Dear Caleb,
I won't be home tonight, had to work late. Love you.
Mom
Big surprise there. My mom's not going to be home tonight. Like that was anything new to me - I haven't seen her in two weeks. My mom works for a big corporation, I don't even know what it's called, I think it's a computer company. But it takes up all of her time, she works 12 to 14 hour shifts almost every day. They even have a little space for her to sleep when she works overnight, which is often. Needless to say, she's not exactly a reliable parent.
I plopped down on my chair in the living room, like I do almost every day. Nothing but the TV to keep me company. I flicked the remote control in my wrist and started channel surfing. Good thing I had cable or I'd get bored pretty damn fast.
Click, click, click. I flipped through the channels at a rapid fire pace. I can tell exactly if it's something interesting or not in one second of watching, maybe even less. The problem is there are only about ten or so decent stations. The rest are C-Span, cable access, or snow.
Click, click, click. Nothing so far.
I found a TV movie that was just starting, and decided maybe I'd watch that. I didn't know what it was about, but the mystery makes it kind of fun. I ate some things I found in the back of the kitchen cabinet during the movie, which ended in time for Leno.
After that I still didn't feel tired, so I watched Conan O'Brien, who I think is funnier than Leno or Letterman. The monologues are terrible, nothing more than overused Clinton jokes, but the sketches are hilarious. It's too bad they put him on so late at night.
That talk show finished up, it was really early in the morning and I still didn't feel like going to bed. I had a feeling this was going to be one of those nights where I just won't feel tired and just stay up the whole night. I can't get to sleep even if I try so what'd be the point of spending all night in bed when I might as well be up and do something. I must say it's kind of strange to see a sunrise and a sunset consecutively.
When I get these sleepless nights I usually watch TV or something until dawn, but I've done that already, sick of TV for a while. So I decided to go out and do something.
I stepped out of my small house and locked the door, went into my pick-up truck and pulled out onto the road. First, I went to the fast food 'plaza' in town and see if there was anything still open. McDonald's closed already, so did Burger King, Arby's, and KFC. White Castle was open all night, but I wasn't going there. Even if every fast food place in the world were closed except White Castle I still wouldn't go there.
Taco Bell was still open though. I pulled into their drive-thru lane and crept up to the menu.
"Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I interest you in a combo meal tonight?"
"No, thank you. Could I have a minute, please."
"Sure, just let me know when you're ready to order."
Damn pushy cashiers. Guess it's not their fault though, they have to say that. OK, what do I want? I need enough food to get me through the night. Money is no problem, my mom always leaves enough for me from day to day.
Let's see, I haven't had a Gordita in a while. Or a double-decker, I like those, you get the best of both worlds. Some regular tacos and a large Pepsi should do me tonight.
"I'm ready."
"All right, go ahead."
"Can I get three Fiesta Gorditas, four double-decker tacos, five hard shell tacos, five soft shell tacos, and a large Pepsi."
"Would you like any hot or mild sauce with that?"
"Could I get some mild, please."
"Your total is $16.82, please pull up to the window."
"Thank you."
I pulled up to the drive-thru window and I could see inside the vacant, but brightly lit environment one Mexican girl talking to two other adults, one holding a mop. She turned to the window. "$16.82, please." I handed her a twenty-dollar bill, which she smilingly took and after a moment, handed me back the correct change. "It'll just be a moment."
"OK," she seemed nice enough for someone working the graveyard shift.
I watched the girl talk to her two late-night friends as I listened to a song on the radio. I was a little concerned as to what they were doing, if they were getting my food at all, but it was 1:30 in the morning, I doubted that any food was ready.
About five minutes passed and she reopened the window, holding a bag out for me.
"There you go, have a good night."
"Thank you."
Nobody taught me much in the way of etiquette, but I think my skills surpass many others in being polite. It's better that people forget you as the nice man than remember you as the rude man.
I tossed the bag onto the passenger seat. I know some people will pull ahead slightly and check to make sure they have everything. I do that sometimes, to make sure I got everything I paid for. But tonight it didn't really matter to me, I wasn't in the mood for making a big fuss over anything. Besides, I had waited long enough for the food I got.
