Alex: Lesson

Exhausted from a prolonged session of anxiety and inactivity, Alex fell asleep. 

He awoke to the golden warmth of midday and the sensation of being struck on the arm. Startled, Alex opened his eyes and flinched. A frisbee sat at his feet. The owner, rather than risk the embarrassment of a verbal apology, avoided eye contact. I'd like to tell him to get a job, but he could tell me the same thing. Need to get out of here. Can't go home. I'd like some food. Something cheap and sweet. Dan's Donuts is only two blocks away.

Walking again, Alex's eyes actively took in the scenery. A person with bags in their arms was yelling at a departing taxi cab. Movers were toting a walnut dresser up a set up steps. The sound of heavy breathing grew louder and he was soon overtaken by a woman is business attire running with two inch heels. Looks dangerous. A courier breezed by him on a bicycle weaving between pedestrians, parked cars, and planters at a surprising speed. More dangerous. I wonder when he last fell. I hope he has good insurance. Better than mine, I'm sure. None. I can't afford to be sick. What a pitiful thought! I'll probably die of something easily curable--the first to die of malaria in the United States in fifty years. Just curl up in a corner somewhere like Sparkles and give up my ghost.

The jangle of the overhead bell announced Alexander's entrance to Dan's Donuts.
"What'll it be?" asked a gruff-voiced employee.
"One jelly-filled donut...and...a small coffee."
"Cream?"
"No."
"$2.34."
Alex handed the man behind the counter a wrinkled five dollar bill from his bi-fold wallet. $197.66 left to my name. Shit. While waiting for the coffee, he grabbed the day's paper off a nearby table. Taking it, his coffee, and donut to a chair by the window, Alex settled in. After trying his hand at the cross-word puzzle (only filling in 46 of the 120 words), and being frustrated by the want ads, Alex withdrew a small notebook from his pocket. He took his time and wrote the following entry:

Why is it animals so frequently find a way to die with dignity and I am not allowed to live with dignity? The worst part of all of it: I have no one to blame. It's just the system. It's capitalism and the conventions of employment. Last hired; first fired. 'But I am a better worker.' It doesn't matter. 'But I put in more hours." It doesn't matter. 'But I actually don't steal from the company.' It doesn't matter. I have no one to curse at. I have been vanquished by an ethereal phenomenon. Slayed by the mist of circumstance. And

As Alex was writing, he took an unfortunate bite of donut. A slug of raspberry jelly shot out of the back of his snack and landed on his notebook. Red slowly fanned out around the edges of the discharge. Damnit. Alex grabbed for a napkin from the tabletop dispenser, but it was empty. Figures. Alex looked around and discovered that most of the dispensers were barren. The only dispenser that bore white was at the only other occupied table. Sitting at the table was a young woman wearing black framed glasses, and nibbling a bear claw whilst reading a book. She had delicate features, a thin, sharp nose, and rail-thin arms. Wishing not to intrude, he reached across the table and plucked a napkin from its holder. The woman looked up.

