Suburban Loser - Chapter 2 - The Son Rises

I drive home, sliding along the Southern State, racing towards the rising sun, orange glow slowly replacing the dark blue hue of last night. The dawn is moments away, and I really should be in bed, asleep, or pretending to be asleep, beside her.

I don't want to go home, not now, not ever. I don't want to have to fake another moment of my "life", a happy drive-thru grin stuck to my face. Smile as she berates me for not doing the dishes, for not cleaning up the dog piss, ignoring the silent anger she beams at me for sitting around, watching movies and smoking weed in the dark, alone.

My foot eases off the gas pedal, the speedometer drops, my heart sinks. Last night is over, the morning is here, and I am fucked. The adrenaline drains away and I watch as the alternate reality my life should have been dissipates as bursts of sunlight stream down the parkway through the trees on the horizon eradicating any proof of last night's existence.

I push my right wrist out of my jacket sleeve a bit, and the paper band stuck tight around my wrist pops free. Proof that I was of drinking age, proof that I overpaid to see a band, proof that last night happened. It'd have to be good enough for now.

Pulling up outside the house, I was myself again. A twenty five year old going through a mid-life crisis. Guess that means I only have til fifty before it all ends. I'm not sure I can go through this routine for another moment, but, as I turn the keys, shut off the car, flip off the headlights, I know that I can.

I shuffle up the driveway, reach over the fence, gently lift the mechanism that keeps the gate closed, and slip inside, lowering the mechanism in one swift and practiced maneuver. I have my door key ready in my free hand, it's point jutting out of my pocket. I slide the metal into the lock, and with the slowest twist possible, I unlock the door, angry at the dull thud of the lock retracting.

Turning, then lifting the door by the knob, pushing it forward a millimeter at a time, the draft dodger behind the door swooshing across the tiles, I open it just enough to slide in. The key's jagged edge bumps its way free, the keys drop into my pocket, and holding the knob on the inside, lift the door, turning the knob, switching hands, I close the door.

Slip out of my sneakers, jacket placed upon the rack besides my girlfriend's faux fur trimmed fall coat. Her brown, elegant, yet animal friendly fashion clashes with my ratty, beat up and broken in black leather. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let myself die inside.

My heart pounds as I tip toe across the kitchen, but feel the safety, the sanctuary of the bathroom. I, too frantically, close the door, unintentionally making a bit too much noise in my rush to get inside. Once I'm there though, I really don't care. A bit of last night has changed me.

Turn the faucet and let the water run. The pipes squeak and squelch as I dip my hands into the stream, lean over, and splash my face. I run my palm down my face, tugging my eyebrows down, pulling my eyelids open, smooshing my cheeks, pressing down the tip of my nose, molding my mouth into an 'O' shape, and run my thumb and forefinger down my jawline.

I look up into the mirror. Not the same guy. Never going to be different. Just a lie. Now I, have to look this guy in the face and tell him, reveal to him once and for all that everything he's ever wanted is going to have to be replaced with all he has now, and that nothing will ever change.

"You goddamn spineless, sniveling, mama's boy, can't even get this right, too afraid of...", I mumbled to myself, staring myself down, losing a staring game to myself, a final indignity before bed.

I didn't brush my teeth. I'd swig some orange soda from the fridge before bed and some orange juice when I woke up. Who needs teeth, really? For the first time in my life, I began to get cavities. I inspected them in the mirror, pushed on the bad ones, somehow satisfied that I'd poisoned my perfect choppers that never needed braces, nor fillings.

Besides, she always told me to brush my teeth. It irked her that I didn't. Disgusted her I hoped. I opened the door, glanced over at the dishes in the sink and chuckled. I won't do them. In some sort of instant karma, I nearly slipped and broke my neck in dog piss. Thankfully I just slammed my wrist into the counter.

I pulled off my sock, dripping with dog urine, and let it drop into the yellow puddle. I sauntered into the living room, feeling a bit more ballsy suddenly. If this was the life I was stuck with, and seeing as how I done broke the rules already, coming home just after sun up, well, may as well misbehave to the bitter end.

Suburban Loser - Chapter 1 - Screaming At the Wind

The ding-ding-ding of the open car door provides the backbeat as I reach to turn up the volume on the stereo. The band whines and wails my pain, and I squeeze the bridge of my nose to fight off my headache. I step out of the car and fish around in my jacket pockets as I look around the desolate gas station.

Just me and the guy nodding off behind the counter. The wind whips down the empty parkway and slams itself against me. I pull out my pack of smokes, flip it open, and stare long and hard at the last one left sitting alone in the crumpled box. I pull it out, pop it in my mouth, cup my hand and light it up with my zippo.

It's moments like this that I'm glad I smoke. Sometimes you just need a vice to fall back on when everything else is gone. I took a drag and leaned back on the hood. The engine's still warm, helping me fight off the chill. I release the smoke from my lungs and close my eyes. Nicotine rush makes my legs wobbly.

The music roars, pumping from out of the blown speakers, that slight vibrating tick of the soundwaves reverberating the broken pieces. I've never been much to pay attention to lyrics, but something about sadness, doomed relationships, emotional trauma, wraps itself around me. I feel less alone.

Somewhere out in this godforsaken reality lies a promised land, an urban utopia, a metropolitan mecca to experience, where kids just like me are living it up and creating something, anything at all to express themselves, having fun, getting laid and partying til dawn.

But that's beyond me. My time's passed. I'm stuck just on the other side of that impenetrable veil, despite the Long Island Railroad and a few bucks being able to get me there, that life was not to be mine. I was not made for New York City, it would chew me up and spit me out. No way would I survive out there, alone.

I finish my cigarette, flicking it towards the gas pumps, and hop onto my bumper. I walk up onto the hood, denting the metal, not giving a shit, I turn towards the red flashing stoplight and glare angrily out upon the empty streets. I thought about how in an hour or two, the sun would rise, and cars would be rushing about as if these people's lives mattered. As if mine mattered.

I reach deep down inside, take a huge, gasping breath, arch my back, then throw my body forward and scream for all I'm worth. I scream at my family, I scream at my friends, I scream at my girlfriend, I scream at nothing at all.

The music dies down and I collapse on the hood, my arms wrapped around my knees, and I cry at what a pathetic loser I am.