I got back on the main road through the commercial center, made a few turns, and pulled into the parking lot of a large charred building. This was the former Kilward mall, until it burnt down some unknown time ago. When it came to a decision to rebuild this one or construct a new mall, the people chose the new mall in a better location. The old mall had yet to be torn down, perhaps it never would be, but that didn't matter as I jiggled the handle and let myself in.
The merchandise of a civilization spread before me. Technology, home comforts, clothes, and everything was mine.
I had found this place on another of my sleepless nights some time ago when I decided to just drive around town and explore. Just another abandoned building, no one was around, so I figured what would it hurt to try and open it. I had no idea a smorgasbord of products was awaiting me. You'd think the franchise owners would have come back for their inventory, but I guess it was so badly burned they didn't think it would be worth it to salvage it and just looked to the new mall instead. The building was heavily damaged, but there was still a roof and electricity still worked in some parts of the store. Walking through debris was an obstacle though.
Anyway, once I got in, I walked through the empty halls to the main control room to activate the power. There was a gaping hole in the floor in one corner that I stealthily avoided to get to the control panel and flip the switches I needed. The hum of the electricity cruising through unseen lines reverberated through the area.
I exited the power room and journeyed to a little section of the mall that I had cleaned out for myself in a furniture store, something called 'Sunsoft Furniture'. At least that's what I assumed the sign once said. Now the store was called 'S n of urn ur '.
Anyway, I had made a nice spot for myself. Comfy couch, chair, bed, situated around a stereo, several radios, a police scanner, video game center for all the old systems, an old computer for typing up homework, paints for if I felt like being artistic (which wasn't often), and TV with VCR for movies. I had a lot to keep myself occupied in my home away from home.
I threw the bag of food on the couch next to me and flipped on the radio with one of the universal remotes. I had set it at a slow rock station and the melancholy tunes pumped through the heavy bass speakers as loud as I wanted. I opened the bag and pulled out a Gordita. Leaning back on the couch I looked around the room, the blackened emptiness spread before me, silent and still. Nothing but a big empty void, like my life.
Sitting here, among the ruins of a once bustling social center, made one realize how insignificant you were among everything in the world. If I died tomorrow, would anyone remember I existed? If they did, how long until they forgot? What was the point of living on Earth, what possible purpose could someone as worthless as me serve? In this entire universe, what affects it by Caleb being here? It makes me wish I felt nothing. It might be easier to exist that way.
It's not the easiest life I have, maybe not the hardest, but not the easiest either. It's just the life of solitude I lead. At times it almost seems like I'm being punished for something, and it must have been something bad. No one should have to go through life all by yourself with no one there for you. It's not that I mind being alone, I just hate being alone all the time. I may have a car, enough money with no need for a job, I can go wherever I want, when I want. No one holds me back. But I could do without it for someone to hang out with, someone to talk to, someone to hold when I feel bad, someone to come to me with their problems, someone to talk on the phone with when I'm bored. Just a friend to be with.
And now that Sophia's here, it's like I'm part of something now, part of a group. I've never been part of a group. I've always been my own self, an individual. It's like there's something in my life that tells me I might not be doomed to this solitary existence for the rest of my days. Something that makes it worth it to get up out of bed. Something that would make my life worth staying alive for.
I checked my watch. It was 3:30, about three more hours to go until the world reawakened. And until then, I would sit here, alone, in my little space. Quiet, comfortable, but still alone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Two monks were washing their bowls in the river when they noticed a scorpion that was drowning. One monk immediately scooped it up and set it upon the bank. In the process, he was stung. He went back to washing his bowl and again the scorpion fell in. The monk saved the scorpion and was again stung. The other monk asked him, 'Why do you continue to save the scorpion when you know it will sting you?' The other monk replied 'Because to save it is my nature.'"
Bledbaum paused momentarily to let the real meaning of the parable sink in. He was sitting on a stool in front of the class holding the book of Zen Buddhist stories he was reading from.
"Now," he continued, "Can anyone tell me what this story means to you?"
