Relocation.

It's nearly been a week since i left California for my new home in Virginia; and so far nothing feels completely out of place. Which in a way saddens me more than if it felt there were pieces of me missing. I was fully expecting for the first few days to feel excitement mixed with that special kind of loneliness that comes from leaving your home. But that never happened. To me it still feels as if all my friends are living down the street but are currently too busy to come by and say hi, as hard, and weird as it is for me to say, but, i don't miss anything.

There is no loneliness  Only wonderment of when the next part of this journey begins and i'll be making one of these entries from under a Japanese rain storm.

I'm sure that my heart will ache for my friends that i expected it to during my first week. But for now my mind is too busy trying to remember the roads to where the stores are, restaurants, the bar and video game outlet. Not to mention getting my room set up to where i like it and cleaning everything. I've never viewed myself as a "clean-freak" but after the amount of deep cleaning i did in the bathroom, i'm starting to believe a part of me might in some small sense be in fact a person in this category.

But for now, sleep must come; i have a day of job hunting tomorrow.

further advancements on how i'm not funny

Maybe it's all the TV and movies i watch but i always knew that those "only funny in real life, but not really in TV" finally happened to me. For an example of "Only funny in real life" or "OFRL": people talking in unison, or someone shouting at a door after someone has slammed it in their face. My little experience falls into the latter of the examples.

Jessica, or Jess as her moniker from Bryan, is a friend of the said person; and rapidly approaching close acquaintance in my case, is a short, feisty woman of, i'm guessing, 27; in this case feisty falls into the closer association of "bossy", but falls much closer to assertive and/or strong willed. In Jess's case i'm willing to over look this quirk because i don't necessarily dislike her for it. It could be because she actually enjoys my odd company, and even though she can be intimidating in that motherly kind of way, i don't really shy from her. But more than likely it's that odd blend of assertiveness and beauty that i don't automatically write her of; actually it's because she bosses Bryan around and doesn't take any of his guff (a word i dislike, but in this case, Bryan doesn't really shell out "shit" but more of "guff"). There is a soft spot in me for women who have a no nonsense feel about them.

I digress.

While at the grocery store buying my lunch for work someone walked up behind me and slapped me with something on my shoulder, when i turned to look my attacker was holding a magazine in front of their face so i could not see. And my instant judgement of the assailant said, "Female, 5'5" or 5'6", mid 20's, sharp dresser, buxom, comfy boots" then my brain shouted "You don't know her! Run! She's probably someone you went to high school with! And now you'll have to have a the small talk about what you guys are doing now and more than likely she has kids and she's dying to show them to you!"

My relief couldn't of been measured when the magazine lowered exposing the bright smile of Jess. We exchanged salutations and we chatted as i continued to shop. "So you're coming home right?" She asked as we were approached the freezer food section.

"Nope, sorry, i gotta work," i said and nodded at the pretty woman that was handing out free samples of a flavor thing of Jose Curervo, which i was sure tasted like sugary poison.

"No you're not. You're coming home because we are making Jell-O shots," Her matter of fact voice as her default.

I thought about the fun possibilities there, but work was close and it'd be a real dick move to call in sick ten minutes before i had to be there. "Sorry, i really can't. Even though that does sound awesome."

"So we have berry and peach flavored vodka for tomorrow night, which juice would go best you think?" She lead me over to the cold case where the milk and OJ are stored.

Scanning the bottles i noted all the different kinds of OJ, orange with pineapple and peach, orange with mango, strawberry and papaya. "What the fuck happened with just fuckin' orange juice." i thought. "That one might be good with the peach vodka."

"Okay, that sounds good. Let's get that," she said, "And then bring it to the house. Oh and also pay for it. Well Bryan's waiting for me, so i gotta go. Bye."

Flabbergasted, i stared at her back, then shouted, "Wait, you can't boss me around we aren't dating!" She continued to wave as she rounded a corner and disappeared into an aisle. I looked over and saw the Jose Curervo woman looking at me, an expression of amusement on her face. "Woman," i said to her with an eye-roll. She nodded as to say, "Yeah, i know what you mean."

