Wednesday, August 05, 2009

what the fuck...

Uncle J always was the funny one. The kind of man that could crack a joke at the drop of a hat, that could make light of any situation no matter how dire, that could poke fun at things that most people would never get away with. He'd make fun of plane crashes, emotions, bad coffee and the next person's dress sense.

But right now in this hospital room he was genuinely happy. He had to ask a few times, but they finally relented and passed him - very gently - the source of all the excitement. Holding his brother's newborn baby in his arms, he gazed at the little runt. Pulling the covers aside, he glanced at his sleeping face. Everyone looked over at the two, half expecting some joke about how ugly the baby is, or how he'd like to quickly check if babies can bounce off linoleum floors. That was J. He could, and he'd get away with it.

And right on cue, a look of mock horror on his face he exclaimed - "Woah! What ARE you?!"


B was excited. Very excited. He always was excited on Results Day and today the results of the 5th grade annual exams were being announced. He was a good boy, who always got good grades. Hell, he was always top of the class. Uncle J used to call him 'Nerdzilla', but then Uncle J was always making jokes. Sometimes those jokes hurt... He pushed those thoughts out of his head as they reached his class room. He was nervous, yes. But excited. Very excited. He knew the drill; inside the teacher would be waiting, but he wouldn't have to wait for her to speak - the top three students were always mentioned on the chalkboard and as soon as he walked in he glanced at it. And smiled.

Stepping out of the classroom, leaving his parents speaking with his teacher he met a group of fellow students; some happy and celebrating, some disappointed, some downright dejected. He was a good boy though, and even his jubilation was very subdued. That smile earlier would be the peak of his ecstatic celebrations of his achivement. A few of the kids crowded around him, asking him how he did - asking if he did it again. With a confident smile he nodded at their curious faces. Some gaves whoops of congratulations, other shook his hand, other still exclaiming that they KNEW IT! KNEW that he would be top of the class again!

But one of them, who may or may not have done to well, asked in a whisper, "Again? Aww man... what ARE you?


She wiped the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She tried to regain her composure, tried to curb her seemingly uncontrollable sobbing. Grabbing a tissue out the box she wiped down her eyes, and then her nose. She was dimly aware that it'd go red, but that wasn't her concern right now. He had made her cry again. He always made her cry. It wasn't anything he DID... he was just being who he was. Or so he says. And like many a time before, she was wondering why she was still with him. She wasn't always like this, she was a happy girl. She had dreams, she had hopes. And THIS was not part of them.

Through her tears, she looked over at him staring out the window smoking a cigarette. He didn't CARE that she was crying. He didn't try and make her stop. He didn't even ACKNOWLEDGE that she was like this. He was so fucking concerned with being stoic. Always the cynic, always dissecting emotions, always rationalizing, always incorrigble. He was always smug, thinking he was all-knowing. Did he know what an asshole he was? Did he know that his thoughts, his opinions and his whole goddamned point of view was just so TWISTED?? The words he had just used, they cut at her - they made her hurt more. They made her want to hurt him. And he did that often. It was like.. he didn't care. He didn't know HOW to care. Like something was just fucking MISSING.

Steadying herself, she asked bitterly, "B, what the fuck ARE you?


He stood in that hospital room in a bit of a daze. They had gathered in the hospital room, as many that could fit into it. Quite a sizeable family, he thought to himself at that point. And everyone was focused on the bed that occupied the center of the room. On it lay the cold, now lifeless body of his grandfather.

His grandfather, easily one of the greatest men he ever knew. He was always his favourite. He was always at his side. He was the recipient of many a little gift like only a grandfather could give to an expectant little boy. The walks in the park, the snacks before bed. Hell the old man would refuse to travel anywhere unless he was with him. This man that showered so much attention, and even affection - he was now dead, his children scattered around him, all weeping. He was a man full of life, big broad with a solid unwavering nature - a man of principles. And now he lay there cold and pale. And surrounded by the mourning. Even Uncle J stood silently, tears dancing in the corners of his eyes. But He just stood there. He couldn't bring himself to feel the things his wailing relatives were feeling. They were touching him, stroking his forehead as they cried out their grief. Himself, though - he couldn't even bring himself to touch the feet that poked out from under the sheet covering the man. He stood there watching the scene like some bizarre play that he couldn't be sure if he was even a part of.

No tears ever brimmed in his eyes, no grief-stricken whimper. Nothing. One of his cousins looked to him, tears streaking her face - "B! He loved you the most! And look at you - it's like you don't care! What the fuck ARE you?"


I sit here in this cold, dark room. I've turned down the lights. Some nights I prefer it like this. The song that is playing on my iPod is on repeat. It is a haunting song, very melancholic, very reflective. I take another puff of my cigarette, the bright, burning end illuminating the room a little bit, before sending up thick smoke. But I'm not very much aware of any of this. My thoughts have dwindled again - going back into the murky waters that are my memories.

When people look back at their lives, they see heartbreak, they see achievements, they see encouragement, they see despair. It's a wild heady mixture of everything. But when I look back, there is but on thing I see. One thing that revolves around my brain, like that fucking song on my iPod; on repeat. One thing that coils itself along every moment that I have lived, every encouter of mine worth remembering., like some enraged serpent.

Looking back through the despair, the broken promises, the pride I took in being stoic. Looking at the people I've wronged, the people I have tormented, the hopes I have burned, the expectations I have failed to meet. Seeing the raw but silent destruction, the insane havoc that I have caused, the relationships broken, the achivements belittled, the feelings hurt. Seeing my own ambitions, my own friends, my own aspirations run callously into the ground. Introspectively, I take another long drag, needing that black smoke to fill up and stain my lungs, whilst my own shortcomings, my own inexplicably warped outlook on life, my own failings - failing the people I cared for, and failing the people that cared for me.. that was all I saw. I saw them, and I knew that there was no apologizing to them. They didn't accept it then, and they wouldn't accept it now. I think of all the people I have fooled into believing I was such a good person. I think of those few people I actually wasn't fooling. And I tell myself again, that regardless the outcome remains the same. Some people are put here to fuck up, I guess.

Putting that cigarette out, I look up - taking in a deep lungful of the stale smoke-filled air of the room, I light up another one. And that one thing creeps right back up, the serpent digging in it's fangs and the sharp pain flowing once again - "I've ruined everything I have touched. What the fuck AM I?"