Monday, April 11, 2005

John's Story

The lights glared as John followed his ghost-like teacher through another doorway. The air seemed to lift with every step and push him forward. John wasn’t nervous about his surreal surroundings or the fact that he was stark naked. He knew from somewhere deep inside that this wasn’t real.

The teacher stopped and turned toward John, motioning for him to come closer. Without hesitation, John obeyed.

The beach looked dirty and tainted. Beer cans floated on the small waves that meekly crashed down on dead seaweed that lay strewn on the beach. The white sand created a stark contrast between the multicolored objects that sat on top of it.

Standing as if he owned the place, a fat pungent man in a Speedo was smoking a cigar while sipping on a glass bottle of beer. The man stopped his long draw on the cigar and turned towards John. His dirty rodeo clown makeup seemed to have been unwashed for days. His brown, crooked teeth grinned.

“John,” the odd placed clown said. Stomach fat seemed to ooze and bubble over his small Speedo. ‘Your life sucks cock.”

Whirling and sliding, as a tsunami of waves crashed through John’s ethereal body. He couldn’t cry for help because a mouthful of water would come uninvited into his lungs. In an instant, the chaos shattered as a psychic veil was lifted from somewhere behind John’s eyes. Blue, black, red, green, yellow and some purple colors swirled to the tune of a soft voice.

“So this is why Leibniz’s theory of sufficient reason dictates morality. Does anyone have any questions?”

John sat up and straightened his back and pulled back his shoulders like one of his jock friends had told him to do when he was in high school. His mother always told him his slouching would give him a crooked back.

He wiped his mouth where he knew there was bound to be at least one drop of spittle. Like most other people, John was most certainly not a closet “drooler”. Having carried a variety of medical appliances in his mouth since he was 8, it was hard to adjust to the supposed normal mouth that had defied his anatomy from childhood. Although he couldn’t hide his problem, he took solace in the fact that he was better off than his brother who would never be able to talk normal. His new normal mouth would never sound clearer than a porn star with a huge testicle in her mouth. Dentists and orthodontists a-like are money grubbing perfectionist bastards.

The clock. He had forgotten about the heavenly bells that rang through his head when the clock ticked to his favor. 1:10. Which meant five more minutes of ancient philosophy he was semi-interested in, and then he could resume his procrastinating nature.

Like most people in America, John believed he was raised by the middle class of mediocrity. There is something that says, “You fucking normal biatch” when using the phrase “middle class” to describe your financial situation and habitat. But John had found that his childhood dreams often revolved around crappy jobs with crappy pay. His grandmother had sat him on her lap and decreed John to be a future lawyer. Not to be outdone by the cheek pinching opposition, John’s other grandmother hypothesized little John to be a genius of the medical world. In fact, this grandma, had almost pegged little John’s future aspirations correctly. John did want to help people, and sincerely would like to make the world a better place, but being a doctor had a single solitary problem. It wasn’t the fact that John had to memorize millions of little body parts, diseases and prescriptions. Realistic or not, little John would have loved to say he would do this whole heartedly, but future John would have let him down. No, the problem was this: too little driving. Yeah, John wanted to help people, but rather in a way that consisted of an elaborate technology that opened a folding door and was able to transport mass quantities of kids to get inundated with education when all they wanted to do was go to recess. His parents had laughed when he told a crowd at his preschool graduation what he wanted to do with his degree. There might have been more laughter had the girl who went before him used her degree for some real job instead of somehow using it to morph into a bunny rabbit. But after much T.V., and the advent of reading, which John did a lot of, he decided that bus driving was not a good idea for a dreamer.

Instead, John went to where most dreamers end up, or try to end up. College. What a wonderful representation for the many ideas and symbolism we attribute to this phonetic uttering. It almost sounds smart and scientific. It doesn’t sound so plan and simple as middle school or high school, though elementary school has some kind of cool ring to it.

He literally felt the life being sucked out of him as he spent five minutes of staring at the blackboard and thinking of how he dreaded the reoccurrence of this hour and a fifteen minutes of hum-drum in two days. Abruptly, he was on his feet. His notes flew into his book bag like a fly through a cracked window. He stretched his arms out, which cracked his back and relieved the tension of slouching for an hour. Slowly he followed the hoard of people crowding around the exiting of the door. John always thought it was so ironic that a group of “elite” college students could exit a classroom like a lethargic herd of pasture cows being locked up for the night.

Almost out the door, John’s hands trembled like a heroin addict. His hands had already enveloped a proportional space of air that in 10 minutes would be the not-so-living space of an XBOX controller.

At least in video games, John’s underachieving nature could save the world without getting off his ass. With a little coordination and superior thumb stamina, John could carry out his fake heroism all day and most the night. Except, the immaterial world projected through pixels and silicon was not appreciative enough to offer money for his valor.

The sun shining overhead made John feel like a hermit emerging from his hermitage. John’s step quickened, weaving his way through the mass of students as the university buildings got a good view of John’s ass. The last class of the day always gave him more energy. Music blaring through his head phones, John smiled.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

This is John...why in the fuck are you writing about me you weird ass creepy trick.

Lick my balls.

4:05 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home

Google
WWW Ni You Mao Bing