Chapter One: Good Egg

"You're a good egg, John," my mother said to me long ago. But at this point, the only eggs I saw were on the floor of a San Diego IHOP, surrounded by fragments of a broken plate. I nearly broke down, another accident. My manager, Ted Edwards, approached me and said, "In my office, now." I could feel the sternness in his voice. I followed him, making sure that I ducked my helmet underneath the manager's office door.

Ted sat down in his chair and folded his arms, "There's something that I have to disclose with you, John. Personally, I think you're a cool dude. Customers seem to like you and you're an absolute hit with kids. I still don't know why, but it is what it is. But I want you to take a look at this."

He handed me a long list of withdrawals, hundreds of dollars in plates and even more in drywall repair. "I have to be frank, John. You're costing me more money than you're worth in repairs and replaced plates. From a business standpoint, keeping you around is going to cost me too much. I have to let you go, John."

I asked him, "Wait, isn't there something I can do? I mean, I know that I'm just a run-of-the-mill guy with a pyramid helmet, but still! There is no other John Pyramidhead."

"No, but clearly this isn't a place where you belong. We had to plaster another wall because you bumped into it."

"There must be something I can do," I sputtered, "Just a few more days while I get another job lined up. I have fond memories here, of Rachel and Kim. Hell, remember when I called you Tedwards?"

That seemed to make the situation worse, not better. He leaned in and replied, "Son, let me give you some advice. At some point in your life, you're gonna have to take off that goddamn pyramid helmet. Now get out of my sight."

I returned to my friend Ronnie's house. Yeah, I lived with my friend Ronnie, he had a boa constrictor that sneaks into my cereal every morning. Other than that, he spends his days playing Call of Duty and flipping off the neighbors. He's kind of shit, but I couldn't say it to his face. At least I couldn't until now.

San Diego was a dumpster fire, I always hated it. I remember looking up at the stars on cold winter nights, imagining myself dancing in the cosmos like a graceful ballet dancer. Then I'd smack a meteor and send it straight for the cancerous blight that this shithole of a town is. Did I mention my mom said I was a good egg?

I came home and Ronnie was clearly preoccupied with shooting virtual men on the screen. His snake was making pancakes, because he clearly hated cereal. I started to talk to him, "Victor, should I leave this place?"

Then Victor stared at me and said, "How about an apple, John Pyramidhead?"

I snapped back at him, "If you make another fucking Bible reference, I'm going to use you as my belt."

Victor shirked and then asked, "You all right, John? You got a long face. I mean, that fucking helmet, but you know what I mean."

"I don't need any shit about my helmet, Victor. I just got fired for it," I replied, exasperated.

"What? Fired?"

"Yeah, apparently me bumping into walls broke them. And I've broken so many plates that Tedwards had to let me go,"

"Do you have anything you can blackmail him with?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me to blackmail him? I want to be a good egg, like mom said."

"When was the last time you saw your mom?"

"A few years ago, she was celebrating her fifth year in the industry. That's a long time."

"What industry?"

"Not important. Either way, I hate this fucking place. I wanna get out here."

"And go where?"

"Dunno, I just don't care anymore. I'm gonna pack my shit tonight and put in my last month of rent to Ronnie. Maybe I'll say goodbye."

"Don't bother. Because Ronnie's been playing Call of Duty for the past few months on end, his vocabulary has completely devolved into just saying 'fuck off'. He used to use racial slurs too, and honestly I think that he stopped not because he was a decent person but because he just got too dumb to say them."

"Does he even pay bills anymore?"

"Pretty much anything that takes more cognitive effort than simple addition is something I have to do. I don't like this, at all. I've had to get a second job to pay for it all."

"How long are you going to do that?"

"Not much longer, clearly, when Ronnie and I made the lease, I expected to be in grad school by now, or maybe an internship. I'm exhausted, and I don't know what to do."

"I dunno. Let me check the fridge for something to eat. I'm kind of famished," I opened up the fridge door, "Just spoiled milk and the seared flesh of a Scientologist. Why do you not shop for food anymore?"

"I get stares when I go to Trader's Joes. You'd think a liberal place like that would better about snake customers, but you'd be surprised." Victor replied. No hissing there, though.

I rushed back to my room and packed my things. Then I saw Victor carrying an apple to Ronnie. I creaked the door open, "Uhh, Ronnie?"

He replied, "Fuck off."

I said, "Gonna be leaving, for good."

"Fuck off."

"Left the last month of rent on the table."

"Fuck off."

Victor asked, "Want an apple? Have a bite!"

Ronnie replied, "Fuck off," though it sounded more approving judging by the tone of his voice. He picked up the apple from Victor and shoved it in his mouth without bothering to bite it.

Victor shouted, "Stop! You can't eat that whole! Let me or John do the Heimlich Maneuver!"

Ronnie raised his middle finger and gave a final "Fuck ooooooooooooooofffffffff," before he died.

I sighed, "I kind of expected that to happen sooner."

Victor replied, "There's nothing left for you here. I'll clean up this mess, believe me. Start a new life, John Pyramidhead. A life where you're happy and not burdened by people who don't respect your helmet."

"I will, Victor. Thank you." I packed the last of my belongings and caught a glimpse of Victor swallowing Ronnie's corpse whole. Something tells me things are better off that way. The cold San Diego winter night came back again, and with it I figured I'd start a new life. I stood in front of a bus stop with a young woman, she asked, "Starting over?"

I replied, "Maybe, but I don't know where I'm going."

"That makes two of us."