AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Davis
“Yo man, did you hear me?”
My head shoots up, pulled out of my daydreaming by my nagging co-worker, Drake. “Sorry, what did you say?”
I’ve been doing this all week, drifting off into my own head, spacing out about the shift my life has suddenly taken. It’s so strange to have something to think about except the sad state of my life. Truth be told, I’ve done a lot of thinking about the Sunday afternoon events at Merrick’s house.Too much thinking, I admit.
“You need the copy machine? If not, I’m shutting it down for the night.”
“I don’t need it. Thanks.”
Giving my head a quick shake, I attempt to force my attention back to the few last things I need to finish up before heading home. But snippets of that party continue to creep in, regardless of how hard I try to ignore them. Just as they have all week.
I had fun, and that in itself is difficult to wrap my head around. I can’t recall the last time I enjoyed myself…or did anything that I’d describe asfun. Hell, I can barely recall the last time I socialized outside of the Sunday morning church services I’m expected to attend.
It was weird at first, being with all those people who I don’t know, as well as my neighbor, who seems hell-bent on getting to know me. But he and his friends were nothing but kind, and even though some of the questions pointed my way were what I’d call intrusive, I could tell no malice was intended. It was a surprise learning that Merrick is gay. Not that he—or anyone else—came out and said that. Chloe’s question about the two of us are dating is a good indication of his preferences, I suppose. I may not have many friends—or any friends actually—but I’m decidedly open minded. Always have been. One thing Ma beat into us as kids was to never judge a book by its cover. Cliché, sure, but true nonetheless.
Coming from a poor family like mine, you learn at a young age how quickly you can be judged. I was laughed at for my ill-fitting and filthy clothes, my very obvious “homemade” haircuts, the same measly sack lunches of peanut butter on white bread that I brought to school every day. All that judgement and teasing is why becoming a mechanic was so appealing: I could hide away every day under the hood of a car, and never feel the critical eyes of strangers on me. I could easily explain away the dirty, greasy clothes and hands as part of my job. I could—for once—fit in without much effort.
Getting involved with Chantal changed all that. Here I was this hardworking, blue collar guy with grease under his fingernails, romancing the wealthy daughter of a finance tycoon. Every member of her family looked at me with accusing, disappointed eyes, condemning me simply because of what I did for a living. I was once more that poor, scrawny kid in hand-me-down clothes, hoping to disappear into the crowd. How she and I managed to overcome her family’s annoyance with my chosen career and marry still surprises me.
I sometimes feel those same judgmental eyes on me when we attend church. There’s this expectation people have about Chantal that she breezes through life and never wants for anything; respected, admired. In turn, people seem to expect the same from me, initially at least. Once they realize I’m nothing like the elitist woman who shares my last name, I’m easily dismissed. Brushed aside and forgotten.
It was a relief to be with people at Merrick’s home who accepted me for who I am. It was nice to be in a room with folks who only wanted to get to know me and enjoy the afternoon together. Once my uneasiness faded, I found myself falling into a few conversations. To my surprise, I had a really good time at the party.
Leaving that evening, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For a few hours, I wasn’t a man mourning the end of a marriage or a man grieving the loss of his infant daughter. I was just a guy, hanging out and enjoying the day. I wasn’t marinating in booze, but rather filled full of snacks and grateful for the new friendships I’d made.
Getting to my feet, I shove aside the undone paperwork and gather my things. I’m too distracted to hang around here and attempt to get anything done. Work can wait. I’ve got a less-than comfortable couch and a cold beer calling my name at home.
In no time, I’m turning down my street and parking the truck at the curb. The house is dark, which means Chantal isn’t home yet. My relief is instantaneous. I’ve managed to keep my distance from her since she returned from yet another “business trip”, and I really don’t feel like sparring with her tonight. Not that we fight often. Or speak at all, for that matter. But like those once judgmental eyes of my classmates, her revulsion with me rings loud and clear in the thick silence between us.
Merrick is jogging in place at the end of his driveway and throws me a wave and smile when I step out of the truck. “Hey, how are you?”
Shoving my keys in my pocket, I join him on the sidewalk. “Not bad. You?”
“I’m good. Forcing myself to get in a run, even though I’m damn exhausted.”
“I hear ya. I have to force myself out of bed every morning to get my run in.”
Merrick scrunches up his face. “Early morning runs are the devil.”
With a chuckle, I nod. “Truth.”
He starts to turn away, then turns back and states, “Maybe we could run together this weekend.” It’s not a question really, but rather more like something he’s putting out there as an idea and letting me decide what happens next.
I’ve never made it a habit to run with anyone else, not that people are exactly lining up to spend time with me. Still, like that party on Sunday it might be good to step out of my comfort zone for a change. “Sure, yeah.”
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he unlocks the screen, handing it over. “Give me your number and I’ll shoot you a text and we can work out a time.”
“Okay.” I punch in my digits and hand it back.
“Talk to you then. Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Like the idiot I am, I stand there on the sidewalk and watch him take off down the street in a slow jog, silently asking myself what I’m doing. I have no business getting friendly with my neighbor, let alone running with him. I’m only setting myself up for disappointment once he realizes what a jerk I can be. Sunday’s party might have been nice, and sure I had fun, but suddenly expecting my solitary life to change because of one person is unrealistic. And very, very stupid. My life hasn’t been my own for years now. I’m tied to a woman who hates me, remaining in her life because of a twisted sense of obligation. I’m relegated to spend my future categorizing my faults and mistakes, and to spend years with my head inside a bottle as a way to cope. Being a friend—a even a part of a group of friends—is far out of my wheelhouse. I’m not a good person to have as a friend. It’s part of why I’ve never really had anyone to call a friend. If my past is any indication, I will let down anyone who tries to get too close.
I don’t bother turning on any lights as I move through the dark house and into the garage. For the first in a long time, I’m not going to placate or coddle my so-called wife. If she wants to live in filth, that’s her problem. I’m not her caretaker.Fuck…I’m not even her husband anymore. I’m just a name on a deed that the bank owns. I’m just a useless, intoxicated bum who resides in the apartment above the garage.
Beer in one hand, bottle of vodka in the other, I flop down onto the couch in the dark and attempt to drink away the heaviness that’s sitting on my chest. My days of wanting more or of being happy ended that brutal day six years ago this May. The day my daughter took her last breath in my arms, I stopped living too. I only exist now. I take up space in this world. I sometimes even manage to interact—and occasionally even smile—with those around me. But I’m not a good friend or a close relative or a person anyone should rely on. I’m the person I’ve always been…. worthless, broken, and insignificant.
