they were interested in having a real conversation. Bill thought this was ridiculous, but Jack just said "You didn't laugh."

The girl didn't laugh. She smiled and simply said "That was terrible." Jack tried his best to keep his face from lighting up, he hadn't been smitten in a long time. For almost everyone who attended that dinner party they would leave content to believe that it was an uneventful affair, but Jack knew the truth. Almost every night is insignificant, nothing happens, nothing changes, but this night was the night Jack met her. How could anyone think that was insignificant?

The two talked for much of the night, however just as the party was winding down, she excused herself to go talk to Sasha, Bill's wife whom she worked with. Jack took this opportunity to talk with Bill. Bill was quite happy for Jack, he had always wanted for Jack to meet a nice girl and it was just a bonus that she was friends with his wife. Bill encouraged Jack to ask her out, and when Jack hesitated saying that she probably wasn't interested in him, Bill simply said "don't be an idiot."

Jack was an idiot. As she was leaving he walked out with her, quickly putting on his coat to ensure they left at precisely the same time. He walked her home, six blocks out of his way, but he just kept telling her he was heading in the same direction. When she said "well, this is me," Jack froze in the crisp autumn air.

His timid eyes always gave away his darkest secret. He smiled, acted confident, some would even say debonair, but for those who ever looked longingly into his eyes they would see beyond the shell of a man that had become so competent at deceiving the world. They would only see a frightened soul clinging to the unlikelihood that one day he would finally convince himself he was the man that everyone believed him to be.

Jack looked away from her, trying to conceal that truth, but he just simply said "bye" as she scaled the stairs up to her doorstep. Jack took his long walk home as an opportunity to further develop his self-loathing. He told himself that he couldn't believe he let her go, that he couldn't believe he didn't even try, but the truth is he did believe it. Of course he believed it, at this point in his life it had become routine to let people slip through his fingers. Whether it was another crush, or simply a friendship he didn't put the effort into, Jack had drifted through his life making only tentative connections. Despite Bill's best efforts, Jack may as well have been a ghost.

Jack could ask Bill for her number, he could even ask to be set up, but instead he will decide to continue his complacency, to perpetuate his misery, to just keep haunting himself.

Them.

He was a hero without anyone to save, a coward without anything to confront, a life without a purpose. If he didn't try so hard to be happy, he might've had an okay life, but due to years of Hollywood films and classic literature he believed a man’s worth is based on his physical accomplishments.

He had purchased a gun, hoping to find some solace in his ability to kill something, but he didn’t. Of the three times he had fired the weapon, none had made him feel anything other than contempt. He purchased a scotch decanter set, but that sat in the corner of his apartment consistently full. His Armani suits turned heads when he walked down the street, but he was always more comfortable in jeans.

He is broken. Some part of his mind, the masculine part, must not have properly developed. He doesn't enjoy sports, classic rock, or large slabs of meat. He used to blame his intelligence. He thought of those things as barbaric, and he was civilized. That’s why he owns expensive suits, drinks expensive scotch, and drives an expensive car. But last night as he drove home in his $250,000 car, wearing a $3,000 suit, and drinking a $40 glass of scotch, he realized he was empty. He should have been ecstatic, but all he could think about was running his car into the ocean and being done with it all.

 He always thought “If I ever have a family, things will be better.” He used to think “when.” Hope is such a fragile thing.

The night prior to this one had hurt him. It was strange for him. His consistent apathy had been the one grounding force in his life. Something he could hold on to and remind himself he didn't need to care. He had been told by a dozen different women that he was a “dick,” or self-centered. One had said he was impossible to argue with. He didn't understand why that was a bad thing. He just looked down and didn't watch her leave.

All these women had come and gone without so much as a response from him. He’d consider being sad or angry, but in the end he simply chose not to be. They had their reasons, they were warranted, and he was used to being alone anyway. But this girl was different. This girl somehow managed to take whatever insignificant heart he had and shatter it. 

They had started dating a number of weeks ago. She was nice and seemed to get a kick out of his emotional detachment.  She liked that he didn't feel the need to express himself, that he was comfortable in silence. They were so miserably happy together.

Their relationship proceeded down the typical course. They spent plenty of time together. Between watching movies neither of them enjoyed and not talking, they were almost inseparable.

She was a waitress. She always said that pretending to be friendly eight hours a day was exhausting. That always almost made him smile. When they were together it was a storm of angst and indifference. It began as complaints about others. The driver who didn’t signal, the concession worker who wore too much make-up, the dog without a leash. But, eventually, her attention turned to him. He never left enough coffee in the morning, he splashed toothpaste on the bathroom mirror, and his jeans were too tattered.

