A Brief Alienation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story of one summer day in my misspent youth

Submitted: November 25, 2014

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Submitted: November 25, 2014

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A Brief Alienation by W. Winter

I suppose you’ll want to know where it started. You’ll want the details, the truth is I’m not really in the mood so I’ll spare you those. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about details almost sadistically so. Every. Damn. Little. Detail. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about this particular day a few weeks into summer vacation. I was taking it easy when she called.

“Hey! How are you?”

Before I could answer she says “Listen, its Saturday I was wondering if you’d like to meet me at the Fashion Gate mall? If you aren’t busy? Are you? Are you doing something?”

I took a moment to see if she’d shut up and let me answer. She was a real motor mouth, you couldn’t get a word in with her. Not that you’d want to she wasn’t real bright, not much of a conversationalist, and not exactly a terrific listener. I assumed she was stranded at the mall and wanted to use me for a ride home. To tell the truth she annoyed the hell out of me but she was very attractive. I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying her company over several nights in the past few weeks, as did half my schoolmates, but it was worth it.

Now, seeing as I was already with Sman, this guy I met a few years earlier at Olympus, our high school, I hung up the phone with her and invited him along, mostly because he was already here as was his car. I didn’t think she’d mind him coming along being that she also went to Olympus and they knew each other. Not like friends but like people who met once at some lame party and haven’t talked since. Anyway, I didn’t care for Sman in particular. He had a real selfish way about him. One time he offered to pick me up and take me to some lame party he had intended going to with or without me, then asked me for gas money. Tight ass. Even though he is only 17 he can grow a full beard, no kidding. He has beady eyes that bug the hell out of me. He always dressed nice, with a dab of cologne, his black hair slick, and his face freshly shaven. What a dirt bag. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with looking dapper as long as it doesn’t take a quarter of your damn life in front of a mirror doing so. It’s rare to find a person with whom you can hold a decent conversation with and Sman was no exception. He couldn’t or wouldn’t have a serious conversation. He found everything amusing. You speak to him and he’d have this stupid smile on his face, his lower teeth protruding the upper—only slightly, you’d really have to pay attention to see. I’d wish his mother would die and he’d find out about it when I was there, you know, to see if that dumb smile would remain fixed upon his face.

Sman agreed to my invite mostly on the hopes of meeting girls at the mall. That’s what mattered to him, women and parties. I further incentivized him by mention of a chill Dr. Pepper diluted with gin which I had in my basement fridge. A few sips later I was beginning to feel my ego fragmenting and my eyes glazing over. Sman was having his fair share too even though he was going to drive us to the mall in a while. It didn’t matter to him, he loved getting saturated with elements, drink, pills, weed… We got in his old maroon Chrysler, rolled down the windows to generate some air flow as the air conditioning didn’t work. We got on the freeway and the air rushed over my face, the cool summer breeze felt well. It was evening now and the sky was beginning to get that beautiful sun kissed orange glow. My tranquility was interrupted by Sman singing along with the radio “Once I had a little game/ I liked to crawl back in my brain/ I think you know the game I mean/ I mean the game called go insane”. He was making stupid movements with his hands, his body attempting some dance. The sight of him married my thoughts with memories of sixth grade when I was forced to dance in the gym with the rest of the class, which was fine I didn’t mind the dancing per se. It was the fact I got stuck with a partner who had sweaty palms, real sweaty and she was fat. You know it cracks me up when I see a fat guy married to a cute slender woman, I feel sorry for her, I can imagine his big sweaty belly on top of her, smothering her beauty. I wonder if she hates herself for it.

My attention turned to the small white clouds scattered about in the burning sky. Usually I can make some sense of them, see something understandable to man if such things exist. But not today, today they don’t want to be labeled, bound to judgment. I understand. I pondered if she was looking up at the same cloud. You know, my fat dance partner. I often wonder if anyone I know is looking up at the same cloud that very moment. Makes the world seem smaller, less lonely.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m not in the mood to divulge all the details so I’ll spare you the rest of the ride there.

The mall we were now at had two levels and was the outdoor kind with the pathways exposed to the elements. We headed for the escalator to go upstairs where the food court was to meet my lady friend. As we neared I could see her leaning over the railing looking down at the people below. She had a real sexy way about her. How do I say this? Have you ever been around a woman who, when you talk to her, you can’t help but see your cock in her mouth? She was like that. Her breast were perfect, maybe a C cup and her ass was, for lack of better words, gratification for the eyes. Her teeth were white like sugar and her full, pink lips tasted like it. Those brown eyes had a sparkle in them that could rival the stars. I embraced her and felt her tits press against me. She smelled of flowers and sex. Sman hugged her too and then followed the fakest hello’s you ever heard. They said hello as if they grew up on the playground together and haven’t seen each other in ages. If you were there to see it you would have thought they had playdates as kids and afterwards took naps together.

“Hey!”

“Oh my god how are you!?”

“I’m great how have you been? How is everything?”

Meanwhile they both have these big fake smiles on their faces. I could imagine them practicing them in the mirror, it would have made you vomit. Their conversation sounded so fake and dumb I wondered if they had any brains at all. At this point Sman starts to get flirtatious with her, and being that she’s been with half my school, it seemed he was the only one that hadn’t made it with her. She had one of those plaid skirts that just came past her butt. She made sure while she was flirting with Sman to keep her back to me so I’d see how cute her ass looked. I was beginning to hate her by now, even though she wasn’t my girl. My intentions towards her were purely sexual.