After i walked away i kinda laughed at myself, thinking how in real life shit like this is kinda funny, but i never laugh at it in movies, but i see other people laughing at all the time. Then i thought: my life is a movie that not even i would laugh at. I take great comfort in that.

The sleep of a hater

If it wasn't for the convenience of the Gregorian calender, there'd be no indication that Fall was here, the weather outside says that season is far, far away. It's bright, sunny, warm; even the trees in the backyard have no color on them. The nights are getting colder which is the only sign a new season is here, but the cold also leads to me having troubling dreams. I can't call them nightmares, they are too simplistic in their psychological attempts to bugger me. It makes me upset that the perfect shit storm of a sleeping brain movie is to set up a situation in where i put forth too much effort only to have it fall apart in the end. That is my nightmare, that is my fear.

Monsters use to roam my mind in the darkened hours of the day, but as i grew older my mind begin to fight back the phantoms that ruled there. My last monster dream was somewhere in my young teens, being chased and tired of running, i turned to face my pursuer, fighting my fear and the urine that wanted to soak my pants, i faced the monster head on; only to find there was no such beast. Just me running in a dream not getting anywhere. When i awoke i remembered the lesson of that sleep movie: there are no monsters that aren't human.

Which is now the newest theme my mind plagues me with on colder nights. It might seem odd to only have a certain part of the year where you know you're going to have troubling dreams, but i figured out why; in the summer it's always too hot to sleep, and even though i do get the amount of rest that i need i never fall deep enough to dream. This could be ridiculously false, but you have to admit it does sound like it rings true.

My figurative beast that troubled my sleep came into the from of a situation i loathe being in: infatuation. I met a girl in my dream (never seen her before in real life, after waking i realized she was a composite of several different women that i knew or had crushes on during Elementary and High School) we hung out at a party i went to, we conversed, we teased, we connected; i smiled, i laughed, i loathed. And i hated it because my dream self saw what was coming and when the collision of the happens were coming to a point i was going to get bowled over in the worst way. And because this was a nightmare, i had no way of fighting it, and sure enough i put effort into building a relationship with this phantom woman, and none of what i was doing offended her, in fact she welcomed the friendly advances to maybe move to something a little more serious. I saw the road, i saw the hurt and despoilment ahead, there was nothing to avoid it. The more we talked the more i became entrapped, and swooned. My mouth said words i wanted to believe, as my brain screamed to cut it out. She in turn expressed verbal interest; i agreed, we dated, i was happy, even with foreseeing that it wasn't going to end well.

And as predicable as any book written after 2008, the worst outcome came to fruition. The interest in her eyes for me died harder than Old Marley. Many of the details here are vague, but there was one point where i was sitting at her table in her apartment with three other guys and her. She was explaining to each of us why she dated us and why she was calling if off. The first man, who's name i do not know was told she enjoyed his outgoing nature and of course his in-shaped physic. The next one, who's name was David, was told she enjoyed his polite and intelligent way of speaking, that he was interesting and fun to be around and their sex was interesting as equally fun. At this point, i had a feeling i was going to be told the words "funny" and "genuine". All of the adventures i had with her beforehand were fantastic, i felt like i haven't in a number of years. I truly liked this girl, and everything for the past week leading up to this strange meeting was agony. When i first saw her disinterest the first thing i did when i got home was step into my room and i sank to the floor as slow as a ice statue in July. I curled there on the floor next to my bed and openly wept, the pain was so intense in my heart i couldn't stifle my sobs, they smashed out of my lungs and i wailed. But the next day i continued on with business as usual, as if i didn't notice her beginnings of dismissal. After she called things off, i once again broke down, but i couldn't get to my room, i did it right after i closed the door. (In the dream i lived alone.) So the meeting is underway and i'm remembering all this events; I'm keeping calm and i'm looking forward being told sweet things to soothe me before she dismisses me completely and i leave her apartment probably never to see her again. She turns toward me looks at me more deeply she had in the last two weeks and says, "You were just a replacement."