"Excuse me," she said sharply.
Alexander walked away.
"I said, 'Excuse me.'"
Alexander turned around and replied, "What?" She kept looking at him. "It's been a hard day. I didn't want to interrupt your reading or your eating. You looked to be enjoying both."
"Oh." The woman's face softened. "Sorry, it's been a hard day for me, too. I came here for a caloric remedy."
Still standing some distance away, Alex smiled at her now softened face. "I came here for a cheap snack."
Upon turning to return to his table, the woman said, "Aren't you going to join me?"
"That's a bit presumptuous, don't you think?"
"I'd say it's standard procedure. A girl makes small talk with a boy and the boy wants to keep it up."
"I haven't been a boy for a while."
"Looks like you still are."
It was true. Alexander was wearing a pair of khakis that fell just bellow his ankle, revealing too much of his dark socks. He normally loathed being referred to as young or having his baby face brought to attention.
A boy. 27? A boy? No. Save for living in a place that I don't own. Save for pilfering food out of my grandapa's pantry most nights. Still--she is pretty. Alex retrieved his half-eaten donut, wiped the jelly out of his notebook as best he could, and returned to the stranger's table.
"Let's have a competition. Who had the worst day?"
"What does the winner get?"
"That depends on the winner."
"Oh?"
"If I win, you have to apologize for being rude and promise not to be for the rest of the week. If you win, I'll let you go back to scribbling in your notebook."
"There's not much in it for me then."
"How so?"
"It's not that I want to write. It's just that it's better than being at home or staring at the wall."
"Oh. Well what do you want? And it can't be anything big."
"A job."
"A job is big--and I don't have any of those to give away either."
Alex cast his his hazel eyes down away from her brown ones. Why did I say that? Too much.
"What did you used to do?"
"I was a lawyer at Myers and Stanton."
"Never heard of it. What happened?"
"I'm still trying to figure that out."
"Hm. Well, at least your still alive and," casting a glance at the donut in his hand, "relatively well-fed."
He raised the donut, said, "Relatively," and took a bite.
She smiled at him, revealing a sliver of her teeth. He reciprocated, showing none of his.
"Prizes aside, what happened to you today?"
This is strange. Who talks to strangers? What's her angle? "I'm sorry, but why are you doing this?"
"Don't apologize yet, I haven't won. Why am I doing what?"
"Talking to me?"
"Because you were impolite and I had originally intended on teaching you a lesson."
"Don't let my day stop you. I could use a lesson."
"Well in that case..." she paused and looked squarely at him. Her eyes did not focus directly on his, but as though she were looking at a spot behind him. "There's never an excuse grand enough to be inhumane to another human being. Humanity is the only way we'll get through our days."
"We need more than that," Alex retorted quickly.
"What more could you need?"
"A job. A way to provide materially for yourself."
The young woman frowned. "No. If your employer had been humane, she would have kept you. Any man who writes in a journal and indulges a stranger in conversation ought to be employed."
"He--Them. They fired me."
"Myers and Stanton both?"
"Good memory, but no. A couple of my superiors sat me down and cut me loose."
"Did you do anything wrong? Steal post-it notes or sleep with a client's wife?"
"I stole post-it notes, but no one noticed. No. They said it was nothing personal. They said 'times are tough' and that they needed to downsize. They wished me luck, shook my hand, and had security escort me out within the hour."
"Ick."
"Yes, ick. Ick, ack, and yuck."
"Sounds more non-humane than in-humane. Can't help the economy, you know?"
"Know? I live."
"Right. Well, anyways, unemployed or not--you have to treat people better."
"And if people don't treat me better?"
"That's not what it's about." She slid a blue and gold bookmark into the crease of her book and closed it.

Out of Character

Nothing about Bernard Calloway's appearance was sinister. Halfway through his life, he was six feet tall with medium length thinning blond hair, and gray-blue eyes. He was slimly built and featured a well-groomed mustache that he had been growing for over fifteen years. His voice was unassuming, slightly above the average man's pitch. Air scraped against the bottom of his top teeth upon its exit, giving his s's a breathy quality.

Despite appearances and sounds, anyone who knew Bernard judged him to be an exceptionally terrible man. In the workplace, he never returned the greetings of his peers. Neighbors loathed his habitual practice of parking over the left-line of the condominium's parking spots. When he went out to eat, he never tipped. When he walked down the street, he would turn around and accost anyone who brushed against him. As a manager, he was cut-throat. As a son, he was inconsiderate. He was a friend to none. When he was a child he enjoyed dumping his food onto the floor. As an adolescent, he enjoyed shooting cats with his pellet gun. In high school, rumor had it that he was to blame for the fire set in the boy's dormitory. He made right turns on red lights when he should not have. As a teenager, he made a game of seducing young women. As a man, he made a game of seducing married women.

For all of his misdeeds, Bernard had an uncanny way of benefiting from situations. He was ever mindful of avenues for advancement. He took credit for returning a dog that had been reunited with the owner's anonymously, earning him $50 in reward money when he was ten. Bernard cheated his way through college. He took many pennies throughout his life and left none. Years ago as he was making his start, he would "rent" items from stores--buying them, using them temporarily, and returning them for full refunds. He forged the signature of his ailing father on a check in order to procure the funds necessary for a down payment on his first car. He pilfered the jewelry of his ailing mother years later to pay for three new Calvin Klein suits. He caught the eye of all of his superiors by making his coworkers look incompetent. He once blackmailed a vice president of a rival company into giving him insider information that, when acted upon, earned him his first vacation home. Even after amassing a small fortune, Bernard would not hesitate to relieve a lost wallet of its cash. It's what they deserve for being so careless.