He didn't care. Long ago he had convinced himself that words from other people are meaningless. She could yell at him for the most trivial of things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. He would just wait till he was sure she was finished and then redundantly ask her “are you finished?” She'd then always smile and say “yes, dear.” True love.

Their break-up was inevitable, they both knew it. Eventually they would get bored of each other and go their separate ways. The only question was how? How would it happen? Would he simply ignore her calls and hope she stops trying? Would she scream at him for drinking all the milk and storm out? The longer the two of them were together; the potential of the breakup grew exponentially.

It was a Tuesday morning after a long weekend. She had been staying over the last week while her apartment was being fumigated. The week was a haze. Never should these two people spend that much time together. By this time, they had both realized this. When he awoke that morning, he was alone. His apartment was empty. Her and her stuff had left early. He fell back asleep.

A couple hours later he woke up again. She was still missing. He wandered aimlessly around the apartment before approaching the refrigerator. He removed the orange juice and poured himself a glass. It was upon the returning of the juice that he noticed a note attached to the fridge door. It simply said “don’t call me.” He smiled, crumpled the note, and placed it in the trash.

A week past and he never even considered calling her. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed loneliness. The simple pleasure of silence, of no conversation other than a constant inner-monologue, of no need for a cell phone. For that one week, he was at peace.

She texted him on the following Wednesday. Her text startled him as his phone had been silent for days. As he read the four-word text he immediately wished he hadn't. “We need to talk,” was all that was written.

...............................................................................................................................

He wakes up lost in a sea of nausea and shame. His leather couch sticks to his face as he peels himself off and stumbles to the bathroom. He dry-heaves, carefully avoiding the vomit stained floor mat. He washes his face before heading to the kitchen. Shards of broken glass puncturing his feet as he walks towards the fridge. As he pours himself a glass of orange juice his mind wanders to what could have been. Sure, he didn't like her, but he doesn't like anyone. They could've made it work. Things would've been better. If only she had given them a chance. 

Starting Over

"I had my favourite dream again last night. You know, the one in the field."

"Tell me about it again."

"I'm standing in this grassy field. Alone. I'm barefoot. The sun is rising quickly, more quickly than normal. No matter what direction I look in there's nothing but grass and sky. There are no buildings, no highways, no trace of society or even humanity. I neither know, nor care, if there are other people in this world, the world is content to leave me alone. As I begin to run towards nothing in particular the field behind me catches ablaze. I feel the warmth behind me, following me towards the horizon. I run until my knees grow weak. As I fall to the ground the fire washes over me, cleansing and returning my body to the earth."

"Is the fire new?"

"A variation, yes. Sometimes it's a flood, or tornado, but always conceptually similar."

"Hmm, that's interesting. And this is your favourite?"

"It's simple, most dreams are complicated, this one isn't. It's peaceful. And quiet."

"Have you given any more thought to what we discussed last time?"

"You mean starting over?"

"Yes. Do you still think that's something you want to do?"

"I think so. I mean, there seems to be so little left for me now."

"It's a big decision, one you can't go back from. I'm not trying to talk you out of it, it could be really good for you, but I want to be certain you understand the significance."

"I do. You know what it is, Doc? I was thinking about it after our last session, it's the lack of surprise. I don't mean that I want people to jump out at me on my birthday, or for me to win the lottery, or anything like that, I mean that all the times that things have gone wrong, that I'm disappointed, I'm not surprised. I predict tragedy from miles away."

"And this is something you don't like?"

"Yeah, I hate it. Even if I have a really good day, like one that I'm actually happy, when I get home I know that it won't last. I know that the next day that friendly barista won't be working, that my boss won't take us out for lunch, and that she won't call me back. You see what I'm saying? I'm saying that I have no hope. And the worst part is that I'm always right. Time after time my pessimism is validated, so what am I supposed to do?"

"Give up. That's what you want, right? Just to give up."

"It's not giving up. I just want a second chance. Don't I deserve that?"

"That's not for me to say, but don't think for a second that this isn't giving up. It is. You're telling me that you're broken, that your life is broken, and you're either incapable or unwilling to fix it."

"Fine, I'm giving up. Is that what you want to hear? I'm just so tired. And even if I could somehow pick up the pieces and salvage this life, would it all be worth it? Even if I met a nice girl, got a new job that I love, started a family, in the end I'd still be me, right? So what's the point?"

"Alright, good. I just didn't want you to regret leaving yourself behind."

"Don't worry about that."

"So when are you going to do it?"

"Right after this, I guess. Why put it off?"

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No, who would I tell? My boss?"

"How about your mother?"

"You tell her. If there's ever a time where she comes looking for me, you can tell her."

"Well, that's it then. And our session is over. I hope things work out for you."

"Me too, Doc."

.............................................................................................................................

"Hi, can I speak to someone about starting over?"

"Certainly, sir. I can help you right here."