I couldn't stand this. My high school Algebra class has turned into storytime hour. I wondered when naptime was going to start. This was so fucking ridiculous. If I had wanted to hear this kiddie-feelgood shit, I'd be watching PBS.
"What this story symbolizes," Bledbaum lectured, having received no answers to his question, "It describes the inherent nature of all things to be the way they are. When the Zen Buddhists wrote this story, they had reached the state of enlightenment where they knew full well of nature's way of things. In every living being there is a certain path that they must follow no matter what, even if it is harmful to themselves or others. Like they have an internal compass always pointing in one direction. Especially in humans, they have the most inherent natural way of any living creature, like a personal duty. Sociologists heavily debate whether it is possible for people to really change and if that change means denying their natural..."
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Was this guy gonna bark all day or was he gonna teach us math? I was so ready to just walk out of this class and never return. All I want to do is pass Algebra so I can graduate. And I'm not going to do it by learning this Zen Buddhist bullshit. Does he even realize that? If I'm not learning what I need to know, how does he expect me to do well at all in his class. He acts so surprised that we're doing so bad, maybe he should take a look at his own damn self. I wish he would just disappear. God, that would be nice. I wish this whole class would just disappear so I could leave school at the regular time and just be with Sophia, and Jo, and Quentin, and just hang out at the church...
"Caleb, what do you think?"
Oh, shit. Now would have been a good time for me to be paying attention. I know everyone's glossed-over gaze was suddenly turned towards me. Better think of something fast.
"Well, I think... that... the story showed... that maybe... it's not so much an inherent nature as something like a destiny." Whoo, pulled that one out of nowhere.
Bledbaum gasped like I had just turned lead into gold right before his eyes.
"Yes, Caleb! That's an amazing revelation. Perhaps nature's way is the destiny which so many believe is the uncontrollable path which we must walk. Tell me, Caleb, are you a follower on the controversy over fate versus self-controlled lives?"
This guy had to be kidding. "Do I look like I am? I can't even follow your class."
The rest of the class laughed at my little cynical comment. I glanced at Sophia who was smiling at me in a 'good answer' kind of way.
Bledbaum clasped his hands and held them to his face, in a thinking pose. Unlike the rest of the class, he was not smiling.
"I see, I see, I understand your point. But remember my fourth rule about 'can'ts'. Even great philosophers didn't excel in all areas. Just because you're still in high school doesn't mean that you can't follow sociological debates."
Maybe not, but why the fuck would I want to? I had more important things to worry about, like not graduating.
Bledbaum returned to his stool and picked the book back up. "This next story involves power. There was once a stone cutter who was dissatisfied with himself and his position in life..."
Save me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After that first day with Sophia's friends I began to become gradually accepted into the group, I guess. Every day after Bledbaum's class, Sophia and I would drive over to the church and hang out with Quentin and Josiah. Sometimes, Quentin would bring us all Blizzards or something from Dairy Queen. He was an interesting guy, kind of eccentric, but still cool in my book. He was the smartest one of us, but got the same grades as the rest of us. The weird part was that he was almost an exact contrast to Jo. Jo was always in a constant state of being pissed off, and he had a terrible temper. He would take some little thing and start to argue over it just so he could argue. For instance, after about two weeks, as Sophia and I walked into the church, Quentin asked me a strange question.
"Caleb, do you think Peter Pan is gay?
I remember I kind of looked at him strangely and said "What the hell kind of question is that?"
"Yes or no, do you think he's gay?"
I had no idea. "I don't know."
"Quentin, are you blind or what? The guy's the president of Buttsex land," Jo interjected.
"No, he isn't."
"Look, first of all, he hangs out with little seven year-old boys all the time, hint hint. Second, the only woman in Neverland is a six-inch tall fairy, that's another hint right there."
"Whoa, back up, A: that's why he got Wendy in the first place and B: Tinkerbell is not the only woman, there's Tiger Lily and the mermaids."
"Yeah, and that's it. Tiger Lily doesn't talk and the mermaids aren't even the same species."
"And Tinkerbell's only eight inches tall, its not like she can give him good lovin'," Sophia jumped in.
"All right," Quentin said, ready to give his counter-argument, "Then why did Peter Pan want Wendy?"