Virtues became vices in Bernard's heart. Normally, to have egalitarian leanings is commendable. In his case, it was despicable. Bernard loathed all people equally. Being a highly competitive person, he viewed everyone as a rival for the world's limited resources. He justified his maniacal behavior as being natural. We are all struggling to survive. My way of struggling is more efficient than average. I not only keep myself going, but hinder others along the way. Bravery is employed on both sides of a war. Bernard was proof that it took courage to fight for evil as well. He risked apprehension and punishment in order to win the greater rewards of underhandedness.

He maintained his ways at home and abroad. He relished the anonymity that traveling afforded him. It is preferable to take advantage of a person you would never see again. There's less mess. On a business trip during his fifty-second year, Bernard acted out of character. He had packed his belongings into his overnight bag, complained of the smell of smoke in his non-smoking room (which he had put there by smoking a cigar upon his arrival) while checking-out, received a free breakfast and a discount on the room, and made his way to the street. A mob of people was clamoring for a taxi, so Bernard opted to move eastward to catch a westbound car earlier. Two blocks down, passing under emerald awnings and by wrought iron patio furniture, he stopped in front of an apartment complex.

A flustered woman with a small, wheeled black suitcase in tow descended the concrete steps and stood next to Bernard. She pulled at the ends of her shirtsleeves and ran her fingers through her hair. Exhaling loudly, she smiled at Bernard and said, "Some morning, huh? Something always comes up when you're in a hurry."

"That's the way it goes," Bernard responded as he turned his attention back to the busy avenue. He stepped off the curb and hailed the approaching cab. It decelerated and turned towards the customers-to-be.

"I'm sorry, but do you mind? I'm terribly late already. Could you, please?" In the cloud-filtered morning light, the twinkle in her eye she used to flash men was hardly noticeable. Still, the look was enough to disorient Bernard. Unlike the strangers he usually wronged, her humanity was convincingly established by the delicacy of her voice. Unlike the people that knew him, she had not assumed the worst of him. She simply and humbly asked him for a favor after recognizing her need for assistance.

Bernard stepped back. The woman opened the back door, slid her bag in, and followed after it. He watched the cab weave through the congested street until, after a right turn, it left his field of vision. He walked down another three blocks to a corner where a car with the white sign reading "Taxi" glowed, idled. Bernard cut off a man approaching it with a number of bags in his arms. As Bernard climbed in and shut the door, he heard the muffled string of expletives flowing from the burdened man outside the window. He stared back at him coldly.

"LaGuardia," Bernard commanded the driver.

Domestic Disturbance

The body has a curious, involuntary response to a disagreeable situation. In the creation of taste aversions, the body associates two contemporaneously (rather than causally) related events. When one eats a bowl of mint chip ice cream and shortly thereafter vomits and breaks out in a cold sweat, the body draws the conclusion that the mint chip ice cream is to blame. Every subsequent time a person so much as smells mint chip ice cream or sees the light green shade, one feels a tide of nausea rise inside her and she wishes to flee. Though the stomach flu was the real culprit, the mint ice cream is judged guilty by association. The creamy, clean sweetness has the same taste as it always did, but it's examined through a different lens.

The mind has an analogous, though admittedly less documented, response. Emaline Sortiere developed an aversion to her husband of 26 years somewhere in their second year together. Emaline Schlager married Lloyd Sortiere in the fall of 1928. Both were admittedly desperate for matrimony as the age 30 doggedly pursued them. In accordance with their yearnings, the two of them were blind to the premonitions of discord.

Lloyd was deceptive, though without the intention to be so. A man of few words and simple pleasures, he often gave the impression of being a sage. In truth, he was little more than an old, often sad, child. His inner waters were murky with unhappy tempests while his surface presented undisturbed. During their courtship, Emaline admired his affective consistency and Lloyd admired her talent in the kitchen.

