Marculations

This is part seven. Read part six.

Betraying confidence was something that John knew how to do very well. Throughout his life, he had not been the model friend. He struggled to keep specific examples from bubbling their way to the surface of his mind, thus forcing him to relive the experience and feel bad all over again. Guilt was a constant side effect of getting what he wanted out of life. It seemed that the feelings of his friends, relatives, and co-workers always took a back seat to matters of his heart. At the bat of an eye, he would re-prioritize himself to better suit the needs of a significant other, or a potential significant other. There was a word for that, he thought. Spineless.

This form of self-berating was meant to convince him to not do what he was about to do. There was no stopping him, though. He reached up and rang the buzzer. A few moments later, there was a loud click.

“Yes?” Tiffany’s voice warbled through the speaker.

“Tiffany? It’s John.” His voice cracked. His palms were sweaty. He relived puberty on her stoop.

“John! Come on up.” That was easier than he figured it would be. The door buzzed, and he hurriedly jerked it open and ran inside. The walk to Tiffany’s apartment was, quite frankly, a scary one. Her building was ancient, and the hallways were barely wide enough for one person to fit down. Inside each apartment he walked past was either a drug deal in progress, a hooker trying to make her next student loan payment, or a crime scene. At least, that’s how John imagined it in his mind. It probably wasn’t like that. He balled his hands into fists and walked a little faster, finally arriving at Tiffany’s door. It was already open a crack. He slipped inside.

“Hey stranger.” Tiffany sat comfortably on the couch, her long hair was tossed up in a bun. This was the first time John had seen her without any kind of make-up on. She was positively radiant. He stared into her eyes. Her mouth worked its way into a smile. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, um–” John averted his eyes. He was gawking like a moron. He had to stay focused. This had to stay strictly business. “–sorry, it was a rough day at work.”

“That’s too bad. Have a seat!” John nodded and plopped down on the couch, as far into the opposite corner as he could manage. “What was so rough about it?”

“I quit my job today.” John felt a smile creep across his face. It felt so good to say that.

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

“…No. I really wanted to quit, though.” His face reverted to his usual, expressionless gaze.

“So, we haven’t really talked since our dinner, huh? I’m so sorry you had to see me fighting with Joey the other day. That was so trashy! I felt like trash.” She twirled a loose strand of hair that hung down. John’s eyes dropped down and took her in. She was wearing a loose white t-shirt and pajama pants. He realized that she didn’t have a bra on. A tingle shot up his spine. He tried to remember how many receptions Andre Davis had made in the 2005 season.

“I uh, that’s kindof what I wanted to talk to you about… what is going on with you and Joey? I really don’t want to intervene, or meddle, or anything like that, but I am just a little bit curious… and since you and him are both my friends, I was wanting to hear your side of things.”

“Oh.” She put her arms behind her and stretched, arching her back out. John stared intently. Ten. Ten receptions. Or was it nine– “I don’t really want to talk about it. Joey was just being an asshole, and I was being a bitch, and I don’t even remember what the fight was about.”

“You don’t remember? Then why haven’t you guys made up yet?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if we’re going to, honestly.”

“Are you serious?” John was puzzled. They had seemed so happy up until the fight. They can’t just call it quits based off of one fight. Of course, who was he to stand in the way? It was up to her. If she wanted to end things, that was fine with him. Better than fine. It was great. Because it was what she wanted.

“I just don’t know. Joey’s a great guy, but after our fight, I guess I just sorta lost interest in him. He didn’t even call me, he still hasn’t called me. And I had to start the fight.”

“Wait, what do you mean start it?” John scooted closer to her on the couch. Tiffany looked around, generally avoiding eye contact. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Fine, okay. I was getting annoyed that he wouldn’t fight about anything. I mean, I know I was aggravating him, I was even doing it on purpose a lot of times, but he would never say anything, ever. He always just gave in to whatever I said or did. I finally had to force him to argue with me. And even then, he just got defensive and mean.”

John was confused. Very confused. She started the fight on purpose, because they never fought? She wanted to fight? That was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. Of course, who was he to argue with her? He scratched the back of his neck, sending a wave of sickening pain through his body. He winced slightly.

