Autumn of 87'

Hi, again!

How are you?

Fine?!

No, really! How are you?

What, do you find it strange to have this conversation with me? Why? Is it because I’m not real? Aren’t I? What makes you so sure that you’re the real one? What, just because you’ve been having the same conversation with yourself for several decades now, that gives you certainty that you exist?

Come on… indulge me. You’re real because you are, you know this to be true, so that makes you true. It’s like a socially acceptable standard, the fact that you occupy a certain space and people walk around you is evidence enough, right? But think about it for a second, remember that voice that I mentioned earlier, the one that’s not me and it’s supposed to be you, let me tell you a little secret about that voice: you’re the only one that hears that voice, but it’s not the only voice you hear. #insertsarcasticsmile

How long have you known that voice? Days? Weeks? Months maybe? Years, right? You’ve been hearing that voice for as long as you can remember, right? Is it now? How many times have you had that conversation when you ask yourself all sorts of crap expecting to answer back, and then… queue the drum roll… you do. In a different tone, no less.

Who’s the sane one now? Yeah, I may be talking to myself, but at least I’m not expecting an answer back. So, if I’m the one in touch with my shit knowing exactly what to expect and from whom, why are you more real than me?

Don’t be like that now, you’ve said you’d indulge me. It’s not like I’m forcing you to read this. You can always stop. Seriously now, stop, this is only going to get worst. Who knows, maybe by the end, I’ll even make you doubt yourself. How would that go exactly, would it be me making you doubt yourself, or would it be you doubting yourself through me? Let’s not forget, I’m pretty linear here, just like that voice inside your head that you always know what’s going to answer and yet you still ask it the same questions over and over again, expecting it to fight back.

Good! By now I assume where I’m heading with all this yammering… truth. The omnipotent force of nature that makes society what it is. Truth! More importantly, the opposite of truth lies. Because that’s what society is made of: lies. The truths are just the little chunks of gum that hold it together, but the lies… the lies are what it’s all about. We ARE better than our neighbors, it’s not the fact the fact that we’re insecure about our sizes, be it horizontal or vertical that makes us say this. We are smarter than those that studied at a school with lower rating on the national index, it’s not the fact that we had better opportunities. We deserve to be paid more, we can be better, we should be stronger, we must do more… we have to… otherwise, God forbid, we might end up having to accept something completely unpleasant: the truth.

And the truth is something completely abhorrent indeed, that’s why we always try so hard to shove it as deep as humanly possible.

Let me tell you about a guy I worked with. Yeah, wise guy, I worked once. Do you know how much it costs to join the smart ass club of self-proclaimed intellectuals?

As I was saying; meet John Doe. John works in the capital of Lala Land, come now friend, you know me better than this; you know I’m never going to get political in our little talks. So, Lala Land, capital Smog City, yes, global warming is real.

John is 1.80, weighs 80 kg, has dark hair, hazel eyes and believes in God. He wakes up every morning at 08:00 to board a train and goes to work twenty kilometers away, except for the weekend. On the weekends, he wakes up at 08:00 to scroll the internet senselessly. This is what he waits for all the weekdays, by the way.

Now, you’re asking yourself right now… OK… so we have a John Doe, who’s a boring slob with no perspective in life. Not true, John is actually quite the ladies’ man, he gets enough action without having to show off in an expensive car in order to compensate for anything. He gets regular raises without having to brown nose himself into them, he’s just compensated for his due diligence and problem-solving skills.

OK… so he’s not such a bore. He’s mellow. I’m still not getting to the point. As I was saying, meet John Doe!

Queue the shitty elevator music…

John strutted through the front of the building, looking everywhere and nowhere at once. Music was reaching a crescendo in his earbuds, bringing a slight spring to his step. He looked at his watch as he hit the elevator button, looking around intently. It was 09:21. He had a meeting at 10:00, nothing important, a regular call with his colleagues from Hoola Land.

People were gathering around him, arriving every few seconds. The light flickered atop the second elevator to the left and everybody in the hallway gathered around its doors. John held back and waited for everyone to get in before stepping in. His mother had taught him the value of being a gentleman in a world that had forgotten its manners.

