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“Where I come from shit isn’t sweet.” Now get the fuck out of here. In the last month, he has sent me home five times for stupid infractions docking my pay each time. It never occurred to me that disorganizing the meat freezer would be like stealing money from the cash register. I can see froth bursting from the sides of his mouth. Even though his arms were flailing about, I felt safe. I felt an awkward lull come over me, as he mimicked the antics of an ungraceful ballerina who, with each movement, looks less graceful. Having something to do took precedence over pride. My fate was determined by an assistant manager at a rustic diner. Having been hired by his father to run the joint, Anthony, my assistant manager, is a pompous, pimple-faced degenerate with ambitions of taking over the chain. A man who used to sell dime bags of weed is now preparing to open an upscale eatery downtown. I need him more than he needs me because I can’t be alone anymore. 

There was an obvious look of disbelief on the faces of coworkers who were gawking at me. While Anthony yells, "just tell me you don't want to be here," he followed me from the backroom to the front of the house. On seeing the fire-waving dragon, some customers look on in disbelief, but put their heads down, deciding it's not their issue. The only thing I said was, "I need this job." A group of young kids, probably high school age, screamed, "Give him a break!" The words echoed throughout the dingy diner, where dust-covered light shades dimmed the room. With wobbly tables stabilized with napkins, the checkered floors featuring grime and broken tiles. 

I grab my things, a hoodie with more holes than a fishing net. Patting my pockets to ensure my wallet and phone are inside. I usually make up some heartfelt story about my dad giving me that raggedy thing when people ask why I carry it around. Nowadays, we don't talk as much as we'd like to. Which statement is true? My father's lack of communication with me was my father's way of shunning me for believing I destroyed my life or believing he could not protect me. It's as if I am only a shell of myself, and I don't go shopping because I have nobody to impress. It's as if my thoughts are forgotten, abandoned, and abused like my clothes. I used to be so good at everything it hurts having to learn all over again, to be part of a community all over again, to be the disliked black duck all over again.

My lack of sacrifice was due to the fact that I was never forced to work hard for anything. Everything came to me like osmosis. I never really focused on anything, I just got it. Teachers and parents flocked around me, creating hatred among my peers. In anguish, my peers try to figure out how they can tell their parents about me without incriminating themselves. Since my peers knew that I was a fraud masquerading as a student, they were tired of hearing about my academic successes. My darkest days in high school were weekends, but they were the only times I felt truly alive. We would stand in line at the city liquor store after school every day to ask winos to buy us alcohol. The people in the neighborhood could see right through us, prep kids wearing designer clothing emulating our favorite rapper, speaking the lingo. We weren't from around there, and they made us feel unwanted. After an hour or so, somebody would grab us liquor, but they felt obligated to show they didn't care about us, but would take our money and never have change. A further fuck you committed was that they deliberately purchased the opposite of everything we requested. My crew of Jason, Billy, and Timmy argued over who should have stood up to the winos at the liquor store while taking our goods to Brittany's house. Despite the fact that she was the biggest loser in high school, she attracted friends because her mother worked nights and left an open house. As long as we were clean and acted like a friend of Brittney's, we could also drink at her house.

My life changed one night at Brittney's, but to those around me, my life entered a dark period. We were drinking as usual. The usual bullshit, usually about someone we don't like. To bring an abrupt end to the banter, Timmy yelled, "Look those fuckers gave us wine coolers again, they must think we're bitches. He was the antagonist of the group, shouting and grabbing his crotch as if he were dancing for a bunch of concertgoers. Timmy's reputation is that he talks a lot. If someone dared to yell back, he would cower and say, "You're lucky these people are here." I got tired of his antics. Tired of people fearing this kid who has never fought anyone. This evening I had courage, but more rage. Rage at my father for constantly bugging me about the college admissions process. My dad turned into a Drill Sargent Dad, suddenly playing Jeopardy at home: why do you want to attend Yale? Whatever I replied, he would find a way to correct it. Angry at the thought of my father, I turned to Timmy. As my dad's rage pounded through my body, I drank my fourth shot of Bacardi courage. Since I couldn't hit my dad, Timmy would have to suffice for now. Waiting for him to even whisper, I was ready to pounce and show him as a fraud once and for all. Like my father, he acted like a millionaire to his friends, but lied to his bill collectors at home. Fucking fraud. 

