The Idiot

I don’t believe in God or the Devil or destiny. I don’t believe in much, actually. My mother wonders what she did so horribly wrong in raising me that I would turn out to be such “an empty shell of a human being.” Thanks, Mom, I love you too. Ha!

I’m just an average person with no ambition, no dreams, no wannabe future. Really, does it matter? We’re all gonna die, anyway. Can’t stop that lovely part of existence. So, I say screw it. Just keep breathing every day, see what happens in the 24 hours that encapsulates you, wait to experience whatever transpires, and then move on.

My friend Casey says I’m an idiot. “You’re an idiot,” she says. I don’t care. Idiots can live just as well as geniuses can. I tell her, “We’re all on the road to oblivion, so what does it matter what I do or don’t do today?”

Casey say boys can be so dumb. I resent that. I’m not dumb; I’m a philosopher with nothing to say. Some people would probably think that’s a good thing, but not Casey. Her retort: “Man, you’re so twisted.” And then she does the Mother trick: Make something of yourself. Do something to change the world. Grow up, for God’s sake.

But I don’t believe in God. So, “Casey, shut up,” I say.

I have no idea why we like each other. We bicker all the time, mostly about me being a loser. Yet, we hang out, talk, laugh, kiss, drink booze, sleep, eat bad-for-you stuff, and walk the roads of the city. I guess you could call us homeless, but I prefer home-free. Actually, Casey has a home with parents who love her, but she likes to spend time with me because there are no expectations when she’s with me: just laughter, independence, and no plans. But, as life sometimes goes, we often find ourselves sleeping on soggy, smelly mattresses long left behind in empty, abandoned buildings, and Casey is not a fan of such ugliness.

“Come on, Joe, let’s find a motel,” she says.

“Who’s gonna pay for it?” I say.

“I am,” she says.

“Forget it,” I say. “A guy’s got standards.” That’s when she gives me another Mother look: like I’m an unbelievable nincompoop, like I’m in line for the coveted title of Stupidest Man Alive in the Entire Universe.

Then one day, Casey says she’s done with me. “I’m done with you,” she says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

‘What do you think I mean?” she says.

“The party’s over?” I say.

“This is no party,” she says.

“Okay, then. You sure? You’re gonna miss all this fun,” I say.

“You gotta grow up, Joe,” she says.

“No thanks, Mom, “ I say. I shrug, look into her eyes, and see determination. So, I say, “Well, it’s been swell knowing you.”

And I walk away, down the street, around the corner, down another street, around another corner, down still another street until I come to “our tree.” It’s an ancient oak living in a stumbling community park that no one but the homeless and drug addicts visit. It’s a great tree, listens really well, and never talks back. Sure, sometimes squirrels chatter on its crooked limbs and throw half-eaten nuts and stuff at me and whoever else happens to be sitting under the shade of the tree, but it’s still a great tree to commune with.

No one’s around today. I like it like that. Just me and no judgments or conversations or people noise. Just me and my solitary self. Okay, I might be starting to miss Casey just a bit, her with her long dark hair and green eyes and lavish breasts. But I’m a guy who travels light and doesn’t ponder on the way of life. There’s just no purpose to thinking; it gets you nowhere but at the end of your rope, and we all know that’s coming down the pike, maybe soon, maybe later.

I hear a noise like boots walking toward me. I look up, and there’s Casey.

“I hate you,” she says.

“Ditto,” I say, and then she sits down beside me on the cool earth beneath the tree.

We don’t speak for a while. Two people staring off into space, waiting for something. A bus? A meteor? The end of democracy? Then she says, “Do you like me?”

Well, that’s a dumb question. Haven’t I been hanging out with you forever? Don’t I protect you from the bad guys in the streets? Don’t I share my booze, my bed such as it is, and my witty repartee with you? But all I really say is “Yes.”

“Then how can you just walk away like that?” she says.

“Because that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” I say.

“No,” she says.

Okay. Don’t get that at all. “Didn’t you say you’re done with me?”

She sighs. “You’re supposed to fight for our relationship,” she says.

