Short stories

       My favorite writer in the world is Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I honestly just get lost in his books, and wish that I was a character inside of one. That life just seems so much better, more romantic, more fun, more exhilarating than the life that I live. I recently read his book, Strange Pilgrims, which is a group of 12 short stories about latin american travelers in 

Europe. Now I don't usually like short stories, they hold a lot of promise in them, slowly dragging you in to the story, and then they end, often making you thirst for more. Thats why I am a fan of novels, sitting down for hours reading a story. However, Marquez is so amazing that he made me love the short story. In fact I was so inspired that I decided that I would write one myself. I have always wondered if I could have ever become a writer. I honestly don't think that I have it in me, hell, I don't even think that I could be an artist, but thats what I'm doing, for better or for worse. But as critical as I am of my own work, I decided to just throw it out here. It's actually quite an amusing situation because I don't even let my friends see my writing because I am embarrassed, but, this is the internet, no one knows me, my friends don't know the address to this blog, and I don't even know if anyone is reading this. But in the offchance that I am not talking to myself, please do comment and let me know what you think. Maybe I'll give up my life as an artist and take up a life as a writer, do you readers realize the power you hold? My entire life goal is in your hands, nice isn't it. Anyways enough chit chat, here is the story.

 

              “GIRL”

- Do we really have to go out? I mean it’s been a long day, it’s raining, I’m sleepy, and I just have no energy.

- Fine just stay here, I never ask you to come with me anyways.

- It’s dangerous for a girl to be walking around this late; you know I wont let you go alone. 

-  So then what’s the point of everything you’re saying then? 

- I’m just trying to convince you to stay in. 

- … You know I cant. Anyways I’m out.

- Fine, fine, just wait five minutes. Let me at least make some coffee.

- We can just stop by a Starbucks.

- Yuck, you know I hate that crap; I gotta have my French press, just put a record on and chill.

“ Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay? She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry, still you don’t regret a single day…”

       Even now when I listen to that song, I cant help but feel depressed. It was a Wednesday; the weather was as stated terrible. I shouldn’t have let her out that day, but it was futile. This was a routine, every Wednesday as if possessed by some lunar spirit she would leave the house as soon as it got dark and wander around looking for little pieces of trash which she put in her bag. Nails, bolts, television sets, pieces of wood, old sneakers, pens, pencils, cardboard, paper cups, jackets, tennis racket strings, pipes, straws, sweaters, forks, bottles, bottle caps, shoelaces, Plexiglas, wire … needless to say it was a big bag, most of the time I carried it.

       I met her on one of these late night trips of hers. I had been suffering from insomnia and had just finished drinking a cup of coffee. Coffee was now entirely useless on me. I drank it solely for the flavor. That night it was the Sumatran blend, its softer then the Guatemalan and a bit tangy. As I sat there listening to the Beatles on my record player, I was looking out of my window and I saw her walking by. Hunched over with that potato sack bag on her back, she looked too young to be a bum. I went outside, she was sitting on the bench across the street smoking a cigarette, a Parliament of course. As I approached her she said, “It’s about time.” She got up, picked up her bag, and handed it to me. I started to mumble something when she put a finger on my lips and said “shhhh, you’ll scare the moon and him.” Who was this “Him” I don’t know till this day. “Lets go.” I hesitated for a moment, but then I decided to follow her, what the hell, I had nothing to do otherwise. I was still confused by her “about time” comment. Did she know who I was? Was I supposed to know who she was? It was as if I were a character in a fairytale. She was the damsel and I the knight in shining armor. Some knight I made, a 23 year old insomniac virgin who stayed up all night playing Final Fantasy and reading books by Umberto Eco, buying coffee with my unemployment check and getting fed by my grandmother everyday at 3 pm when I walked to her apartment half a block away. The only excitement I had were those monthly anime conventions where I would dress up in a cosplay suit of my favorite Final Fantasy character of the time. This month it had been Squall from Final Fantasy VIII. And so I decided that I would follow her into the darkness defeating the behemoths, chimeras, and Marlboros that would jump out along the way spewing toxic breath and fireballs.

