His Existence

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


The life not wanted.

Submitted: October 30, 2017

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Submitted: October 30, 2017

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"Eugene."

"Oh, Eugene."

The taunting of my name is endless as I walk through the crowded office to find

my cubical.

"My sister needs a date for the prom tomorrow night. Should I tell her you'll pick

her up at eight?"

Why can't they just leave me alone? All I want is to do my job. As I sit down in

my four-foot by four-foot breathing space, the phone begins to ring.

"Good afternoon. Resonance Enterprise, what can I do for you today?"

It's the same thing every day. Someone calls, places an order, and I go out and

install. But it is a job, and I'd rather pay the rent than attempt a career change now.

As I hang up the phone I scribble down -a few details on a piece of scratch paper.

Now I must go to the "Boss" and tell her that I am leaving the office on company time.

As if the other thirty-three employees never leave without acknowledgment.

"Ma'am, I have an order to install. I need to leave for an hour, maybe an hour and a half."

"You better not be out gallop-truanting around. You be back here as, soon as that

job is finished. You hear me?"

"Yes ma'am."

She's been drinking already. In her mind ifs five o'clock here and now. I walked

out of the oppressive confinements of the Resonance building into the fresh, crisp air. It

felt so good that for the first three mites of my trip I rode with the windows down.

Pulling into the cobblestone drive I take immediate notice of the house that I am

about to enter., The house itself is above elaborate. Glass pained windows stretch from

the ground at least two floors up. It is painted in stucco white, with the most intricate

details of their wealth engrained with the paint. What was more exuberant was the

lavish lawn and garden. It practically had a dollar sign mown into the grass. There were

water fountains, vineyards, and the whole works. I can't help but feel a little intimidated

as I step up to the door in my blue jeans and black polo shirt.

"May I help you, Keith?" A tall man in black uniform, most likely the butler.

Why did you pause? Why did you say my name like that? You called me here to

install your stereo and now you're going to treat me like dirt?

Retain your self-respect man. Don't let him see that he affected you. Get it

together.

"I'm here to install the sound system that was ordered, Sir."

"Very well, I will show you to your work."

"Thank you, sir."

Marble floors. This house has marble floors. I suppose that shouldn't surprise me

considering the outside of it, but damn. They were putting in a surround sound in the

bedroom of their kid. The bed was made up in Barbie. A chandelier from the ceiling

nicely reflected the sun from the bay window, overlooking the garden.

Aside from the quick observation I went straight to work, carrying in the

equipment and setting up materials. I was about halfway through the job when a tall dark

man came in wearing jeans and a cashmere sweater. He questioned me about the quality

of the system I was installing, but I felt he was sizing me up. When I told him, with very little effort, about the equipment, he appeared shocked, not wanting to believe this "peasant"

could possibly have an ounce of knowledge about him.

The job finished, I pulled out of the cobble stone drive. That is the only time in

my life that I will be surrounded by such extravagance. I will never see such an over

abundance of material things again in my life.

One hour and twenty-seven minutes. That should be just enough to bust her

chops. Back in the parking lot I sat flipping through the papers on the passenger’s seat.

Windows rolled down, a cool breeze; I was dreading the return to the confinements of

that office. Checking my watch, I realized that all I would have to do would be to report

in, file the paper work, and then leave. Office hours were just about over... thankfully.

"Ma'am, I finished the installation at the Greatens."

"It's 'bout time you got back 'ere boy."

"Yes ma'am"

I left before she had a chance to humiliate herself. One too many chardonnays

will do that to you. With the paper work filed I got in my pick-up and headed for The

Cask. A game of pool will do me good tonight.

The bartender gave me a smile through his shaggy mustache. The door knocked

into the woodwork behind me as if the ringing of a bell sounding round one.

"Eugene! How about a drink, buddy?"

"Just one before your little game won't hurt"

"No of course not, will just make you shoot a little straighter!"

The roar of laughter rose up like a cloud of dust from a floor that was being

swept. Pushing my way through the sea of torment I made my way to the back room

where a single pool table stood, beckoning me.

A squared plus B squared. My mind is in depth with the game. If sin equals the

tangent. All those people that told me that I mastered geometry for no reason at all, if

they could only see me now. I love this game.

Hours later, everyone is so intoxicated that they can't even remember that they

detest me. 1 feel weak as I pull the heavy oak door open, turning to give one last look to

my environs. The bartender smiles, and I leave.

Driving down the road the rain begins to fall. Windshield wipers motioned over

the glass. Waves of rain rippled in my thoughts.

Those people today had it made. If I had a tenth of the money, they had I could

get the hell out of this town, or at least this job. Maybe the gym will help.

I unlaced my boots and tied up my sneakers. Chalk on my hands and I felt no

pain. The weights had no bearing on my shoulders as I counted the repetitions. And

when 1 moved onto leg presses I began to lose myself in the numbers.

By the time I was done I needed a shower, badly. The water hammering over my

shoulders relived my body, but it couldn't wash away my mind. I laced up my boots,

threw on a shirt, Keith embroidered on the left breast, and headed for my truck. Maybe I

could drive away from my mind.

As I walked in the door a familiar stench struck my nostrils. I could not suppress

the sneeze from the mildew, and urine in the complex. Four flights and all  must

deal with the mildew. Taking as many as three steps at a time I flew up the stair well.

Approaching my door, I pulled out my key and realized I hadn't even bothered to lock my apartment.

I'm hungry. I've got to have food around here somewhere. I opened the pantry

door and a fly winged out. I found a can of soup, opened the top, and sat it on the burner.

Five minutes later supper was ready.

Devouring my soup directly from the can, I noticed that the goldfish were hungry.

The refrigerator was bare, no fish food, but I found a stale hot dog. With a

shrug of inattention, I threw it into the fish tank. The television wouldn't turn on. An

attempt to coax it with a smash to the side did not help. At least the radio still plays. I

cranked up the radio to some hard rock and laid down on the sofa. After positioning

myself so that the springs would not gouge my back, I began to drift and fall asleep.

Is this my existence? Eating soup out of a can and feed hotdogs to goldfish. I

need something better than this. But I tell myself that all the time. I need to get over it

and just do it. How can others, have so much? How did they get it?

I mean, look at where I live. I don't think anyone even knows my real name, or

anything else about me. Six years of college. But what did I do with it? Nothing, that's

what.

Is this really my life?


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