well there's plenty of cutesy names to call one's children but his was 'unlovable trash' He remembered it from the time he was in the crib They held him there for longer than most parents held their kids in cribs. Though only dad called him so because he constantly claimed he wasn't his
unlovable trash
he had the wrong skin tone was too pale with curly orange hair and freckles
but mom always pretended she didn't hear the words unlovable trash she would act as if they were never uttered
and growing up he thought unlovable trash was a good thing thought it was how you show love to your loved ones
"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."
she was so happy to hear it she burst into tears and went into the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine and drank it all by herself. What an unlovable trash she was
Unfortunately by the time he could pronounce the lovely words father was no longer in his life but father too was an unlovable trash
he could count the major events in his life on a mangled hand's fingers But this was one of them. The day she took him to church. So that's what girlfriends are for.
But he didn't like the church didn't like the songs didn't like the preacher and the preaching
the man spoke of hell. But he didn't know shit about hell. No baby, hell's not a place where you go, it's a place where you stay. Namely, a body and a mind that has no major passions no drive towards improvement no dreams no goals no desire to get out and connect with the world no love to share no stories to tell or disposition to listen no reasons to live or carry on
In other words, me, motherfucker. I am hell.
He broke up with his girlfriend the next day. Her crying didn't affect him
At 22:00 she would come out looking for him Would call out his name and eventually find him by the sandbox or the slide and would dust him off a bit and take him home and feed him
As she’d put him to bed she’d kiss his face, sometimes his mouth and he’d ask, “Why did you do that?”
and she’d reply, “I don’t know. But did you like it?”
And he’d either nod or say yes, knowing that it’ll make her smile and then she’d cuddle with him until he’d fall asleep and whisper in his ear that she always wanted to have a little boy just like him and that he was making her unbelievably happy just by existing in the same room with her
She was the best neighbor he could have dreamed of
She gave him all the attention his mother gave to her bottles and her guy friends
When you see someone for long enough you get used to them and then you start noticing patterns in their behavior
he was their teacher in creative writing
weird guy in his late thirties going bald bespectacled pedo mustache scrawny body always wearing dark suits, a bit oversized
He sat at his desk and watched the students and the students watched him
Why does he always do that? they eventually asked. Why does he always tap his foot when talking to some girl but never when he talks to boys?
He would appoint a female student to present her homework or some project or something and stand her up and while she spoke he would stare at her and tap his foot and the tapping would begin light and would grow in intensity
strange guy
tap-tap-tap ta-rap-tap-tap went his foot as the girls talked
"I heard he's divorced," said one of the students.
"Yep," said another. "He is. Has a kid as well."
"Damn."
"I heard he's also got a brother in prison for rape or some shit."
and a few weeks later they were talking about books related to prison life and someone said, "You know how prisoners jack off in full view of guards and the female prison nurses without getting caught?"
nobody asked how but he went to say it anyway and he said "They wrap a string around their penis and tie the other end to the big toe of one foot. All beneath the pants. Nothing shown. And when the female is close they stare and move that foot and the string does the job..."
what else to do when the rain falls so heavy against the window outside?
Get melancholic get poetic have a drink have another
close and then lock the door to your room and don't listen to the voices coming from outside They want to distract you They don't want you to be successful and make it in life
They're all haters
He covered his ears and squinted his eyes at the computer screen doing his best to block out the negativity that came from beyond the door
“I can't get up!” the voice croaked. “Come help me. I can't get up.” And then with a cry, “Please!”
“Shut the fuck up, grandma! I'm trying to write in here. Jesus Christ, I'm trying to make it big, don't you understand? For fuck's sake now.”
He had also sent a manuscript to a potential publisher and was waiting for a reply. It's been two days already
she stretched on the bed and reached with her long leg and placed her foot on his desk before him on the notebook he was writing in
“Wow,” she said. “Your place is so small, like a box of matches. And so empty. So lonely. Why don’t you ever have anyone over? I never see or hear you talking to people. Why must you be like that?”
“I don’t like people,” he said
"Why?"
“Don’t ask silly questions. For the same reason I don’t like hotdogs. I just don’t like them.”
“Do you like me?” she asked
“I don’t know,” he said
“Would you like me to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know a lot of things, boy. I came to you because… I wanted to have a place from which I’d be missed if I left. I thought the heart of someone as lonely as you would be that special place for me. Turns out you’re not lonely at all. You’re just alone.”
“I guess,” he said
She removed her foot from his notebook and turned facing the wall and began to sob
“Hey, don’t be like that,” he said. “I might not be missing you if you go, but…”
“But what!?”
“Well, you still remain my least detestable hallucination. I like your legs, with all their ten joints. I like your crimson eyes, all eight of them. Your fangs, your horns, the scaled wings, everything. I really think you’re…”
“Yeah? You think I’m what?”
“You’re… what I need in my life right now. So don’t leave just yet, okay?”
“Hah! I knew you love me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Shut up, you don’t know it yet. But you love me. Come to bed, you silly oaf! Let’s sleep and dream together. Something colorful, vibrant. A spider web full of butterflies. Shaking in the wind. Come.”
He closed his notebook and went to bed
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Daydreaming as a profession 