       We walked in silence, she two steps ahead of me and not in sync. Try as I might I could not match the pace of her steps. It was as if I was fated to never be in harmony with her. Every once in a while she would bend over and pick up some piece of trash that was on the side of the road. It was weird because Wednesday was not trash night. I began to think that there was some phantom that was walking ahead of her and placing trash onto the street. And she was Sisyphus destined to walk every Wednesday picking up this seemingly endless trash. It was the meaning of her existence and without it she would cease to exist, or something of the like. I guess phantom was “him.” As long as he was around she would not be free. I felt my job as her knight was to slay him as Saint George slew the Dragon. But if uttering a single word was enough to scare him, wouldn’t that be enough to get rid of her rock? I did not dare try. I worried that I would free her and then never see her again, like a dream she would vanish into my reality. Wouldn’t it be enough to just pretend to fight off her demons and run away from the final battle just to prolong my time with her? Perhaps I have been reading too many comic books…

       Lost in my thought, we had wandered all the way to the other side of town, to the industrial district. Around us were textile factories and meat packing stores with the occasional porn shop thrown in the midst. Finally she walked up to this cheap looking hotel and sat down on the stoop. It was called The Three Suns. The lights in the name had long since burned out and the paint on the door was peeling, the hotel was just a fleeting memory of a time long past. The sun began to rise and she lit up a Parliament. As she was smoking in silence I saw how the rising sun illuminated her face. She had an empty gaze on her as she seemingly looked far into the distance seeing things of which I could only dream. That night she had picked up: 3 hinges, 10 rusty nails, the rubber interior of a keyboard, 10 coffee cups, 15 Poland Spring bottles and one bottle of Evian. “Lets go,” she said. I didn’t move and did not know what she meant. I still did not dare to speak. She began to open the door and turned around with a grin on her face. I followed her in. We took the stairs up to room 321. I had asked the lady downstairs for a cup of coffee, Nescafe, but whatever, beggars can’t be choosers. I sat down onto the stool drinking my coffee. She placed her potato sack into the corner and walked over to an old jukebox. The room filled with the sound of “Norwegian Wood.” She closed the shades on the window and got undressed. Through the little slits in the shades bits of sunlight penetrated the room and I could see the contour of her naked body. I felt a behemoth stir within me. She threw a glance my way and then got down into the bed and lay there silently. I took my last gulp of coffee and walked over to the bed. I was in no state to fight the behemoth and Squall was nowhere to be seen. She stared into my eyes as I stood above her and grabbed me by my collar. I tried to say something but she just covered my lips and kissed me.

       I awoke around 2 pm. She was gone as was her potato sack in the corner. I hadn’t slept in a long time. I stepped outside, 23-year-old insomniac, no longer virgin, and walked back towards my house. At 3 pm I went to my grandmothers and ate dinner. Next week I stood by the window wondering if any of that had been a reality. Perhaps my insomnia had finally taken hold of me and she was my Tyler Durden? It was a Wednesday, I had made my coffee, Ethiopian blend this time, and I went outside. I began to walk down the streets looking for garbage, but there was none. Why would there be, Wednesday wasn’t trash night. I walked to the park and hopped onto the swings. I swung to and fro singing “I’ve just seen a face I cant forget the time or place where we just met, she’s just a girl for me and I want all the world to see we’ve met, ya la la lala la.” I got up and walked down the next block. I came to a convenience store and bought a pack of cigarettes, Parliaments of course. I hadn’t smoked in 2 years since graduating college. I lit up and walked all the way back to the industrial district to look for The Three Suns.