The sting in my heart is intense enough to blur my vision. "I wasn't important at all?" I ask knowing perfectly well that i wasn't. "No." she answers flatly. I stand, i apologize to her for not being more important and shake the hands of the other men and tell them goodbye, i leave. The sun is warm, the birds chirp, the bees buzz near open flowers, music plays from an unseen radio and i fall apart inside.

I woke up angry. Not at her, but at myself for being lead by the nose down that path. I knew better, and i still fell into another relationship with my heart on my sleeve. A practice i said i would never do again and haven't in eight years; in real life or dream sequence. But here it is bothering my sleep, performing a new nightmare to laugh at me with. But goddamn do i hate my mind when i sleep and intimate relationships in real life.

Then the morning came.

Had a dream where a gal pal of mine were having an argument, which means she was mad at me and i just nodded at her silly anger and went about what i wanted to do; at a party in my house. When her illogical anger showed so sign of baiting me into a rebuttal; she started with calling names and saying things that were suppose to hurt my feelings, a trick all women do when they run out of options. When nothing was going to work and she started in on the deeper name calling, which was working, i turned very slowly, stared at her and said, "I got way more ammo in my back pocket on this, then you do me. I highly recommend that you cut it out, go take a walk or something and come back when we have both cooled off."

She screamed, "NO!" into my face. So with a blank expression i spoke a sentence (dont ask me what it was, i don't remember) and tears welled up in her eyes. She sank to the floor on her knees and covered her face with both hands and she bawled into her palms.

Everyone at the party turned to look, i stared down at her and when she looked up at me; with that same blank expression i said, "Next time, take my advise and cool down. Or next time i wont hold back. So get up, go home and go fuck yourself."

I woke up strangely mad, refreshed and had a burning need to call said gal pal and apologize. Today is going to be interesting.

A new age and it's plan

After a brief stay in Virginia i've come to the conclusion i may not be fit for flying, but i'm for sure that i'm meant for travel. Which makes me want to go to Japan even more, and even though the plan to get there has changed drastically since last i've come here to write, my chances have taken a positive curve upward, it saddens me that it's still only a 60-70% chance. But that's far better than the route i was going and only having it a near 5% chance.

Ness and Irene have begin preparations for their divorce and in that wake Ness plans to throw his life in the states away and escape from his ill begotten life that has developed in Virginia. He's explained the situation to me half a dozen times and each time the image he paints gets a little clearer on how getting to Japan is going to work, however his usage of Navy lingo had me blinking at him in confusion; so after thinking about it, i came up with the perfect analogy. The ship that is going to dock in Japan is coming after deployment, so it's like school and docking is the beginning of summer. Well that means summer school is about to start and some of the teachers want their time off, so Ness wishes to transfer to that ship and be a summer school teacher, so to speak, but they still have to get his resume and see if he want him.

It's a crappy analogy, but boiled down to brass tacks it works so damn perfectly. So Ness wishes to leave as soon as he can to Japan and he wishes for me to go with him, and as much as it pains me to quote the cliche line: it's an offer i couldn't refuse. And if Ness is accepted to work on the ship i may be leaving for Japan as soon as January. The worst part is he wont know if he got the job until like October, November or even December. Which doesn't sound like a long wait, but when it's about a life changing answer, even a week is a life time. Another small bump in the road to Japan is if Ness does get the job on the ship and has to go on deployment as soon as he gets there, i'll have to wait longer to get to Japan, luckily and hopefully that waiting will be done with me in Virginia. So this way when he gets back into Japan and give me the thumbs up to come along i can put my stuff with in his and it'll be shipped to our apartment there.

While i'm optimistic about this plan, i still have glaring doubts that this will work out and that's mostly due to the fact that i want this to happen so damn bad. And if life in the past 10 years has taught me anything, is that the things i truly coven never come to fruition. So for now i'll just have to do what i can do, and that's just sit back and wait for my life to begin.

(this story is nearly ten years old. And in someways it's the first story i've ever written, even though i wrote lot before this one come out. But i consider it the first because this is one of the only two stories that were ever published and it's the first time any of the stories i had written before that sounded like my "voice". This is the flagship that started my near 10 year obsession of finding my "voice".)