“I think I see what you’re getting at.” Oh my god, he was such a sell-out. He had no idea what she was getting at. Tiffany smiled.

“That’s awesome! I figured you would be like, what are you talking about? See, you get me. I wish Joey was more like you.” The confusion got worse. He had just done exactly what she accused Joey of doing. He gave in and agreed with her. And she liked it? Did she realize that?

She put her hand on his knee.

Suddenly, he completely understood her point, and agreed with everything she had ever said. Ever. She looked at him and smiled again. They made eye contact. He was back in. A warm, tingling sensation washed over him. He put his hand over top of hers. In the back of his mind, he was nagged by regret that he didn’t actually have yet. Potential regret, for an outcome he was still only dreaming of. It was just a friendly hand-on-hand-on-knee… thing. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but he knew it felt good. A sort of euphoria came over him. The warm sensation in his skin increased. He felt the blood rushing out of his head. Sweat dripped into his eyes from his forehead. His vision got darker. His hand slipped off of Tiffany’s, and he slid off of the couch onto the floor, banging his head on the edge of the coffee table. His vision went black.

This is part six. Read part five.

As John walked towards the door, it was already apparent to him that something was wrong. After living in buildings with shared walls for as long as he had, the sounds of muffled yelling were very familiar to him. He just hoped that it wasn’t coming from his apartment.

He reached his hand towards the knob. More muffled yelling. In his mind, he thought back to when he had parked. He hadn’t seen Tiffany’s car. That didn’t mean much, though. She could’ve taken a cab, or walked. He could’ve picked her up. Maybe her car was at the shop.

The knob stared at him menacingly. It had a sort of cruel glimmer in the pale yellow light of the corridor. John studied the knob intently, blocking out the sounds coming from beyond the door. He once again tried to convince himself that they were coming from another apartment. The attempt failed. He could now recognize the voices. It was definitely Tiffany and Joey. But were they fighting? Were they just horsing around? He had never seen or heard them actually fight.

Finally, the knob could take no more. It insisted that John open the door. He resigned himself to his fate, and reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys.

It was then that the door flung open.

John jumped back, startled. He looked up to see Tiffany. He had never seen her like this before. Her face was red, and damp from tears. He noticed wrinkles around the edges of her mouth that he had never seen before. Her hair was tussled and unkempt. As he studied her, she made eye contact. His heart began beating rapidly. He felt exposed and uninvited, as if he had intruded into her world, invading her privacy and seeing things that were not meant for him. She stared into his eyes, and he stared back. This was the moment he had dreamed of. They had connected.

“Tell your goddamn roommate that if he wants to stop being such a fucking child, he knows my number.” The words shot like venom from her mouth. He was back on the outside, forcibly and violently evicted. He struggled to recover. She brushed past him and tossed her purse onto her shoulder. Joey appeared in the doorway.

“Women, huh?” Joey shook his head and leaned against the door frame. “I mean, Jesus. That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” John pushed past Joey and entered the apartment. He tossed his keys down on the end table.

“I don’t want to get involved.”

“Don’t want to get involved? What the fuck does that mean?” Joey stepped back inside and slammed the door. John sat down on the couch carefully, picked up the remote and turned on the television.

“It means, I don’t want to get involved, man. I’m friends with both of you and I can’t get in the middle of some fight.”

“You’re friends with both of us? You’re my fucking friend. Don’t get sucked into this shit, damnit, I hate it when they do that. They come into your life, and they sneak around the back and steal your fucking friends, and when shit like this goes down, you can’t even count on anybody, and you can’t talk about it, because everything you say gets passed along to her. Christ and you live with me!” Joey paced around the room, gesturing wildly as he spoke. John tried his best to focus on the television.

“You just need to calm down, okay? Don’t get so bent out of shape. It’s just a fight. Fights happen, right?”

Joey stopped pacing. He looked around, and finally plopped down into a large recliner. “We haven’t fought before.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever. Not even once.”

“Doesn’t that anger kindof build up?”

