cell phone rings.
don't feel like answering.
for some reason, i never do but tonight especially. at least in this day and age, one knows who one doesn’t want to talk to. i looked to see who it was who was bothering me tonight. it was a friend. vaguely deciding to ignore the call, i answer anyway.
“hey, dude, what’s up?” my friend asks. “nothing much,” i reply.
“i was calling to see if you wanted to go out and get a beer?”
“nope, no way. not tonight. i haven’t slept in two days. i’m going to finish my six pack and crash.”
“listen. things are pretty bad for me right now. i’m driving around aimlessly. i got no where to go. i can’t go home. i won’t be able to sleep.”
“what’s going on?” i ask.
“you remember that girl? you know how I wish I hadn’t fell for her, right? well, i just got off the phone with her. she don’t want to see me no more. says she just wanted to be friends and that i keep coming on to her. i mean, what the fuck, right? i just tried to put my hands on her shoulder a couple of times. christ, it not like i tried to even kiss her or anything. broad’s got problems. you know what i mean?”
“yeah,” i replied. “they all do”.
“you know what else? i went to the doctor yesterday and found out i’ve got high fucking blood pressure. me! i’m not even fucking 30 and now I’m supposed to take a goddamn pill every night for the rest of my life. Bad fucking week man, bad fucking week.”
i nodded silently. at this point i was starting to put my pants back on. this was a FRIEND. “yeah, they tried to do that to me a couple years back too but i said hell no. i don’t want to take a pill everyday for the rest of my life until i’m like… 45 or something. anyway, look i’m getting dressed, where do you want me to meet you?”
“don’t worry about driving. you sound too drunk to drive anyway. i’m right outside your house. just come out when you’re ready.”
“alright,” i say, “give me a sec”.
i hastily buttoned my jeans, grabbed some shoes, a jacket, and my keys and stumbled out the door. it was a nice night. full of the fresh air cold.
“you don’t have any shoes on,” he says.
“they’re right here in my hands. let’s go”.
“but you don’t have any socks on? whatever. so yeah, i was just talking to jack and carla. we were having this long ass talk and shit, right, and at the end of it they basically tell me i don’t believe in anything and that means i got nothing to live for. fuck them, right?”
“but you don’t believe in anything,” i reminded him.
“Well yeah, but you know, fuck that. besides, they keep trying to shove their horseshit version of christianity onto me. they just don’t get it.”
“yeah, i fucking hate missionary types. think they’re doing you a favor by saving your soul. but they don’t know no better than you… besides, i think they just do it because they like you,” i answer.
“right. they don’t have a fucking clue what happens when we die. nobody does. but they think they know it all and it’s their job to save me.”
“but they do have faith.” i reply, half sarcastically.
“exactly. that one little word supposedly makes them bullet proof. they still don’t know what happens when we die but now they can confidently pretend they do because they have faith. fucking exercise in stupidity. just wait till they die. they’ll be just as scared as the rest of us. it’s just a way for them to end an argument cause there’s no arguing with fucking faith”.
“i agree, man, but let’s talk about something else, okay? you know i’m scared to death of death. i don’t want to talk about me dying or anybody else neither. so, what’s up with your woman, again?” i say.
“oh fuck, don’t get me started. i can’t get her out of my mind. she’s all I think about and now the bitch hates me. it’s fucking agonizing, i tell you”.
“god, man. i haven’t felt that way in 15 years,” i mumble. “i’ve totally forgotten what it feels like to be in love. i mean, look at me. my marriage is in shambles and what the fuck do i care? maybe in the past i would have. but a man can only take so much, you know? anyway, look, you’re fucking lucky you’re done with her now before you got too far in. i mean, think about it. best case scenario, you guys are great together, yada yada yada. you fuck her everyday and she actually pretends to like it. then you marry and five years later, ten if you’re lucky, it’ll all be over. these things don’t last. it’s like a law of fucking nature or something.”
“yeah, you’re right” he says, “but still. i don’t know. at least you got something out of it. besides i know what your problem is. you’re still holding resentment towards her for not taking her pill and getting pregnant.”
“aw fuck. you don’t know shit” i spit out. “i’m the cliché, man. my kid means everything to me. my shitty life wouldn’t even be worth living if not for him.”
“that’s not what i mean and you know it” he retorts back. “that still don’t mean you don’t hold that shit against her though.”
“yeah, sure,” i said, thinking of ways to change the subject. he was uncharacteristically way off base on this one but i didn’t have the energy to set the record straight. too bad for me, i actually had loved the bitch just like he thought he loved his girl. but given enough time, they’re all just human. or women, rather. eventually, the monotony sets in, whatever was shared dies and they betray you. cheating, lying, whatever it takes . it doesn’t matter. it’s just an excuse to keep from dying of boredom, really. even still, decisions are made and you gotta be willing to go all the way at that point. it’s just not worth it anymore. throw it all away for a fucking cigarette or some such other stupid thing. and then they have the gall to wonder what your problem is when you finally agree not to care anymore.”
“so they start talking about a soul,” my friend continues.
“who did?”
“jack and carla”
“jack and carla. jack and carla,” i mock. “i mean, what, are they one fucking person joined at the hip? jackarla? carjack? does either one have an original thought without the other?” i inquire.
“not really. anyway, i ask them what the hell they think a ‘soul’ is. they say it’s you know…you. your emotions, likes and dislikes, whether you’re an alcoholic, or whether you like such and such a movie. they think that stuff stays with you when you die.”
“well, what do you think?” i ask.
“definitely not that,” he says. i don’t think any of that stuff stays with you when you die.”
“i agree with you, but still it’s all just fucking opinions. doesn’t matter anyway since nobody really knows.”
“if you agree with me, what do you think a ‘soul’ is?” he asks.
“well, for what it’s worth, my worthless opinion follows that whole raindrop into the ocean bit, man. we’re just a tiny drop of the whole big shebang. when we die, that’s it. they call us back to the primordial ooze.”
“don’t spout that tired hippy zen bullshit to me,” he says, “besides, if you believe that shit, why are you scared about dying?”
“because, i fucking like being an alcoholic, man. i don’t really want to lose that shit.”
“when did your dad die,” he asks.
“what?”
“when did your dad die?” he repeats.
“50,” i say. “50 and he was out. what about you?”
“64 man, 64.”
“what from?” i query.
“heart attack. yours?”
“same.”
“you believe in all that genetics shit, man?” he rambles. “i mean if you believe that shit, and if we don’t die some horribly unexpected death, then we’ll probably live about as long as our dads”
“yep. i think 50 will be about my limit. i feel like an old man, now anyways. yep,” i reply, feeling more and more confident, “50 for me”.
we pulled up to the bar.
finally.
“let’s go get a few beers and hammer this shit out, man,” he says.
“sounds good to me,” i sighed.