The Dying Prime Figure

She was sitting on top of the backrest of the bench sipping beer from a glass bottle; she swayed as she leaned back to get the last drop. I smiled as she regained her balance and looked at me. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” I sat down next to her.

“You don’t feel…comfortable?” she breathed that last word in my face on propose. The sweet, sour reek of beer and potato chips.

“No, I’m fine,” I said. Her question meant more on the situation than the chair. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but I felt she could’ve done something a little different then this. “Why?”

Ignoring me she picked another beer from the box at her feet, “Want one?”

“No thanks, why?”

She shrugged and opened the bottle with her tooth. “That’s dangerous, you know, don’t ever be stupid like that, okay James?”

“Fine I won’t, why this?” I pointed at her face.

“I like it this way, don’t you?” she leaned in close once more.

“I don’t know, I knew Matthew to well,” I turned from her.

“Oh,” was all she said. It was the sigh of someone who gives up, the ultimate fuck it.

“Matt and I were good friends. When he went away, things changed; I changed to help him but it didn’t work,” I said turning to her sweet, smiling face. “Kate, some room please.” I eased her over to her side with my elbow.

A visible frown I didn’t think she meant to show peeked out from her smile. “I always liked you.”
“I know, but I am truly sorry. You have to understand its weird for me,” I stood from the bench. “It’s like he died but he came back. Like reincarnation.”

“Reincarnation,” she smiled as she said it, as if the word tasted like something honeyed. I liked the way it sounded from her voice.

“You understand, right?” I said and stood in front of her. The sun was going down behind me, the red gloom of the vanishing daystar made her face hard and sharp. The shadow of her nose shown on one cheek, the jaw jetted a smooth calm outline, her face was hiding all her secrets. I felt like crying, but the cold wind that picked up made me shudder in my jacket, my tears forgotten for the moment.

She ignored my question and sipped her beer; her neck revealed remnants of the old Matthew.

“Matt?”

“I gave that name up,” she said as she put the empty bottle down.

“Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“When do you think you’ll stop loving me?”

“I can’t. I’m a woman because of it,” she stood from the bench. “Look I’m sorry for coming on too strong. My feelings won’t let me do otherwise.”

She had hidden her feelings for years; agony was all she could feel. I’m surprised that she lived through it. Sighing, about the past, this person had been my greatest friend.

When was it that I noticed the change?

They came gradual, that much I knew. The mascara one day in fall, it rained, it ran onto his face. Lip gloss, but that was all the time. And the one day on a surprise visit I catch him wearing a blouse. At the time it was weird for me, but being a good friend I looked the other way.

Wait…now that I think about it maybe he let me catch him. Dismissing all of those events, the one I can’t deny was the last day I saw him.

It was last year on his birthday. His mom answered the door; she looked worried from the beginning.
“James, hello, come in,” she said her voice shaky.

“Thank you,” I muttered walking into the house I went to almost everyday as a kid.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Matt’s voice shouted from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, I would’ve been here sooner but there was…traffic…and…” For a second I thought maybe Matt had already came down and this was a new girlfriend, I mean he did say he had a surprise for me. With each step down the stairs vivid pictures of his features shown through the mask of this pseudo-woman.
I remember leaving in a hurry, don’t remember what I felt. Was I shocked, disgusted, did I feel betrayed, or did I know about it but just wasn’t ready?

I left for college the next day. Matt wrote a few letters to me, I read them all hoping that it was all a joke that I overreacted to. But it wasn’t a joke, he meant to do it, to show me his secret, put trust in me in a time that was most critical for him. I ran away. Why did I run away?

Most of his letters were apologizing to me about the love he had for me changing him to “this”. Never did he use “her” or “she” always “this”, I would have liked it better if he used her or she, because it meant that “she” was a phase. An alternate ego he made to help cope with his love.

I wrote a few letters in return, some were angry, others sympathetic. I still wanted to be friends, expressing the word “friend”. I wrote my letters as if it was a game that he was playing; I think some of them came off a little bitter, which in turn hurt both of us.