“Well, I fucking guess so! Jesus, what do you think, you saw her storm out of her. Use your head…” John sighed to himself and tuned Joey out. There was no use in talking to people when they were like this. The best you can hope to do for them is to be their emotional punching bag, letting them finish the fight on you, since the person they were actually fighting with left the ring and went home. Of course, he was very curious what they were fighting about. He strained to keep his thoughts neutral. What if this was it? What if, after this, it’s all down hill? First, a huge explosive fight. Then the make-up. Then some smaller, less serious fights. They stop talking as much. They lose interest in each other. Communication between them breaks down. And then they start looking for something else.

He looked around, and realized that Joey had gone, presumably to his room. He reflected on how he had ignored Joey’s rant in favor of plotting the demise of his relationship.

At least he hadn’t followed her down the hallway.

Read part seven.

This is part five. Read part four.

The wind blew cold against John’s face, irritating his chapped lips and painfully reminding him of the swollen mosquito bite on the back of his neck. It always felt much colder here than it did at his apartment. He assumed it was because his employer was inherently evil. This gave him a much-needed chuckle. He drew in a long breath, and walked towards the door to the building.

With each step, his mind raced with excuses he could use to not walk through those doors. He had been going through this process since his alarm had gone off this morning. He wasn’t sure when he had begun hating his job so much, but he did know that the most ridiculous excuses seemed plausible at this point. Sick grandmother? Sure. Dog ate the rat poison? Definitely. Car won’t start? His boss had seen his car, so he knew he could pull that one off.

He applauded himself for actually being in front of the building. Of course, he was still at street level. He stopped walking and stared up towards the sky.

The building he worked in was immense. From ground level, you could not see the top. It cast a large, looming shadow over the street, giving everything below a gray pallor.

He looked at his watch. Four minutes until he had to be at his desk. It takes nearly that long just to get up to the… his thought trailed off. He realized didn’t remember which floor he worked on. His finger knew exactly which button to push in the elevator to get him to that floor, but off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall the actual floor.

“This is stupid.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Several people walking by turned to look at him momentarily, then continued on. In his mind, he lived out his entire day at work. Every mind-numbing motion, every meaningless phone call, every minute spent waiting at the copier. When he put it into this perspective, it all seemed so clear what he should do.

He should quit his job.

It was destroying him, and he knew it. The tedium of it all was getting to him. It was making him regret decisions he knew weren’t bad. It was boring him so completely that he was seeking excitement in any possible way. And that was going to get him into trouble. He knew what he had to do. It was time to grow some balls and take care of this problem once and for all.

He stood up straight. He looked around, and a smile came across his face. He straightened out his shirt, and tightened the knot on his tie. He lifted his chin up, and he started walking. Not walking — striding. He strode confidently towards the doors, and pushed through them as the president of his company must push through them. He made his way across the lobby and slid between the closing doors of an elevator. They immediately opened back up and allowed him in. Of course they did. He was a new man now. Doors opened for him. As he rode up towards the floor he couldn’t remember the number of, he singled out each door and promised that it would be treated fairly under his new regime. The doors remained silent, but he knew they understood. They are true professionals.

The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors opened. He looked up at the display, and noted he was on the fifty-second floor. Wow. Fifty two stories above the ground. He rocked back slightly. Where he had come from, buildings tended to cut off around the sixth or seventh floor, and those were only the newer high-rises. He wondered what would happen if he got trapped in this elevator one day. His fear of heights got the better of him. He shook it off, and realized he needed to get off the elevator and continue his march to vindication. He took a step towards the elevator doors.

They closed.

The doors betrayed him.

And why wouldn’t they? Here he was, on his grand mission to retake his life, and he was afraid of how high up he was. Pathetic. If he can’t even hold it together in an elevator, how is he going to do something like quit his job? And if he quit his job, what would he do for money? How did he expect to afford taking Tiffany out to dinner? How did he expect to afford anything? New York is a big city, but jobs are still hard to come by, unless you like waiting tables. This entire concept was flawed from the start, he thought.

The elevator stopped on the twenty-third floor to let someone on. John looked at his watch, and realized he was now two minutes late. He reached up and pressed the button for his floor. As the doors closed, John prayed that nobody would notice his tardiness.

Read part six.