Life Without The I

Joe breathed himself into an utter canvas of blackness. Some minuscule dots of red, orange, a purple float here and there. 

He envisioned his small pet hamster from home. Atticus was his name. A puffy ball of life that could do a lot but choose to eat, run his wheel, and sleep. On the off occasion, he would scramble to bite his way out of his cage, but once in a ball or given a snack he forgot. Atticus had everything he needed and more with the care of Joe.

Slowly, surely, Joe felt lighter, happier. Suddenly he was in Atticus's cage playfully being chasing. Joe jumped onto the wheel and ran to nowhere while Atticus throwing sunflower seeds and yelled at him.

"Time! Time!"

“TACKLES TIME! Repeat please.”

“Tackles time,” grossly moaned the classroom.

The teacher, who looked like any teacher, threw her hands with every word like a conductor, “Time is the scarcest resource anyone has. Right now, in this room, in your desks, each passing second you exist you lose this precious commodity… HM-HM! HM-HM!”

The dream blew away. Joe kept his eyes closed, “Yes?”

“What did I just say, Joseph?”

“What did I just say, Joseph?”

A wicked snap slammed the desk’s corner, “Don’t play smart! Sit up and pay attention!”

Joe remained but at least opened his eyes, “Happy?”

The teacher puckered her lips, “After class, Joseph.”

The bell rang and Joe waited until everyone was out before heading to the teacher’s desk, “Yes Mrs. Lindern?”

“Why don’t you care?”

“Why do you care that I don’t care ―”

“Please,” her voice was defeated, “Please, Joseph.”

It was the raspy tongue of the “-se” in the plea that struck his heart. He rolled his shoulders back and tried to kindly look into her eyes. They were brown like his.

“You know and I know your smart. Your grades show it. Your work shows it. You have everything in the palm of your hand. Please, don’t waste it. Don’t ever be a waste. You have potential.”

His cheeks felt hot and a smile almost poured, “Of course, Mrs. Lindern.”

“You’ll be graduating right?”

“Yes.”

“College?” 

“Should I?”

“Yes, for sure yes! Especially now with the market and job availability. You need that degree.”

“Of course, Mrs. Lindern!” 

Joe knew the science, knew how potential is nothing without the kinetic. It was time to make a move, a motion in his life. For the next several months he did just as asked in every class with every teacher. As the result of a fine paper, excelled exam, the teacher at hand showered their wishes to Joe. He was on the right track as everyone said. The phrase “average Joe” always annoyed him and it was his motivation to keep on. 

Graduation soon arrived and all the acne-peach fuzz-faces of now men and women walked to their degrees. Joe finished in the top 5% of his class, all honors, and set his eyes on some big state university. Right as he walked out of the auditorium with his family, one of his best friend’s dad stopped to talk to him. 

“Hey, Joe congrats! Do you know what you want to be?”

“I’m undecided right now but I’m thinking of maybe philosophy or ―”

“Don’t do that,” scoffed the man. 

Joe felt slightly embarrassed. His mind was still catching up to the fact he finished high school and was going to college. Yet, his repressed debate inside of him questioned it all, as it always had whether he liked it or not. 

“What should I do then?”

“Listen,” as he and many others said, “Accounting, Computer Science, or Finance. Look to be a CPA and eventually a CFO, and life will be good,” and he flashed a diamond watch, “Trust me.”

More Time passed.

“Best 4 years of your life,” professionally lectured an alumnus in a sharp blue suit. 

Parties, drugs, girls, life for Joe was an 18+ Chuck E Cheese. And of course, in the middle of day drinks and last night munchies, Joe still maintained structure in his coursework. Only missed an 8 am when he had to. And on the rare occasions when he overslept or simply didn’t care, Joe would still pass work and exams. During holiday breaks, he would come home and reunion with old classmates and friends. Some came back the same, some came back fat, and others came back noticeably attractive. They all shared their drunk stories of bar fights and awkward meetups. Joe was having fun and thankful to even be in this type of life. But that evident realization which he fought every night would creep open like the impossible closing of a door.

Time pressed on as it does. Another graduation with another color of robes. Some same friends. Some different ones. Joe received a Bachelor’s in Accounting with a minor in Computer science. 

A former professor came up and shook his hand, “Joe it was a pleasure to teach you. If you really want to be something, go get that CPA and even a Master’s.”

“Should I get a Doctorate too,” 

“If you want,” the man didn’t see the sarcasm, “But here,” he handed a business card, “Reach out to me when ready and come work in New York. I’ll show you everything there is that you need to know.”

“Sounds good,” Joe smiled back. The smile died right after the professor walked away. 

The freedom of the world beckoned Joe like a train conductor giving one last call. The thoughts of before at this point refused to cease and Joe refused to give in. He eventually got his Master’s, passed the CPA exam, and even got himself a girlfriend. Her name was Mary and she ironically looked like George Bailey’s wife. It took time, for sure too much time, but after paying off student loans money was no longer a problem. Quickly, Joe had wealth and had what others called love. 