I was being a spectator in my own play when this black guy and two chubby black chicks walk up to us. I didn’t recognize them from our school or anywhere else. Well my lady friend turns real nasty and starts shouting at the top of her lungs at the guy. From what I could understand he was her old boyfriend and blah blah… People talk too damn much. I’m the kind of guy who is getting his haircut and is glad someone else is chatting it up with the barber, saves me from the small talk. Anyway, here was Sman in the middle of it all with that smile on his face. These two ex-lovers are raging with anger and he seems to be getting off on it. Others are beginning to take notice of the disruption when all of a sudden here comes this middle aged man dressed in his pompous army uniform to intervene in the shouting match. I smelled his stink of self-importance like I can smell the distinct aroma of a lady’s perfume.

There are three things I hate more than anything. War, politicians, and bullies. They are always somehow interconnected. War, what a joke. You put on some stupid uniform and get called a hero. That’s how they get you though, with that illusion. Every boy and girl had a hero they aspired to be one day. Well what do you know, pick up a gun for another man’s principles and you will become one too. You’ll get shiny metals and people will walk up to you and say “Thanks for serving” and shake your hand. You’ll feel like a big shot, like a hero. Don’t get me wrong I will fight for the things I love I just won’t trade humanity for patriotism. And why do they always wear their uniforms in public? They wear them when they go grocery shopping, when they take their kids to the park, and when they go to the movies. You don’t see an auto mechanic wearing his uniform around town. Maybe he fixed some bad brakes today, which could have saved some lives right? But you don’t see him seeking attention in his uniform.

While Mr. Important is saving the day by defusing the argument I decide to take a few steps back and hang my drunken eyes over the railing. Looking down at the sharp and modest people walking around—in their fancy clothes, spicy haircuts, and fake smiles—it kills me. The dregs of humanity. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost. They always give me the feeling I am missing out on something. Looking at them makes me think something better is happening elsewhere and I don’t want to miss out. But its bullshit. All of it. We’re like fireworks, once the fuse is lit we’re all headed for the same place. We’re all stuck on the same little speck of dust, floating aimlessly throughout the universe.

Wallowing in my thoughts I had failed to notice her leaning on the railing right next to me. “Sorry about that” she says with a slight smile on her lips, her teeth barley showing. I didn’t say anything, instead matched her smile to a small degree. Sman was on my other side looking intently at the people below as if taking aim, ready to spit. She must have sensed my uneasiness and annoyance so she tried to offset it by leaning in real close, her warm, soft voice brushed over my ear as she whispered “Let’s get out of here, I want to give you a blow job”. You’d think my blood got warmer, pumped faster through my heart, you’d think my lips parted in a smile but honestly at that very moment all I could think of was the phrase blow job and how I hated it. Job? Like it was some obligation that must be done in order to stay alive. What idiot thought of that? It’s like the word barista. You pour hot water on coffee beans, get over your self-glorification. I don’t know what idiot came up with these things but that wasn’t going to ruin my crowning experience, that’s a much better phrase for it. And besides, I felt like getting out of this place. I told Sman we should go and with only slight refusal the three of us were headed for his car. She was walking between the two of us, her arm loosely around my neck. From time to time she placed tiny kissed on me. I won’t bore you with the small talk to the car. I got in the backseat with her as Sman started the car and turned up the radio. She snuggled up next to me, much of her upper thighs visible. I placed my hand on one, as far up without going under the skirt. She smiled and began kissing my neck. I met Smans eyes in the rearview, he had that stupid smile on his face. I told him to head towards her home. It was pretty dim outside now only the slightest trace of the suns last rays visible in the sky.

We didn’t take the freeway instead opted for the privacy the backstreets offered. The long stretch of road ahead was unusually deserted for a Saturday night, only a taillight or two visible in the distance. She looked out the windows and began to undue my belt. If she hesitated for a moment, I failed to notice. Before I knew it she was doing the “job”. The physical sensation of her and the gin made me feel elevated. My skin felt warm, tingly from the excitement of her and the gin flooding my veins. Worrying I’d finish too quick I began to force my mind to think of other things. How would I boil the ocean? What if my mother saw me right now? Why can’t kangaroos walk backwards? And my grandmother. I haven’t spoken to her in years. How funny is that? Here I am with my dick down a throat and I’m thinking of my grandma. I don’t think of her any other day, maybe once a year, yet here I am…

We were stopped at a red light and a truck was next to us, the occupants looking into our backseat. I told her to keep her head down so it looked like she was taking a nap in my lap.

Suddenly I felt like the pope riding around in his glass car exposed to everyone. How the hell did I get here? I was in a glass case at the museum for all the people to glare at. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness came over me. For as long as I can remember I wished for a safe place that would never change, that no one could penetrate, not even time. Everyone should have such a place. Like Christmas morning. Outside, the sun isn’t out yet, the ground’s frozen, and it’s cold. But your living room is warm. The colorful Christmas lights are glowing with liveliness. Everyone you love is there. They love you too. They’re smiling. You’re safe, loved. That there, that moment in time a person should be able to put in a jewelry box or a glass case to cherish it like a trophy where it would remain forever perfect and lovely, never to be intruded, never to…

“My jaw hurts” she says, interrupting my perfect thoughts.


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