The elevator doors closed as he hit the button marked with the number 12. Orange light lit up around it and the soft purr of the motor made itself heard.

Three minutes later, John swung his bag from his shoulder, pulling the laptop from within in one fluid motion.

‘Yo!’ his colleague Nick called from his left. Nick was pasty looking, obsessed with his health and weight, always boring others with his diet choices. He ate something different each day, always counting his calories, except on Saturdays. He ate junk food on Saturdays.

‘Hi!’ John answered back.

‘Hey John!’ Jim said from across him. Jim was the same age as Nick, which was two years older than John, but Jim wasn’t from Lala Land. He had been born in Gheto Land and every inch of him screamed of this.

‘Hi dude!’ John replied. ‘I have a meeting at 10.00. Want to grab a cup of coffee before that?’ He finished booting up his laptop and quickly opened all the tools he would work in.

‘Sure.’ Jim picked himself up from his slouched position and started for the kitchen.

‘Did we have to prepare anything for the meeting?’ Nick asked, picking up his cup.

‘You’re in it, too?’ John answered.

‘Yeah, Ben asked me to drop in as well just in case they have some questions about project Orange.’

‘Ah, cool. Thanks!’

‘Hey, I got you a double espresso. Figured you’d need it based on your face.’ Jim said, coming back from the kitchen holding two paper cups in his hands.

‘Thanks, I do!’

‘I’ll catch up with you guys. Are you going to the usual spot?’ cried Nick from the kitchen door.

‘Yeah, we’ll meet you out back.’ replied John.

‘Did you ask him to come with us, John?’

‘No, I think he’s included with the coffee at this point.’ The door swung shut with a swoosh and a sucking noise as the magnetic seal locked in place. The back and forth from the elevator was still in full swing and they weren’t the only ones making good use of their free time.

‘Pfff! Sometimes it feels like he’s the mold that you find in the cup you left unwashed over the weekend. You know the one? The one that you really need to scrub down before you can actually enjoy another cup?’

‘Don’t be a dick,’ John said, going into the elevator. And then on a softer note, ‘but yeah, I agree.’

‘I knew you would!’

They turned right as they exited the building and rounded the corner, slowly making their way towards the smoking spot.

‘He told me he’ll be on the call with me this morning. Apparently Ben asked him to do it.’

‘Do you believe him?’

They reached the spot at the back of the building and chose one of the lean on tables to the back. John’s eyes were darting every which way and he was sampling ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Hello’s’ left and right. His back was straighter at the end of his walk and a smile was plastered on his face.

‘No. He wants to show off, as usual.’

‘Figured as much, here he comes.’ He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

Nick strutted into the smoking corner and stopped at a nearby table. A roar of laughter erupted afterwards. John had seen this scene before, he knew what this was about, he knew what Nick was about, regardless; he felt the pang resonate within him as he asked a simple question of himself.

‘Do you think he has any balls left, or he just lost them at some point?’

‘Heh, not really sure he had any to begin with.’

Nick edged in closer to their conversation, stepping lightly through the crowd so as not to spill any coffee.

‘Jim, let me bum a cigarette off of you,’ John said.

‘Sure.’ He extended his pack and lighter over to his colleague and then offered one to Nick as well. The latter declined with a shake of his head.

‘Nick, you have a brother, don’t you?’ John asked.

‘Yeah, why?’

‘Which one of you would win in a fistfight?’

‘What’s with this question man, me of course.’

‘Though so, see, I have a younger brother myself, but he would still win from time to time when we would fight.’

‘Yeah, me and my brother used to fight all the time when we were little, but I’m sure I could beat him.’

‘He older than you, Nick?’ Jim asked, picking up where the conversation was going.

‘Yeah, but just the same.’

‘Why, just the same? If he’s older, he’s got an advantage, right?’ John asked.

‘Yeah, but still.’

‘You said that you would always fight when you were little. What did you fight over? Mike and I would always fight because he wouldn’t stay out of my shit. Did you do the same, Nick, did you fight with your brother because you couldn’t keep your nose clean?’

‘No, John. We fought because we fought. You were right about that double espresso, Jim. Our boy here needs it.’ Nick smiled sheepishly then and slapped John on the shoulder as he was sipping from the cup.

