This is the first part of a short story I recently finished. I guess it's too many words for one post
A sense of accomplishment
Its dark & full of smoke & there's indecipherable murmurings. You know where I am, I don't need to tell you. The point is, I'm here & you don't know why, but you want to know. The story is not long or full of plot twists or even all that meaningful. At least, it might not be to some of you. It is an interesting story though, so allow me to begin...
Have you ever felt like the outsider?, the odd man out?, the weird loner?
Well that's me, all three. The thing is, unlike most people, it doesn't bother me. If anything, I revel in it. I love being the one that never fits in. I love being the one that most people don't know what to do with.
That's how I feel special; not by success or attention, but by creating a little chaos in someone's otherwise monotonous life.
Sorry, my mind is wandering. Why am I at this dingy little bar with the gay bartender & cheap (as in inexpensive & shitty) drinks? At one point, the gay bartender says, "Don't mistake me for a waitress, I'm barely capable of making drinks."
I thought it was funny, although I didn't laugh. The girl he was talking to, the real waitress I guess, she did laugh. I'm pretty sure she was faking it. I'm pretty sure faking it is nothing new to her. Anyway, I'm at the bar (besides the cheap drinks) because I'm waiting for a play to start down the hall.
I randomly decided one day as I was flipping through one of those free magazines to go see a play that was reviewed in the back. It was a dinky little production of 'Bug.' I saw the movie version & wondered what a live version would be like, even though it started out as a play. It's about some emotionally fucked up people getting fucked up on drugs & losing their minds. All of that appeals to me greatly.
I have issues. Heh, I love that sentence. It could be a title too, or a bit of flash fiction. Three little words that open up a chasm of possibilities.
What do I mean by issues?, & how many?, & how serious? I'll get to that.
What matters at this point is that I have your attention now. At least, I do if you're like me. See, because I'm that weirdo in the corner, I've gotten very good at watching people. I can get to know a person without them saying a thing to me.
Perhaps that's what attracted me to the idea of a play; it's watching a group of people that want to be watched, but only when hiding behind a facade. The majority of society does the same thing, except that many convince themselves they're not hiding.
Me, personally, I know I'm hiding. But it's not that I'm wearing a mask, I'm just not a fan of being watched. I was raised by 'hovering' type parents. Ever-watchful, over-protective. Don't get me wrong, they were good people, just riddled with anxiety. It must be genetic, cause I'm the same.
Well, I guess that's a good segway into my 'issue' comment. I am in fact riddled with anxiety & depression & insomnia & feelings of guilt & loneliness & worthlessness etc, etc...
That's why I'm at this play alone & that's why I do everything alone. But, for some reason, despite having all these 'issues', I feel relatively whole, like a broken mirror with the frame still in tact. There's a part of me that hates that I'm holding on because I keep thinking, 'for what?' But there's another part of me, a more logical, patient part that wants, no, has to believe I'm waiting for something.
So what is it? What am I waiting for? A girl? That would be the obvious answer. It was in the past. But, as I've gotten older, the prospect of finding someone finally, as alluring as the thought is, has lost most of its urgency. I don't know if I've become more patient or more resigned in my loneliness, or perhaps it's simply my depression choking out the last breath of my soul. I don't know. So if not that, then what? What is worth 20 years of loneliness & boredom & uneventfulness?
Honestly, I don't know. That's a cop out answer & I wish I could give you more, but that's all I've gotten out of life so far: uncertainty. So I just amble on, doing the things one has to do to live & function & not fully understanding why.
#short story #fiction #prose