She was sitting on the steps smoking a Parliament. She smiled at me and I was about to say something when she put her finger on my lips and said, “lets go.” Every Wednesday I would run into her randomly somewhere in the city. Until I met her on any given night I would see no trash on the streets, but walking behind her there was always something. Over the course of the 2 years that I knew her, she had amassed a collection of: 719 Poland Spring bottles, 36 bottles of Evian, 936 rusty nails, 732 regular nails, 47 sheets of Plexiglas, 15 stop signs, 62 keyboards, 39 mouse balls, 792 feet of wire, 15 television sets, 10 old computers, 1019 coffee cups, 732 cans of Coke, 3 cans of Pepsi, 62 pieces of 10 x 4 plywood, 39 records (35 from the 60’s, 4 from the 80’s), 62 books (12 biographies, 39 textbooks, 1 book on the origin of race, and 10 works of fiction by Oe Kenzaburo and Haruki Murakami), 11 pairs of Levi’s, 781 door hinges, 5 tennis rackets and 23 pairs of Reebok sneakers with laces.

After half a year I had asked her to move in with me. During the week she worked as a librarian and every Wednesday she would make these late night excursions. I still had no idea who Phantom was but judging from the trash I imagined him to be a 40 year old man who wore his sneakers out too fast, drank Poland spring and Coke unless the stores were sold out in which case he drank Evian and Pepsi, he seemed to have a lot of money seeing as to how many television sets and computers he threw out, he was obviously not a fan of modern music, played some occasional tennis and he enjoyed reading. Was it even possible to find a man like that? It seemed like he could be just about any middle-aged man in this city. Had I been neglecting my duty as her knight? I was scared to face him, scared to lose her. Was it my fate to just watch her push her rock from the side? But what is Sisyphus without his rock?

I had no idea what she did with the trash that she picked up. She stored it all in the garage and would not let me in. I had assumed that she was making some sort of sculpture. This was due to the glimpses I caught of this huge mass that was under a blue tarp. I could occasionally glance into the garage when she brought in her weekly haul.

   

 - Well are you done with your coffee?

 

- Yeah just let me grab an umbrella.

 

             My head was killing me. We left the house just as “Girl” finished playing. I had forgotten to take an Advil. We walked in silence, she two steps ahead and out of sync. My head felt like it was about to burst. My grandmother had called recently telling me how she missed having me over for dinner everyday. I had played all my Final Fantasy games at least 10 times and was anxiously waiting for FF XIII to come out. I had won best costume at the past 3 anime conventions and had enjoyed having a partner to dress up with. We had been walking for about 2 hours when my head started to hurt so much that I was about to cry. Finally I said, “Are you done yet?” This was the first time in 2 years that I said something during the Wednesday hunt. This was obviously due to the headache and I did not have full control over my thoughts. She stopped in her tracks, smiled, and said, “Actually yeah, I think this is all I need.” We returned to the house and routinely deposited the trash into the garage. We crawled into bed and made love as usual, my headache passed as soon as she put her hands around my neck and kissed me. As I was falling asleep she lit up a Parliament.

       I awoke in the morning and she was gone. All that was left was a half empty pack of Parliaments. I knew that she was gone. I went to the garage and stared at the huge blue tarp. Finally I gathered my courage and dragged the tarp off. I saw in front of me a bust statue of myself made of: plywood, Poland Spring, Evian, Coke, Pepsi, keyboards, mice, televisions, wire, nails, stop signs, old records, books, sneakers, computers, hinges, pencils, pens, tennis rackets, paper cups, and Plexiglas.

       Every Wednesday I go outside with a potato sack bag looking for trash. My grandmother is long dead, Umberto Eco is too, I no longer go to anime conventions because the children look at me funny, my arthritis does not permit me to play Final Fantasy and my doctor has forbade my drinking coffee (but I still sneak in some Sumatran once in a while). Perhaps it was I who walked in front and out of sync? I walk all night but always return empty handed (Wednesday isn’t trash night after all) reeking of parliaments singing…

 

“Is there anybody going to listen to my story…”