It was then that Timmy foolishly singled me out and asked, what the fuck are you gonna do, Larry? It's the same with you. It was the first time in a long time that my body moved before my brain. Picking up an empty wine cooler bottle, I lunged at Larry. In that moment, everything changed. As a result of my rage drinking, I slipped and fell smashing glass everywhere. Brittney jumped off the couch in disbelief at the disrespect shown to her home by a friend. A further rung was added to my bullshit ladder due to her disdain and embarrassment. Then I yelled out to him, "Meet me outside.". Timmy surprised me by running outside as if he had been released from a cage. My rage is further fueled by the fact that he has not backed down once. Fighting someone who does not fight back makes no sense. It's a lucky thing he chose to get fucked up. We are all just drunk, our friends run outside to plead with us not to fight, since we have known each other since grade school. All those statements may be true, but it's time to move on. Timmy and I pushed everyone aside in the pitch-black yard, except for the corner of the house illuminated by a streetlight. I shoved Brittney out of the way and aimed for Timmy. He threw a rock and I don't remember what happened next. From what I'm told he hit me with a boulder of a rock. I was in a coma for six-months effectively missing out on everything I worked for in one-night. Yes, a rock and Timmy destroyed everything in one night, or so I thought.  

The real me emerged once the coma had ended. That night, Timmy was arrested, but my father refused to destroy two futures. Valiantly, he sought the dismissal of the charges. After the charges against Timmy were dropped, his image was slightly tarnished, but his basketball skills enabled him to enroll in a random college in Ohio. As for me, I was back at the beginning of my life, learning the basics. Leaving the hospital and returning home was the most challenging part. While my friends scattered away at college achieving greatness, I had to rebuild this thing called life at home. My father no longer had high hopes and devoted his energy elsewhere. I would fight for my dad to ask me a Yale question right now. All is lost within a flash of a second. In my daily routine, I was like a robot and my phone became like a mini-computer because I rarely received texts or phone calls. There was a feeling that I was damaged goods, if not trash. A no-contact order was enforced on the outside world through my mini-computer. Through my computer, I visited faraway worlds, spied on my former friends, and even got my GED. All with nobody knowing. Scrolling through FaceBook and selectively-inadvertently stalking friends brought me through a range of emotions, but sadness was the ultimate one. With a "good-enough-degree," I'm not doing anything. I find it funny how we unconsciously compare ourselves to the versions of people we prefer. Rather than accepting their failures, we focus on their successes, ultimately establishing unrealistic goals for ourselves. Only when we want demonize do we focus on failures. The world appeared through the emotional lens I felt that day, so I diluted my lens in order to dissociate myself from society, believing everyone would be happy except me.  

A few scrolls later, I learn Timmy's dad was killed in a car accident with a drunk driver.I fought hard not to yell, "Karma is a bitch.". As I comforted Timmy under his Facebook post, I kept my composure. Suddenly, my phone rang. At first, I didn't recognize the foreign sound of a phone ringing. No one really checked on me besides my dad. Staring at the phone, I don't know what to do. When thinking about his father's death, I ask myself what should I say, what should I do - should I even be mad at all? Keeping a distance from the outside world and avoiding real emotions was much easier. Like a coward I let the phone ring to voicemail. Feeling defeated I plop down on the couch and reach for the remote. My phone rang with another unfamiliar sound. I look down and realize it's a text from Timmy. My first thought was, wow, he's persistent. The text read: “We as humans prefer to be pieces of ourselves instead of sharing our whole selves with the world, constantly fighting and grappling to be the leader, proving to each other who's the strongest, forgetting that no matter how strong we are individually, we cannot accomplish life alone. We single and degrade people to reach the mountaintop only to discover that we are all alone. No matter where you are on the mountain, there is a way to find common ground by working together. Our recurring cycle of reaching one goal, creating another, causes us to hurt those around us. As a result of our accomplishments, we have rendered each other insignificant. We live lives of hell, lashing out and destroying lifelong bonds. Our accomplishments are short-lived, probably will be forgotten - but our human bonds will endure regardless of any storm.”