Really don’t get that at all.

“If you’re not going to fight for our relationship, then I need you to let me go,” she says.

I’m baffled. Since when did I put chains on this girl?

“You’re free to go, anytime you want,” I say.

“No,” she says.

Still baffled.

We sit in our silence, listening to a strident siren wail through the city streets not too far away.

“You have my heart. I want it back,” she whispers.

Even more baffled.

“What are you talking about?” I say.

She turns to me, her green eyes delving into my brown eyes, and shakes her head.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says.

Heard that before, like a gazillion times.

“I love you, Joe,” she says, staring straight ahead, looking afraid of speaking those words.

Love? Me? Even my own mother doesn’t love me. I’m an empty shell of a human being, remember? I stand up, things like nails clawing inside my chest. My heart is jack-rabbiting like I just climbed Mt. Everest in ten minutes. Love? No way. Like? Yes. Like a lot? Yes. But love? No way.

I start walking away, but then I hear the soft whimper of someone crying. Do I keep on walking? Do I run? Do I get transported into space by a UFO? No. I turn around. Casey is crying, softly, like she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

I may be an idiot, I may be a loser, but I’m not heartless. I sit down beside her. And wait for her to become quiet.

“Why are you crying?” I ask.

She doesn’t say anything.

‘Why do you love me?” I say.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

Totally baffled.

But then I come up with a brilliant idea. Something I read a long time ago. A ceremonial kind of thing. Geniuses aren’t the only ones who can concoct brilliant ideas. Sometimes an empty shell can be filled, well, almost.

I stand up. “Stand up,” I say.

“Why?” she asks.

“Just stand up,” I say.

Casey slowly stands up.

I hold out my hands. “Take my hands,” I say.

She takes my roughhewn hands, hers so small and soft in mine.

“Close your eyes and breathe deeply like you’re trying to bring all the goodness of the world into your being,” I say.

“Why?” she says.

“You’ll see,” I say.

Casey closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Keep breathing,” I say.

Casey breathes quietly and deeply, her eyes still closed. I see some of the sadness in her face slowly start to dissolve. She looks like an angel and I have an overwhelming desire to kiss her, but this is not the time.

“Now, listen carefully. Repeat after me, silently, in your heart and mind,” I say.

Casey’s breathing slows and she waits for my words.

“If you love someone, set them free. Say it three times,” I say.

I watch as Casey’s eyebrows twitch into a frown, and she opens her eyes. “What?” she says.

“It’s an old saying. If you love someone, set them free. If they belong to you, they’ll return to you. Or something along that vein,“ I say.

Casey slides her hands out of my loose grip.

“Is this your idea of ‘Adios Casey’?” she says.

“I thought you were done with me. Remember those words?” I say.

Casey stares at me. I can’t read her expression. But I have a feeling that it’s Adios Joe, for real this time.

Then she shrugs and her eyes narrow and begin to glisten with tears. “Okay, you set me free. No point in loving an idiot,” she says. And with that, she turns and walks away, down the street, around the corner, down another street, around another corner, and gone, gone, gone.

I’m not sure how I feel about this turn of events. I thought if I set her free with a nice little ceremony, she would be happy. I thought I would be happy that I made her happy. Kinda twisted, if you think about it. I decide to wait for her under our tree, just in case, so I sit back down and wait to see if she’ll come back.

I wait and I wait. I hear people laughing somewhere behind me. Casey doesn’t come back. Maybe it’s better this way. Can’t have anyone loving me, anyway. That’s too much pressure. I might have to grow up or something like that. 

I stand and stretch. I take a deep breath. I look to the skies, and I realize that, deep down where my heart is supposed to be, in the quiet place where Casey will be lodged as a memory, I’m beginning to feel like the old Joe, the guy who was carefree, who didn’t have to consider anyone else, the guy who could just go wherever, whenever, however. It might be lonesome sometimes, but there’s nothing like the feeling of freedom. Lightweight. Openness. Endless heartbeats in tune with the earth. Oh yeah. Guess that old expression set me free too.

Pretty damn good intellection, for an idiot.