I wanted to shake my finger at him and say, “Don’t get naughty with me, man.”
Couldn’t tell if his eyes were light blue or grey or silver or something else I didn’t know.
Couldn’t tell if he was looking at me, or slightly above me.
Fuck.
Like he was lifting me off the ground by looking directly at me with one eye and slightly above me with the other.
Holding me up just a little.
Paralyzed.
“Yeah, I hate shaving,” I said. “It sucks. I really hate it. I seriously — I hate it so much.”
He laughed and got a little closer.
His laughs had a honking-inhalation and/or sniffing-sound at the end.
Like, he laughed then breathed-in through his nose or mouth.
He said, “Beewds mate ew lutt smawter. O’der and smawter.”
“Hell yeah,” I said. “Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
He got closer.
Still smiling, still staring.
He made me very uncomfortable.
And I championed him for it.
Nice work.
You’re my champion.
He said, “Yeah but when ew come inchoo my do’way at home, I be waiting to hit ew in duh head wit a two by fo” —still smiling, same look on his face.
I laughed, didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then I said, “What. Come on, what’s this mean stuff now.”
He didn’t say anything.
Holding his boardgames, belly hanging out.
He adjusted the boardgames and I noticed how small his fingers were.
Such small fingers.
I forgave him for everything he ever did — even his intention to kill me with a 2x4—because of how small his fingers were.
I (heart image) America.
I paid for the pants and walked out of the store, feeling excited about the pants and not even knowing how well they fit yet, wow ahhhh!
I looked back into the store from the sidewalk.
Could see the cartoony homeless guy looking at clothes.
He looked very interested in a hooded sweatshirt featuring a professional football team’s logo on the front.
Seemed like the hooded sweatshirt was coming with the boardgames.
Then he walked away.
*
I wore the pants for the first month or two straight — even to sleep — without changing.
Only I eventually did have to change them, because I went twice without underwear after not washing myself post-sex.
Always found you can put your pants in that situation twice before needing to change — before you could smell your genitals through the pants.
Could smell my genitals today, sweating through Wrigleyville.
I decided to go back home after not seeing any signs about jobs (and just generally not wanting to talk to anyone).
I’d gone into one place and asked if they needed help and the guy seemed to say yeah and I was like, “I can wash dishes and shit.”
Regretted adding, “and shit.”
And the man asked for my phone number but it didn’t look like he would call me plus there was no way to leave a message on my shitty phone and I was too discouraged to set up a voicemail.
And shit.
Walking through Wrigleyville in the heat, half looking for dishwashing jobs, half just walking.
My brother sent me a message.
Half a minute — gone.
Subtracted.
Twelve and a half minutes remaining.
Death death, the plunge.
Him: “Hey that microwave you mentioned is still here should I grab it.”
Me: “I still work?”
“Yeah.”
“Should we smash that shit.”
Him: “Yeah man.”
Subtract subtract subtract.
Minutes gone.
Into the terrible plunge of death, oh lord.
I envisioned myself falling into a deep pit, as seen from above, with my arms out reaching for the place I always already was.
And my life felt complete, satisfying, and worthwhile.
But only for like, twenty seconds.
Kill you — I thought, addressing Chicago (but more accurately, anywhere I was or would be).
*
When I got home, my brother was sitting on the floor drinking water.
His hair was sticking up and he looked unfocused, petting Rontel.
The microwave was on the floor next to them, no sign on it anymore.
“But,” I said, “does it still work.”
My brother put his water glass down and swallowed loudly.
Staring straight ahead, he made the sign of the cross then slapped Rontel’s ear and said, “Let’s find out.”
Rontel rubbed his face against the microwave.
My brother grabbed Rontel and held him up like a handpuppet.
He put his finger on Rontel’s bottom lip and made the bottom lip go up and down, doing fast laughing sounds like, “Meh meh meh meh.”
*
I carried the microwave, after my brother asked who was going to carry it then quickly said, “Not me.”
In an alley a few blocks away there was an open fence to an apartment building courtyard.
My brother grabbed the microwave from me — yelling, “Yuhhhhhhhhh”—running into the fenced area.
He went up the back staircase.
He was moving fast, considering how he had to hold the microwave in his outstretched arms, away from the rusty back part/ broken part (neither of us were updated on our tetanus shots).
Three flights up, he leaned over the railing and checked below.
With both hands — overhead, soccer style — he threw the microwave off the deck and into the alley.
The microwave hit the ground a few feet from me and compressed a little, sending out small pieces.
It was great!
Always felt like, if I could pause time, I’d just go around and break everything then un-pause time, leaving people unharmed but everything else broken, even clouds, mountains, and the sun, maybe a fish or two as well.
*
My brother and I ran home.
We slowed down by the entrance to our building and stood there.
I said, “Why did we run. We could’ve walked.”
“You started and I followed,” my brother said. Then he said, “I feel like I’m faster than you, but that you could run for a longer time than me.”
I said, “Yeah, definitely.”
And I remembered the gum I had in my mouth.
Worried I’d inhale it while catching my breath.
What would that do to me: a piece of gum, stuck in one (both?) of my lungs.
I saw myself decaying in the corner of a room empty but for a toilet — wheezing in the corner, purple-skinned and seconds from death.
My brother gave me the gum a couple days ago and I saved it.
It was pink and had been in a dresser drawer for a long time.
When I ate it today after my sandwich, the gum crumbled into dust at first.
It was extremely hard to keep the pieces together in my mouth but once they all combined it was nice, and then, hey, I was chewing gum.
Regaining my breath out front, I spit the gum against the wall of the apartment building.
The gum bounced off instead of sticking, which is what I imagined it would do, stick.
Why didn’t it stick.
Definitely thought it would stick.
This means something — I thought.
Followed my brother into the apartment building.
I thought about inventing a word for when your smile becomes a laugh.
The breaking point between the two.
This is the breaking point — I thought.
And I had a strong urge to tell my brother I loved him because I’d never done that and he’d never done that and he was the only person I talked to so it seemed important.
*
My brother showered and went to see his girlfriend.
I lay on the tile floor, playing with Rontel.
Dripping sweat.
I thought about how tomorrow, I’d completely change my life.