When I stepped into the countroom Joe was in there doing something to the computer and Sue was in the safe getting some money out. "Am I supposed to be in here?" I asked.
"Hmmm?" Said Joe.
I was seized by an unwarranted panic and crouched down under the table.
"I don't think I'm supposed to be here," I whispered, my eyes darting back and forth. Everything seemed to be crowding me. "Someone please tell me what to do," I whimpered.
Joe somehow thought that I was talking about him in some obtuse manner; that I was mocking him somehow.
"I'll be back," he said as he got up to leave.
Mr. McOwen came in as Joe was leaving. "What are you doing under the table?" he asked, seeing me under the table.
"I dropped something," I replied. I hit my head >thak< in the underside of the table as I tried to stand up.
"oooooooh!" said Mr. McOwen, Sue, and Roger, who had just stepped into the room. "Are you okay?" they asked me, patting my body reassuringly.
"I'm okay, I'm okay," I said, gripping tightly the paperclip I had meant to show Mr. McOwen as proof that I had been on the floor for the purpose of retrieving some dropped object. In fact, I held the clip up for a second, than brought it swiftly down. "Well..." I said. The others had already begun to go about their business.
Later, when Joe walked past my desk, he seemed somewhat nervous. He vocalized some sort of abbreviated greeting. I squeaked meekly, overcome by a debilitating sense of powerlessness, and I realized I had been holding my breath.
After he passed, I exhaled orgasmically. I resumed breathing in a normal fashion. A song of my own invention ran through my head fragmented and repetitious like the sort of dream you have when you are sick. I weighed the entertainment value of telling people at parties that I was a hutterite. This exercise left me feeling vaguely depressed.
"Why is this in my pocket?"
I wondered as I pulled a folded page from my jacket. It was a page from Independence Boulevard, a local magazine that I rarely read.
A message written on the page in pen said, "Are you wondering why this is in your pocket?" Then there was a little arrow. It was the kind of arrow that I use to mean "there is something on the other side."
On the other side was a story that I had written. It was nothing special. It said:
"The girl broke badly. They were playing a game that involved balls and sticks and a table. Sometimes activities occured on this table with balls and sticks of a different type. But not at the moment. They were using the table in the manner its makers intended, playing the game which was called 'billiards' or 'pool.'
"She broke badly so she reracked the balls and broke again. Was it within the rules to break a second time? If I was reading this story I wouldn't care; if I was playing pool with the girl, I probably still wouldn't care. Someone else might. Would you?
"The girl did not know that she was the most important thing in the bar to me. It was only because she was attractive to me, and I wanted to fuck her. I did not know her. I wanted to perpetuate her genes, only because she made me want to perpetrate her jeans.
"I told Walter as much, and he laughed. That kind of thing is funny when you are drunk, and when you are drunk you feel clever saying it.
"She left with her friends, and then the magenta-haired waitress became the most important thing, though slightly less important than the girl who was a beautiful, if unskilled billiards player. And then. . .
"A middle-aged woman frowned and drank her beer. Sometimes there is nothing to do but drink your beer, and you wonder, 'Why am I sitting here?' I had been drinking beer for the past hour or so, and now I wanted to call someone I knew and talk to her for no other reason than I knew she would not immediately hang up, but would talk to me despite the fact that I had called her because I was drunk. She would glean a certain amount of amusement from my drunkeness, and would not be as blue as I was, surely.
"I told Walter I was walking home. He said that was good, because I shouldn't be driving. I said I always try to be responsible. I don't, in fact, own a car. On the way home I paused near a grassy hill that sloped gently down to a busy road called Independence Boulevard. In the dark of the misty night, the slope appeared velvety, but as I was crawling down it, I found out it was sharp and prickly, and covered with moisture. I was crawling on my belly, because I wanted to do something I would remember. I must have somehow suspected I would forget this night.
"I do not know why I took measures to remember it, however.
"On the way down, I noticed a syrofoam egg carton. 'How did that get here?' I thought. The little cups for the eggs were so cute and round and pastel blue. I decided to thrust my penis through the carton, but I could not because it (the penis) would not get sufficiently firm. I sat with the egg carton in my lap, trying to visualize the girl from the bar without clothes on. I could not formulate a good mental image. The subtle details that had contributed to her allure in the bar now escaped me.
"So I crawled down to the chain link fence that lined Independence Boulevard, and I gazed up at the belly of a massive bridge overhead, wondering 'How did they make that? Just how the hell did they make that?'"
After I read this story I said to myself, "Hmm. I don't think this really happened." And I honestly don't.
I ate a chocolate candy.
It had a pecan nut inside. Pieces of this nut stuck in my teeth, and I used my tongue to extract them. All except one piece. The part of my tongue needed to extricate that piece happened to have a painful sore.
"I need a tooth pick," I thought, "That's what I need" But I didn't have a toothpick. So I used my finger to pick the nut particle from my tooth. It took a little longer than I wanted. Ashley and I were sitting on the couch watching TV. Except she was also watching me stick my finger into my mouth. She watched me until the particle came free of the tooth.
I then chewed it into smaller particles and swallowed them.
I was hesitant to eat another chocolate candy. But I ate one when Ashley got up to go to the bathroom. When she came back, I got up and went, and while I was in there, I cleaned the pieces of pecan from my teeth
hey kids
leisurely with my finger. Then I drank cold water from the sink.
Shortly after that, Eric arrived. Then he and Ashley left and went to dinner somewhere.
"Have fun," I called, as Eric shut the door.
here's a surfin' tip: be careful when opening files larger then 150k. they may take a long time to load, and could even crash your computer !
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