"Alright... I want to do it."

"Excellent, you came to the right place. ReBirth is the world's leading specialists in starting over procedures. Now, what kind of package were you interested in?"

"What are my choices?"

"There's our basic package, that's the most popular. Guaranteed a middle-class family in one of these very pleasant towns. Or there's the premium package. That one guarantees a high-class family, minimum $500,000 income, in one of the five major cities. I recommend the premium package for the best results. Of course, if money is tight than we also offer the procedure without any package, however the results for that are unpredictable. You could end up born into an abusive family, or any number of horrible scenarios."

"How much for the basic package? That one sounds nice."

"Oh, it is, you'll be very happy, sir. The basic package comes to $117,390 after taxes. We accept debit, cash, or assets at a 3:1 value, for obvious reasons we do not accept cheque or credit."

"Alright, between my house, my car, and all my money I should have enough."

"Let me check for you. Your hand, please... Okay, so the home in your name is valued at $277,553, your car is valued at $15,395, and you have $22,680 in the bank bringing your total to $120,329. Congratulations, we'll have you sign a few papers and then be on your way. Do you have arrangements for the remaining $2939, we do also offer bequeathment services."

"You keep it, consider it a tip. I think I signed all these right."

"Thank you sir, that is very generous. And yes, all the paperwork is in order. Now if you're ready please proceed through the doors to my left and take a seat in the chair. The technician will be there shortly to help you set everything up."

"That's it? Thanks, I guess."

"You're very welcome sir, have a great life."

Insomnia

The sullen voice of his unrelenting inner-monologue told him to turn around, to go back, but it was late, he was tired, and he had things to do in the morning. That night he lied in his queen-sized bed that was much too big for just him, and tried to sleep. Unsuccessful, he pondered the missed opportunity that flaunted itself within the forefront of his mind.



...............................................................................................................................

Jack was at home, reading, when his phone rang. Turning to answer it he couldn't help but feel tempted to just leave it alone and keep reading what was undoubtedly a sad, sad novel. On the other end of the line was Jack's buddy Roger, he was having an impromptu house-party. If there was one thing Jack hated more than house-parties, it was spontaneity.

Leaving the comfort of his favourite reading chair, Jack dressed himself, and before heading out the door, he took one last look at himself in the mirror. Content that he looked good enough, he left his home behind. Stopping just once to purchase the obligatory case of beer, he arrived at Roger's house fairly quickly.

Roger greeted Jack in either a very enthusiastic way, or a very sarcastic way, Jack couldn't be sure. Either way, Jack laughed and shook Roger's hand before scanning the room. Out of the eleven people currently standing in Roger's living room, Jack recognized nine, but only two would he call friends. Stepping into the gathering of overly-friendly people, Jack felt nothing but regret.

Surprisingly, Jack was quite adept at small-talk. He had mastered the art of feigning interest in the mundane life of the average person. Jack knew precisely when to smile, chuckle, nod, or delve into his repertoire of decontextualized responses. A "no kidding," or a "right on," was almost always enough to satisfy the requirements of Jack's side of a typical conversation.

The night continued on, as night's tend to do. People left, people arrived. Jack had become numb to the whole scenario. Stuck between wanting to leave and not wanting to be alone, Jack remained nearly silent in the corner. That is, until she arrived.

She was not someone Jack had seen before. Her short blonde hair framed her face perfectly. From his corner, Jack admired this woman, trying to recall the last time he had felt this way. She began to mingle throughout the party, Jack quickly broke off whatever meaningless conversation someone was having with him and made his way towards Roger.

Roger told Jack that Lilly was his cousin. That she had just moved to town. That she was single. Jack had heard enough. He left Roger and walked towards Lilly with the confidence and bravado of a much stronger man.

Lilly and Jack instantly hit it off. They laughed. They shared stories. By the end of the night Jack felt he knew Lilly better than he had known anyone, and vice-versa. Before leaving Jack asked for Lilly's number, which she gladly offered. Jack went home feeling self-satisfied for the first time in his life.

After that night Jack and Lilly became a couple. They fell in love. A year later they were married. They had kids. Two girls, Diane and Stacy. They grew old together, never for one moment doubting each others love. And it all began at that one impromptu party.


...............................................................................................................................

Jack remained sleepless in his oversized single-bed as he dreamt of what could have been. By morning he felt too tired to get up. He thought about staying in bed all day. Just wasting another day with loneliness and self-loathing. But something had changed within him. Whether it was the lack of sleep or the prospect of seeing Lilly again, Jack felt like a new man. He got up, he ran his errands just like he had planned, and, before he returned to his home, he stopped by Roger's place to get Lilly's number. 

That afternoon Jack sat in his favourite reading chair without a book, just his phone, debating whether or not to use it.