In November of my sophomore year a letter from Matt came. In the summer that passed I avoided him, a stupid thing to do but I wasn’t ready. Wasn’t sure how I was going to handle my own awkward feelings to this odd situation. There isn’t a handbook or a 1960’s educational video on this kind of stuff. The letter smelled of perfume and it was typed. All of his letters were handwritten. Ignoring this minor detail I read:
“I’ve done it. The operation was a success. I was nervous about it for a long time but I finally done-“

There was more, a lot more; I crumbed the pages between my shaking hands. Surprisingly I found myself crying. Tears fell down my face onto my desk, they continued for another hour.

So here I am nine months later standing in an open park in late August on a dying day looking at a person I never met, but know so well. A bizarre question raced behind my eyes, was it her love for me that brought me here? If that’s true then how strong is her love? Strong enough to make me forget the past?

That thought frightened me.

I mean I'm not a kid anymore nor am I an innocent high school student. I'm just a man.

Her gentle kindness felt like the adoration of a pet. Even though I didn’t think anyone would reject her physically, I mean he really did look like a woman, but a part of me wanted to give up on Matt and continue a life with Kate.

But the smell of the past sat too heavily on her. Behind the scent of mellow perfume, dusty face powder and the dark odor of hairspray, was Old Spice, sweat from thousands of baseball games and car grease.

Matt.

Underneath this sparkling beauty was an old friend, who spoke about his secrets to me, consoled all his feelings to.

Everything was already obscure.

“I’m not asking you to love me. I’m just looking for your approval or something to that. I understand the strain this is putting you in. But what I really want is not to lose you. At the end of the day all I want is your friendship. To turn around say your goodbye and smile you sincerest smile and move on. Don’t worry about it so much, I’m not asking you to love me forever. Please still be my friend that’s all I want. Tell me we’re still friends.” Her words were slurred but within her drunken state I believed them. At least I wanted to believe them, more than anything. Even if she was lying to hide her feelings, this was the way it was going to be, this was the way I was going to treat it.

As I mulled over my answer she said, “If there is one thing I learned from all this it has to be, somewhere in the world someone is sick of being happy.” Standing from the bench she stretched her back. I must of given her a puzzled look for she asked, “Come on, tell me some days even you don’t feel like smiling.”

“There are,” I said looking away.

“Is today one of those days?”

“I don’t know.”

“So this is it, I guess,”

“Huh,” I spin around to look at her walking away.

She stopped, “After today you’re going back to college and we’ll never see each other again,” Picking up an empty bottle to throw it away she looked at me with a profile glance.

I wanted to shout no it isn’t, but I felt the same way. A feeling that this was her one shot at getting me.
But it failed; can she really give me up that easily?

“No it won’t,” I muttered not really believing my words.

“Really?” she smiled.

“We’ve been friends too long just to give up on each other,” I sat down on the bench. Her back was to me; her face hidden from view, I wondered about her expression. When a silence gripped us I broke it with, “Am I right?” Nothing. “Kate?”

Tears fell down her face ruining her mascara, cutting tracks in her face powder.

At that moment I knew there was nothing else to do. My words: useless, my actions: without thought, then I was crying too. For in that instant I saw a woman and she was crying. Weeping for the loss she felt for so long.

“Don’t cry, please,” I said hugging her. The small body I held became tight then relaxed and hugged me in return. We were continuing something extravagant but I’m not exactly sure what.

The light, this situation, my life and my future death, hung on my heart like an askew clock. It made me dizzy.
I knew the past, knew it all too well, but I could forget it. It’s as simple as letting go, everyone knows that.
She eased off a little but I grabbed her again, “A little longer, we both need this.”

Her body started to tremble, she was crying again.

I didn’t want to be there right then, in a moment that was so full of ambiguities. But I didn’t want to forget it, for at the time my feelings were real. I guess I could stay here, in this marred young woman’s arms. Here with my lying heart, in a place when time lead us astray.


In a time when we all thought death was the only way to handle oppressive situations. We live for knowing that we exist for a reason, to know that we are dying for a cause that we have to make up on our own.
Kate’s is to find happiness in another, to love and return to her dying life, knowing that she completed her task. I, on the other hand live a dying life to find a motive for love. To know when it’s all right to love another. I’ve done that today with a girl that isn’t what she thinks she is.

