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Kiss Me

Dark, vague images warped and weaved irate and without relent through my mind as I attempted to sleep peaceably in a cold, dim manor that was far from a perfect purlieu. To most, it may have looked like a sanctuary. With its wine-hued walls, myriad pieces of fine artwork, private theater, and boundless flights of stairs, most would view my home with a sense of awe and envy. However, I knew what truly lurked beneath the grandeur and decadence of my house. I knew the secrets and lies and corruption that haunted the place. Sometimes it made it more beautiful to me, but not at night.

"Smithers? Smithers?" I cried out in his sleep. The nightmares were taking over my soul again, and even clutching Bobo didn't help. I needed him. "Smithers?" He wasn't there. Why the hell wasn't he there? He has his own apartment, you imbecile. He has his own life, for God's sake, I thought to myself. But still, I was angry at him for his absence in my time of need. I heatedly reached for my bell and megaphone and rang for twenty minutes straight. He didn't come. I couldn't believe it. Never before when I needed Smithers, he was not there. And with the influence of my haunting dreams also playing a role, I began to break down and cry.

What are you doing, Monty? Crying over a bad dream? What are you, eight? I wasn't sure if it was my voice or my mother's who was asking me these questions. Or are you really crying over that man? That Waylon? Well, you should get over it. Eventually, he'll realize that he has better things to do that to care for some crazy, old man. You should really get used to it now.

"No!" I shouted, attempting to throw a pillow to the ground but failing due to my lack of strength. "No, that would never happen. I need Smithers. What would I do without him?" Stop talking to yourself, Monty. "I can bloody talk to myself if I feel like it! Shut up, Monty!"

I was going a bit insane. Or maybe a little more insane that usual, at least. I jumped down from the bed and in nothing but my pink-and-white-striped nightshirt and slippers, I ambled down to Smithers' apartment and stood outside his window. "Smithers! Smithers!" I bawled with embarrassment, but I didn't know what else to do.

The scene was all too familiar. I remembered a time a few years back when Smithers was married to the most beautiful woman in Springfield. And at first, everything was wonderful between them. At first, I was happy to see my best friend in love. But then something hit me: greater dependence or even jealousy maybe? I wouldn't let myself admit to the latter, but something obviously changed, because I began coming to Smithers' house every night, demanding his presence into the wee hours. He never complained or refused my demands, but his wife requested a divorce within the year.

It was between them, Monty. It had nothing to do with you. Bah! You didn't ruin Waylon's marriage. That is what I told myself, but I was never certain of the statements' truth. Smithers had told me that they just weren't meant to be together. It seemed like a vague and unconvincing answer, especially as I had seen what they were like in the beginning of their union. That woman was a sheer wonder: a timeless beauty, a fiery intellectual, and completely in love with my friend Waylon Smithers. And he with her. Or at least, that's how it seemed to me.

I put my guilt about the part I still wondered if I played in the cessation of Smithers' matrimony out of my mind and focused on the present. I hated the feeling of guilt. It was rarely inside me and whenever it was, I knew I had to block it out like the sun. "Smithers!" I called once more. This time, Smithers popped his head outside his window with tired alarm.

"Mr. Burns?! What's wrong? I'll be down in a just minute," he said quickly, and he told the truth. Nearly 60 seconds later, Smithers was bounding down the small steps that ended his apartment complex. He ran to me in nothing but boxers and a robe. I looked away.

"Mr. Burns, what's wrong?" Smithers demanded, panic in his eyes.

"Um…I…" I looked up at him. "I had a bad dream." Oh, bloody hell, you sound like a baby!

Smithers looked at me with compassion and relief. "Well, I'm glad to hear that's all it is. You looked very torn up…um…I have company right now, but I'll just tell her to leave and we can go back to your place, and I'll fix you up some tea and…"

"Her? You have female company tonight?" I asked with bewilderment. I couldn't recall the last time Smithers had any romantic escapes. But then I supposed he didn't tell me everything about his life.

Smithers looked taken aback by my question, but nodded. "Uh…yeah, I thought I should give it another try. I mean, I thought it'd be nice is all."

I nodded and attempted to veil my discontent. "Well, I won't keep you from her. I'm fine. Really. I'll just go back to my house and try to get some shut eye."

"No, Mr. Burns, I'll come with you. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" I unintentionally raised my voice. It's not okay for me to destroy any possible relationship you have. I won't do that again. "I mean...I'm fine, Smithers. I don't need you to tend to my every whim. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

Smithers vacillated. "Then, why did you come here?"

He hadn't meant it as a resentful interrogation, but that is how I took it. "You audacious waif! I'm going to give you the thrashing of a lifetime!" I began weakly beating my hands again Smithers' bare chest, but I evidently was not inflicting any physical pain on him, so I impeded my beating. I then turned and huffily strode away, back to my lonely, nightmare-abundant manor, where I attempted to fall back asleep to no avail. Now I had the same old dreams about my mother and the war I was in and the first time I ordered to have a man killed…but now added to the dreadful mix was Smithers' divorce. And now also added was my covetous curiosity about his new woman, the first I knew of since his wife. Who was she? How did they meet? Were they already getting serious? What do you care, Monty? What's the difference? I wasn't sure, but I knew I had to find out.