‘Lighten up, Nick. John’s just jealous of the man you’ve become, and he’s afraid Mike will outrank him soon enough.’

‘Ahh, don’t be sad, John. I’ll protect you from your big, bad little brother. Speaking of which, it’s a quarter to 10.00. You coming?’

‘Go ahead, I want to smoke another one before heading up.’ He picked the pack from the table and nodded a thanks to Jim.

‘OK,’ Nick said and turned tail.

‘I thought you didn’t have a brother.’ Jim asked John once they were alone.

‘I don’t. I feel sorry for Nick’s though.’

‘Yeah, their father really screwed up with this one. By the way, I need you to help me with that macro you’ve shown me last time.’

‘It doesn’t work?’

‘No, it’s just that I still need help with it. Can’t seem to wrap my head around it.’

‘Yeah, sure!’

‘Great.’

With the drama ended, both Jim and John went upstairs and got on with their daily activities. The day was rather uneventful for John. He got a chance to talk to Ben about his meeting. Ben asked if there had been any questions about Project Orange. There had been none. They chatted a bit about some of the projects and queries John was working on. John, in his due diligence, always liked to triple check his course of action.

The workday ended, and John braced himself for the long ride home. It usually took him one hour by train, but he never really felt it. He always carried a book for the occasion. It was the only time he could actually focus to get some reading done. Today something bugged him, he kept replaying the short sparring session with Nick from that morning. No matter which way he turned it, he couldn’t break away from it, and anger was slowly bubbling to the top.

Did Ben really ask Nick to come into his call? Why did the idea of Nick being there upset him so much?

He got out his phone and texted Ben.

“Hey, Chief! Nick told me you asked him to join the call today in case I needed any help. Do you want me to return the favor on any project? I know he has a meeting tomorrow with the guys from IT. Thanks!”

Why did it still bug him? He knew how Nick was. If he got the chance, he would crawl up your pants and nest there just in case. How could he be like that, how could he suffer himself to be like that? Always working from one angle to the nest, pleasing people, making sure he was always at arm’s length, especially where he wasn’t wanted.

The station flew by and he found himself in front of his front door. A spark of surprise hit him then, and anger reared in its wake. This was getting ridiculous. Fumbling for his keys, he pulled out his phone and saw Ben’s message.

“Chief, boss, boss man are not appellatives I appreciate in a conversation relating to me. I don’t know what you’re talking about regarding Nick, but if you’ve got nothing better to do, go ahead and join his calls. See you tomorrow. Ben.”

He pocketed the phone and undid the latch on his door. The door closed behind him with a thump; the sound bouncing off the walls of the hallway. He went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

He changed his clothes and as he did, he read the message again.

He ate a sparse meal and poured himself a glass of rum with coke and lime.

He went out on the balcony to watch the fading light of the day in the cool evening breeze.

He read the message again and thought about it and what Jim had said about Nick: his father had really screwed up with him.

Was the same true about him?

Anger boiled and frothed at the edges of his psyche, so he fixed himself another glass.

Something chipped at him, peeling the layers of his being. The feeling racked his bones and sent shivers down his spine.

He pulled out the family phone album and started looking at his baby pictures. They all seemed happy: himself, his mom, his neighbors and aunts, even his dad.

His Dad? Why wasn’t his dad in more of these pictures?

Anger swelled and popped, sending fire through his heart. He picked up the phone and dialed.

‘Hi Dad!’

‘Hey, how are you?’

‘Good, listen. When I was young, where did we live?’

‘We lived in the apartment on North street, don’t you remember, I used to take you to your grandma every weekend?’

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I don’t know, I was looking at some of the pictures from when I was little and I didn’t recognize some of the people there.’

‘Yeah, we lived there until you turned seven and then we moved to Venus street.’

‘Thanks, I remember now. How’s everything?’

‘Good, holding on. Not easy when you’re eighty-three.’

The conversation dragged on, but John was no longer there. Part of him was still staring at the photos of himself from when he was a babe, recognizing the furniture in the background. The furniture from the apartment on Venus street.

As I was saying, truths. Who needs them, right? Well, here’s one that’s solid.

Empathy is the only valuable skill in our society. Why?

You tell me…

Peace.