But I think I understand now. It’s like I said before.

I didn’t want to be there, but at the time I knew my feelings were real. So I’ll stay.

Love is something that’s real. No matter how abstract it may be.

I then decided that today was a good day.

Yeah.

Experiences from the Weird

It seems people that know me on a personal level tend to not recognize the weirdness that goes along in my life. As they themselves don’t see it as weird because in their heads it comes to the category: It’s not odd, it’s just William. And to a degree I’ll have to agree; there are things I’ve done no matter how weird I thought they were, I did just for the experience . These experiences usually pan out to be nothing, and seemingly not as weird as first thought; the trouble is since I never truly put much thought into my decisions to do “weird” things I tend to forget them all together afterword. The people that witnessed the acts, or did the activity with me always seem to remember them and in such strength they can recall lines of dialog I said as we engaged in our, whatever else word there is for such a situation, activity or etc.

But for the last few weeks I’ve been on the phone with my old friend Irene about going to go visit her toward the end of summer. Since, 1) out of all of us I’m the only one that has yet to go. 2) in the six years I’ve worked at my current  job only once have I ever taken a vacation 3) to finally see Irene. 4) see the fuckin’ east coast for the first time. I’m not a well-traveled man, in fact I’ve seen pretty much 0% of the world I live in, hell I tend to miss things in the town I’ve lived in for the past 20 years. (Jesus, 20 years, somehow that’s sickening to me.) So I really want to go.

During one of our conversations which usually range in the area of “random” we actually hit on the fact that I plan to visit, and I asked if I should pack a blanket. She snorted with a bit of amusement mixed with annoyance, “I have blankets, dork.”

At about this time, she brings up a little fact that I (somehow along the blurry, and moronic path that has led me to where I am today) forgot. Some years ago I was living in a fairly decent sized house with, oddly enough, pretty much the same people I’m currently living with, give or take a two people. But in the house from long ago I lived in a smaller room, and even smaller bed which I was sharing with Irene. Taking into consideration that I work nights and when I got home at 5am I usually wake her up so she could get ready for work. But there were plenty of nights that we shared that squeaky twin sized bed. But take this more into consideration, about this time we had already stopped dating some 2 years prior and she was engaged to my friend.  I’ll reassure you now: that nothing ever happened. Emotionally speaking sleeping next to her is much in the same way people feel when sleeping with a pet; comforting and ease putting, but no sexual tension.

At that point in our relationship I had a hard time seeing her as anything but a close friend. Usually I don’t like to account for others on their thoughts on the shit that I do, but I will say this, she felt the same. It was so apparent that we were safe with each other, her fiancé/my friend thanked me for sharing my room with her as he was out doing Navy stuff. Only once did he ever express any concern, and it was when he was dead drunk during our New Year’s Eve party, to which I assured him with a friendly, “Dude, shut the fuck up” with a pat on the back, and bright smile. He dropped the subject forever. But for those eight months that she and I shared our lives in that room, we just went about our days.

But as I was saying; she says, “I have blankets, dork. You don’t have to bring any. All the beds have blankets. You can always sleep with me anyway.”

“Well, I don’t know. I was just making sure. I didn’t want to be stuck on your couch with nothing,” I said. And it was at that point, I remembered our life in that tiny room and bed. Remembered isn’t the right word, I’m always aware that we shared a bed both romantically and not, but at times I tend to forget the length in which we had. And near every time it still strikes me in an odd way. It’s not weird to any of us, and I’m glad for the experience but it seems I forget the tenderness I had for another person. And that’s what is weird to me. I had no reason to share anymore with her. We had broken up and even though we stayed friends, I could have easily just said, “No.” But I didn’t. And for that I’m grateful to myself. But I can’t help but wonder why I did. Was I lonely? Did I really want/need someone else there? Did I think it was going to be fun? Did I do it just to say I did, so I had a weird story to tell? Or was I just being nice?

Part of me believes that I did it because I thought it was weird.