Breaking up is Hard to do
It was nearly a quarter to midnight and the clock seemed to move very slowly. A nervous youth sat in an upholstered chair as his fingers drummed on the arms. His skin was slightly pale and glinted in the light of a flickering fire. I say that it was glinting because he was sweating profusely. He was trying his best to concentrate on a book that he meant to read for the longest time, but something more distressing occupied his thoughts.
RING! RING!
The book which he had been reading suddenly flew across the room and hit the wall with a deafening thud. He was on his knees, fingers clasped in between each other, before the book even hit the ground. His heart beat wildly as if he had run some great marathon and he almost felt as if he could throw up. While he felt all these things he prayed to himself.
"Oh please, I ask of you, no, no, I plead of you, no, I beg of you; please don't let that be who I think it is."
He slowly inched his way towards the telephone as he prayed to himself. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the smooth handle of the phone, drenching it in nervous perspiration. He heard the slight click as it left the receiver, and there was silence. The bell did not ring nor did anyone speak from the other line. He slowly eased the phone to his ear and said very quietly, "Hello?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
A hefty sigh of relief, "Oh, it's you, dad."
"Jack, are you still avoiding that girl?"
"Like the black plague."
"What is the matter with you? In my day we treated a girl with respect."
"Well sorry dad, but unlike you, I can't have a moustache on my girl."
"Don't talk about your mother that way."
"Am I wrong?"
"…"
"Yeah, my point exactly."
"She's a nice girl! I mean, you loved her out of your mind just a few weeks ago!"
"Well, I thought the flock of seagulls haircut was the best thing at first!"
"So you are gay."
"Shut up. I'm not the one married to a she-man with a moustache."
"Don't talk about your mother that way."
"Once again; am I wrong?"
"…"
"That's what I thought."
"All I'm saying is that you need to take what you can get. You aren't exactly first prize either, you know."
"Well, we all know where I got my second place genes from."
"…I will punch you right in the mouth…"
Beep
"I'd like to see you try it."
"Don't tempt me! I am warning you, I am this close to tearing you a new a-hole!"
"Just shut up and bring it, don't sit there and sing it!"
Beep
"Aren't you going to get that other line, Jack?"
"Yeah, one second." Beep "Hello?"
"Jack? Is that you?" A soft feminine voice said from the other line.
"BURN IN HELL, BITCH!" The phone slammed down on the receiver.
One may be outraged at such a greeting, but keep in mind that obsession has a way of bending perception. While Jack crawled into a corner and began to whimper as if he were an abused animal, the phone continued to ring constantly. It was either his dad or that same girl that he tried so hard to avoid, but he really did not wish to speak with either of them. He only rocked back and forth, holding his knees close to his chest while sucking his thumb. He hated his girlfriend and that is perhaps how this odd tale begins.
Jack was once an innocent farmer who tried his best to succeed at his work. He was a very industrious person that always held a smile on his smooth tan face that was framed with dark brown hair. Every morning he would wake at the very break of dawn and go towards his work shed. Just as a good farmer would have it, his work shed was nearly immaculate from cobwebs and clutter. He went up to the rows of tools and looked at each one, trying his best to remember what his chores were for that day. He realized that he had to water the plants and he sighed in contempt, for that was a chore he never liked at all. He would be carrying that watering can that seemed to weigh a metric ton while awkwardly holding it over his produce while he could have just as easily watered the ground with his own sweat. He reached for the can but it seemed as if fate and luck were on his side that day.
KA-BOOM!
His head jerked towards the entrance of the shed as he felt the ground and them flimsy walls shake from the blast. He was so in tune to his chores that he failed to realize that the weather was (according to the townsfolk, but not to him) poor. Already he could see gusts of wind blow across his field, raising sweet smelling dust into the air. His face was smiling again as he could hear more distant thunder in the hills. He could also hear the slight pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof of the shed. He carefully placed the watering can in its ordinary spot and strolled (not walked, mind you, for he was happy now) outside.
He looked to the sky and saw that it was completely a dark, bluish gray. He stretched with his hands high over his head and placed his hands in his pockets. He looked to his faithful companion, a brown basset hound named Clover, as he sat by Jack's side, wagging his tail. He breathed in deeply, patting Clover on the head as he looked into the sky with a swelling feeling of excitement. "You know what this means?" Jack said with his chest out.
"Time for pimpin'."
For those who are reading this story expecting a completely innocent farmer, please do not be alarmed. He was not really going out into the street to sell wares as regular pimps do, rather he referred to the act of visiting women and gaining their affection via gifts, flattering words, or food for their seemingly endless yet flat stomachs. Yes, Jack was a lonely man of twenty-four and he had been looking for someone to share his time with. Perhaps farming in a remote village was not the wisest choice for undertaking such a mission, but his main priority of leaving his annoying parents behind proceeded that.
Yes, he was sad when his grandfather died, leaving him the farm, but at the same time he could not help but do a happy jig. That greatly offended some people, seeing that he accidentally did it on his grave. Yes, that was another reason that he had to leave. It is silly how easily agitated people can become when you call them a name or dance on their grave or run over someone with your truck and continue driving. Jack had to laugh at himself when he remembered that. "Man, that escalated quickly!" He said to himself. He had to disguise himself a couple of times to avoid anybody that had "questions."
"Hmm, first thing I must do is change out of these plain clothes…"
His usual clothes for work tended to be blue jeans, a white t-shirt with a baseball cap, but that would not do for his outing. He went to a closet and flung open the doors, still very much into how great everything smelled that morning due to the oncoming rain. "Hmm, should I wear the white shirt or should I wear the other white shirt?" It was strange because that was the only color that he seemed to own since he came to this backwater island.
"Ah, white! You can never go wrong with white!" He pulled it out of the closet with a big dopey grin as he spent the next half hour deciding which blue jeans would accentuate him best. He eventually decided that they were all too good and had to play eeny-meeny-miny-moe to decide. As usual, to the common eye (which meant anyone save for Jack) he ended up looking the same as he did before. He looked himself in the mirror, putting a finger to his chin as he pondered.
"Hmm, I'm missing something…"
"Arf!"
"What?" Jack looked down to Clover who was thumping his tail excitedly, "There is a boy trapped down in the well and I have only thirty-six more minutes until his leg is infected with gain-green and the doctors will have to cut it off and he will live for the rest of his life as Stumpy?"
The dog rolled his eyes. Jack looked down and saw that he carried a baseball cap in his mouth.
"Ah, I see. That is what was missing!" He pushed back his hair and fit his head with the cap, "Much better! Well, I'm off to do my thing! Keep watch of the fort, Clover!"
Animals can sense things that no man can; therefore something within Clover urged him to stop Jack before he went outside. However, he could not resist giving him the chance to go out and make a fool of himself. You see, Clover was still rather livid that he had not been feed for three weeks and he was forced to eat herbs growing around the town. This was when Clover decided to follow along just to see what would happen.
And thus began Jack's unusual day…