"Obviously, he wanted a slave," Jo said.
"Oh, come on."
"He even says in the movie, he wanted her to come with him to tell him stories." Sophia responded. "He ain't doing this for her benefit. You see the way he disrespects her. He doesn't give a shit when the mermaids are trying to drown her. He's a pimp and Wendy's his bitch. I bet he does this all the time with women."
"And he wears tights, that's a dead giveaway right there," Jo again added.
"Oh come on, Batman wears tights and he's not gay."
Josiah just said "Robin?"
Quentin just sighed.
"And another thing," Jo continued, "In plays he's played by a girl or a boy so he's at least bi."
"That doesn't mean anything. In Shakespeare's plays - boys played the girl parts."
"I think you're losing this argument," I commented to Quentin.
"OK," he gathered himself, "Tiger Lily kissing him in that scene after he rescues her. He can't be gay there."
"She just doesn't know about it, or she does and is denying it," Jo said.
"OK, how about when he saves Wendy and takes her back in the last part?"
"Just the usual forced happy Disney ending."
"No way, prove it."
"I don't need to prove it, little dumbass. It's obvious Disney's an evil super-conglomeration. They're brainwashing you with a false sense of hope, that everything has a happy ending. But in the meantime they slip in these subtle little messages to warp you and turn you into a queer. All the signs are there, and if you weren't such a retard, you'd realize that."
"Well, sorry," Quentin said sarcastically.
See? He was like a ball of fire trapped under an airtight container waiting to backdraft. All it takes is a little thing to set him off. It made our church gatherings pretty tense, but at least they were interesting.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day after that we got our copy of the school paper. It comes out every three weeks or so, not because we don't have the budget, but nothing interesting happens in this school to warrant anything less than three weeks. And we only get them at the end of the day so I hadn't read it yet. But now that I was in my tedious Algebra class, I could peruse the news at my own leisure.
Let's see here... Top story - school deals with budget cuts, cuts several classes... vandalism in the bathrooms... feature on school swim team.
I opened to the next page, which was the editorials. The biggest, attention-grabbing one was an article on the goth style coming into society. This interested me because Sophia was sort of goth. I don't think the writer looked too favorably on the trend judging by the headline Goth Style Shows Degradation of School Image.
"Hey," Sophia said casually as she came up behind me. "I got my car back. My dad says he gave it back to me because of 'good behavior'," she laughed, "So you don't need to drive me anymore."
"All right," was all I said, but inside, I was worried. Did this mean I can still come with her or not. Did she want me to come or did she just want my car?
"Did you read that?" she pointed to the large article in the paper.
"Not yet."
"That's the biggest load of shit I've ever seen."
"Really?" I said complacently.
"The bitch who wrote that should die. They talk all about how we're a bunch of depressed slackers and that we're just upset that we didn't get on the football team or cheerleading squad, so we're just dressing all in black to get attention. It's so fucking ridiculous."
"Mm-hm," I said, just taking all this in. "Then why do you dress the way you do?" This was something I'd been wanting to ask for awhile, now the opportunity had come.
"I don't... it's... I don't know, it's just the way I dress."
"Well, what problem do you have with dressing in regular clothes."
"Cause I don't want to be mistaken for one of those braindead blonds who are more obsessed about getting asked to Homecoming than what they're gonna do with their lives."
"So you do it for the attention. You want to stand out."
"No, it's more like..." she sat down, trying to think of what to say. "A silent protest... against conformity."
"Then why does everyone protesting against conformity dress the same way?"
"We don't all dress the same way. We wear a lot of different things."
"Yeah, but it's all the same style. It's all black and metal, like Jo and Quentin wear."
"Jo and Quentin dress different from each other a lot. Jo wears a lot of chains and heavy metal clothes. Quentin just wears some dark-colored things, nothing elaborate."
"Still wouldn't you say they're both goth?"
"Maybe Jo is more goth than Quentin, but yeah."
"And wouldn't you say they both fit the stereotype of depressed angry slackers?"
"They... whatever," she finally shrugged.
I said nothing and turned back to the paper. I guess that meant I won, but there was no reason to act that way about it.