Time continued to happen. Marriage, kids, house. Sleep, work, nurture, drink.

Joe decided to attend his high school reunion before moving on. The bright luminescent lights of the gym caused an ugly eyesore that didn’t help many people’s hairlines. There were big smiles, hearty laughs, and needed hugs for the alumni. Many teachers showed up as well to see how their lessons impacted this one future youth. 

Joe dressed sharp and still looked relatively handsome compared to everyone else. But in it, he was exhausted. So, so tired that he wished his brain would shut off. If a gunman came in at that moment he would get in line like a grocer for the bullets. But he continued on. With the help of accompanied beer and some painkillers for his back problem a year before, there was still some euphoria to get by. Still enough to have faith in life.

He locked eyes with Mrs. Lindern, “Hey Mrs. Lindern.”

Time had eaten her. Her hair was statically grey and her skin had enough wrinkles to pocket coins, “Oh, Joe. How are you?”

Joe hugged back, “I’m alright, I’m alright.”

“That smile of yours sure is something,” she looked at his hand, “Ah someone has found a little girl.”

“She’s of age Mrs. Lindern.”

“What?”

“Are you still teaching?”

“Yes.”

“And you still find enjoyment out of it.”

“Well, why yes or else why would I be a teacher.”

“How do you keep doing it?”

“Instance like you Joe. When you turned that corner it was great to see. Things like that are why anyone wishes to be a teacher.”

“You think I turned the corner?”

She laughed, “Still have that sense of humor don’t you know?”

“What the hell do you know?”

Her eyes gaped, “Excuse me?”

“Meaningless attract meaningless huh.”

She was choking with confusion.

“People like you are just so unbelievable it’s disgusting beautiful isn’t it?”

“Please, Joseph I ―”

“Aren’t you tired Mrs. Lindern? Aren’t you just so tired you could drop the world if you wanted to?”

“I-I-I don’t know ―”

Joe shot an ear-throbbing chuckle, “That’s it! You never knew. You. I. Are the same. Like a parasitic leech, you project your life because you hate your life.”

“Joseph, watch what you’re saying. Let it be known ―”

“That I don’t give a damn,” Joe’s voice was quietly ruthless, “What didn’t any of you guys know that I didn’t.”

The confrontation was quick. There is not much left to be said or analyzed. She, and now Joe, were lost causes. Joe finished his can, crushed it up, and tossed it in Mrs. Lindern’s face. Others took notice but at that point Joe had already gone through the exit. He wasn’t them and they weren’t ever him. Yet, people love finding ways to confuse the two. 

Time. 

“You should take that promotion, Joe. That’s a big deal you know.”

“Mark, I’ll be working a little late.”

“You not coming out?”

“No, no,” reassured Joe, “Once I’m done here I’ll be slamming drinks in no time. I’ll need it.”

Mark nodded and closed Joe’s office door. It was another Friday sometime in the year. Joe was a top manager at one of the big New York banks that caused the recession. A rich dark oak wood desk with silver trinkets and clocks took up most of the room. He spun on his leather chair to face the towering view of twilight Manhattan. One large breath and Joe dropped his head into submission. 

“Soooo… this is it.”

He wasn’t a gambler. His wife loved him. His kids were healthy. Joe’s job security is that of a Federal Reserve vault. Rich, stable, and living in a world-class city. That’s why he aches to never feel sorry for himself. He has no right. There are cocaine farmers in Columbia being enslaved to work 3 cents an hour. In Bangladesh, children as young as 10 work with flip flops and no gloves, tearing down wrecked ships for scrap metal. Yet, one knows that this dilemma has absolutely nothing to do with living standards. 

He cracked his knuckles and stretched. He broke out a self-ridiculing laugh. In the pursuit of not being average Joe became average. The fact of the matter is this story, Joe’s life, was really never his story to ever begin with. It was dictated and suggested by people who really had no idea what they were talking about. Looking out for the best they brought the worst for Joe. It’s not that his existence was unoriginal because without a doubt it was. But that it became that way by the hands of others and Joe let it happen. It was a good life but not his life. 

Joe locked his office doors and shut off all the lights. Instead of going down, he took a side hallway to an emergency exit door. The alarm didn’t go off luckily. Granite flooring turned into small gravel rocks as the bare city engulfed him. It wasn’t a windy day but it was windy at the top of the building. Joe methodically took off his shoes, then his socks, then his coat, and finally his shirt. Magnetically, he gravitated towards the edge at sat down, basketing his toes in the cool symphony. 

A new thought came. It was very possible with one movement to succeed or fail in it. He couldn’t tell a difference.

“Breathe.”

The grid of red lights, brake lights, street lights all looked up to him. Tiny heads of people walked and hustled on each side of the street. A scene of two strangers arguing caught Joe’s eye. It was a full-body tattooed man wearing only a thong. The other was a man dressed in a rat suit holding up two middle fingers. 

Joe fantasied, “Where did they go right?”