Emaline was inconsistent to a fault. On a drive in his Chevrolet in the spring of 1927, Emaline vented at how "crusty" Bach's Organ Fugue in G Major sounded. When asked for clarification, she answered, "I think organs are simply dreadful instruments. So brash and abrasive!" In the winter of 1927 when the same fugue flowed in over the dining room radio, Emaline pleaded with Lloyd to buy her a phonograph of that "wonderful music."

Their marriage began as a symbiotic relationship. Emaline would tend to all things domestic; Lloyd would provide for all things material. So long as he kept her well-stocked and properly ornamented and she kept him well-fed and properly dressed, all was well. She could imagine that he wanted to be with her in a way the romantics wrote of in their poems. He could imagine that she wanted to nurture him in a way his alcoholic mother never managed to do.

All self-loathing people have disdain for their own company. Some self-loathing people have greater disdain for the company of others. Though neither understood it, only Lloyd belonged in the second camp. It due to this constitutional difference that he could stomach his dull, tedious work-life, and she was given to fits of depression in their dull, tedious home-life.

On a foggy early summer morning in 1930, the mind of Emaline Sortiere forged an aversion to Lloyd that would cast a pall over the rest of her life and sour what little sweetness was available in his. Lloyd had for the past month been putting in long hours at the office on a project not worth disclosing to persons outside the workplace. Emaline initially tried to make the best of her superabundance of time. She marked several items of off the "rainy-day list," including sewing a different set of curtains for the guest bedroom (canary yellow with little green star bursts throughout) and repairing a pocket in her favorite winter coat (long, black and red tartan). She picked up and put down several of the outdated magazines around the house. The diversions were insufficient to keep a nagging sense of disappointment at bay. This is not how marriage is supposed to be. He needs to be with me.

Emaline had been anticipating a pleasant Saturday and dropping hints about going on a picnic. Unfortunately for her, Lloyd had a major deadline and a callous boss looming. Early Saturday morning after he covertly crept out of bedroom, Lloyd wrote a brief apologetic note and promised to return in time for dinner. Infuriated upon discovery of the note, Emaline resolved to make a picnic lunch for herself and to go to the city park without him. Not thinking clearly about how far off lunchtime was, Emaline took to making a sandwich and introspecting. Wondering how it was the idyllic marriage she had patiently waited for all her life had eluded her despite the bold-faced fact that she was now married, Emaline sliced through the tip of her left index finger as well as the heirloom tomato. Shades of red mingled together on the wooden cutting board as she shrieked. Gripping her hand tightly with the other, she cried to release the torrent of pain and commiserate the ruination of her once beautiful hands.

My pointer! The pointer is the most important finger! It will be so ugly now! Damn! Damn! Damn! It's all his fault! If he would have stayed with me today, I wouldn't be so wounded! Oooooo! If he would have come home at a decent hour a few times during the workweek, maybe I wouldn't have needed to go on a picnic so damned much! Am I to be blamed for being lonely? A woman can't keep herself company--her husband is supposed to. People aren't supposed to be alone! He was so much more caring before we married!

Gripping the finger tightly within an increasingly bloody white dishtowel, Emaline collected herself and walked next door. She proceeded to ask her neighbor to take her to the hospital, where she received a topical anesthetic, stitches, and a bandage. Later that evening, she refused to explain to Lloyd the reason for the gauze on her finger. Her fingertip scarred over as did her heart.

Ever since, the mention of Lloyd's name prompted Emaline's blood pressure to rise. A nearly imperceptible grimace darted across her face whenever she heard his voice. Seeing the initials "LS" on the backs of certain models of automobiles made her left eye twitch with rage. Emaline blamed Lloyd for everything wrong with her life, except for her red hair--whose fault was her fair-skinned father's. Doors squeaking, nails chipping, boredom pervading, breasts drooping, paint fading--all were the products of Lloyd Sortiere. In their subsequent interactions, Emaline would vacillate between yelling at Lloyd and ignoring him. Lloyd stayed loyal to her because through it all, she never stopped making dinner.