"Well, why do you dress like you do?" she started again.
I didn't know what she meant. I was wearing a gray shirt, dark blue jeans, and black tennis shoes. I didn't have any piercings or make-up or black-dyed hair or chains on me. "What's wrong with this? I wear this cause I don't want to stand out."
"Well you do. You're not wearing any Abercrombie & Fitch, no Tommy jeans."
"Yeah, well, I don't want to wear that. This is what I like to wear."
"Well, OK, that's fine, and this is what I like to wear. You got a problem with that?"
"No, I was just asking."
"Fine."
"All right," Bledbaum started, "Open up to section 3-2."
I opened my textbook up to section 3-2, except we were at section 2-3. I didn't know what he was talking about, I assumed for some reason he wanted us to skip ahead. Whispers began to circulate through the students, questioning this mistake.
"We're on section 2-3, Mr. Bledbaum," some kid piped up.
"Oh, yes, thank you, turn to section 2-3."
I turned back to section 2-3, now recognizing where we left off.
"OK, now," he drew a division equation on the board, "We're going to talk about dividing with square roots. Now if you remember from section 2-1 we learned what a conjugate was..."
Conjugate?
"...And that we take the conjugate of the denominator and multiply it by both the numerator and denominator..."
Wait, why do you do that?
"...And then you just treat it like regular division and reduce the terms."
Stop, no, wait, go back to what a conjugate was.
"Does everybody get that?"
His answer was about thirty blank stares.
"What's a conjugate?"
"Yeah, what is that?"
"Yeah, nobody gets that," the students cried.
"Well," Bledbaum answered, "Weren't you paying attention yesterday?"
No one answered, obviously, but at Bledbaum's level of intelligence, I bet he was expecting a response.
"A conjugate is the inverse of the entire term," he continued. "You change the sign of the root term."
"Why don't you change the sign of the first thing?"
"Well, I skipped that part because I assumed everyone already understood the rule of like signs."
Bledbaum went to a blank part of the blackboard, getting ready to re-explain what a conjugate was.
"All right, I'll do an example on the board, just to remind you. Does anybody have a problem from the assignment they'd like done?"
"Number twelve," someone said.
"Number twelve, all right," he looked in his teacher's guide for said problem, murmuring the text to memorize it. "Solve for x," he mumbled partially to himself, partially to the class. He wrote down the expression.
Then he stood back from the problem for a moment, contemplating the problem. "Well, first of all, we can simplify the bottom to two square root of four." He wrote down the simplified version next to the original equation. Again, he stood in deep thought trying to figure out the answer. He leaned back to the Teacher's Edition, rechecking the answer. "How do..."
I don't believe this. This was too funny. The teacher, our own teacher who's supposed to know everything about Algebra, does not even know how to do a simple problem from the homework. And they put me in the remedial class.
"Well," Bledbaum stalled, "I think... well, the answer is supposed to be x equals 3. Hmm... Honestly, I'm not sure-"
"You can't even do the problem, you dumbass," a kid from the left declared as he laughed.
The students around us uproared in laughter. I'm not sure, but I think Bledbaum was turning red with embarrassment. If he was, he was controlling it well.
"Now, I don't think there's any need for that sort of statement."
"If you can't do the problem yourself, why the hell are you teaching us."
"Yeah, you should be in this class with us."
He turned around and looked at us irately. Then his expression softened. "I suppose I'm going to have to repeat my class rules again."
Oh great, again. Thanks a lot, kid. This is the sixth time he's repeated these damn rules of his. I don't know whether this is some kind of punishment or he's blaming this kid's misbehavior on himself for not being a better instructor. But if I had to sit through another recitation of his holy creed again...
"Rule one, be respectful, you should always respect yourself first before anybody else, then respect others, and respect their rights as well. Number two, be happy. If you're happy, you're more relaxed and people like you better."
Jeez, can you believe this. He's telling us how to feel.
"Number three, no swearing, this is just a personal rule, I don't like to hear those kind of words, and negative thinking brings negative results. Rule number four, no 'can'ts' and 'don'ts'. In my vocabulary there are no such words. There is nothing you can't do."
Oh, you just said 'can't', I think it's in your vocabulary.
"You change those 'can'ts' into 'can's' and 'don'ts' into 'do's' and there's no limit to what you can do. And rule number five, do your best. If you aim for the moon and miss, you'll still be among the stars."
I think I'm going to be sick. What a worthless teacher.
"All right, well, let's try another problem. Let's take number eight," he said, looking in his textbook. He erased the previous problem and scribbled down the new equation. "All right, now, just like in regular multiplying of fractions you need a common denominator..."
As he droned on, I debated with myself whether I should keep going to the church or not, because I didn't need to drive Sophia anymore. I remembered that Sophia had said that I would get until she got her car was fixed for Jo and Quentin to get used to me. Would they remember that contract as well? Probably not, and it seemed like they had gotten used to me, even friends with me. Sophia was the biggest factor though. She didn't seem to give any indication I wasn't welcome anymore, but she didn't say anything to the contrary either. I didn't want to piss her off by going where I'm not welcome. I did not want to lose this girl, not for anything. That meant keeping her happy and in good with me. She was a rare find, like a gem, something you would never let go. Plus, she wouldn't have picked me to drive her in the first place if she didn't like me in some way.
As soon as class ended, Sophia already had her stuff packed, while I was making some last minute notes.
"Are you coming or do you want to stay here?"
Yes, I exclaimed to myself, she still wants me to come with. I packed up my stuff and headed out the door with her.
Once at the church, Sophia wasted no time in declaring her hatred for the goth editorial.
"Did you read...?" Sophia exclaimed as we entered the church.
"Oh yes, I read it, I read it quite well," Jo said.
"I will read it, as soon as Jo's finished," Quentin said, giving Jo a look.
"Here," Jo tossed the paper at Quentin who began reading as fast as he could so he could join in the discussion.
"I'm going to murder that would-be reporter," he continued.
"Caleb was arguing with me about it. He says it's right."
Jo looked up. "What? You dress the same as us, what are you argu-?"
"I don't dress like you at all. All I'm wearing are jeans and a gray shirt and there's nothing on it. No Korn or Pantera or anarchy symbols or pentagrams or anything. I've got no earrings or body piercings, I've got no jewelry of any kind, no necklaces or keychains, I'm not trying not to stand out like you are."
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I dress this way because I'm a badass mother fucker who isn't a guy to mess with."
"On the contrary," Quentin said, still reading the paper, "You are apparently a pathetic loser who has no life so you think you're better than everybody else by dressing darkly. You have ruined the music industry by making static musicians like Marilyn Manson and Prodigy popular."
"Oh now. That's reason for death there. Marilyn Manson kicks so much ass it's not even funny."
"Yeah, but they're right," Quentin said. "Marilyn Manson is a pathetic loser. He was Paul on The Wonder Years."
"Yeah, right," Jo said sarcastically.
"No, he's right," Sophia said. "Marilyn Manson is the same guy as Paul."
"Who was Paul?"
"He was the Jewish nerdy guy, Fred Savage's friend."
"Well, that just goes to show. A guy who was a skinny, clean-cut loser is now one of the most popular and feared bands in the country."
"Actually, " I interjected, "He's not."
"What?"
"He's not Paul from The Wonder Years. Paul's name is Josh Saviano, Marilyn Manson's real name is Brian Warner."
"How do you know?"
"Article in Spin."
"So he changed his name," Quentin countered.
"No, he didn't. And even if he did, Marilyn Manson was formed in 1989, Josh Saviano would have had to be about thirteen years old."
"Yeah, that's right I guess."
"Look, you guys," I continued. "You're blowing this whole thing way out of proportion. It's just a meaningless rant from a little kid in a school paper. No one's going to care about it, nobody'll even remember it was there tomorrow. They'll just crumple it up and use it for paper fights on the bus."
"Whatever," Sophia said detachedly.
"I guess so," Quentin added. "But I swear he's Paul from The Wonder Years."
"I'm telling you he's not."
"Where did you hear that, Quentin?" Jo asked.
"Somebody."
"Uh-huh."