Modes of Misery

by Kevin G. Wilkes

Let me start off by explaining that something really remarkable happened today. I stepped off the bus as usual and weaved between the crowd of people always waiting at the central bus station downtown. What a miserable lot. Never a smile in the bunch. I turned the corner and walked steadily down the sidewalk. My gait is exaggerated - I don't know why. I focused my attention on the large glass building that stands about thirty yards from the street. On a good day there is a lovely reflection of the clouds upon it like a great movie screen. It was not an especially good day. Very grey.

I waited at the red light to cross at the intersection. The light turned green and I stepped off the sidewalk when a black sedan nearly split me in two. I responded, as it occurred, by tossing a hand in the air and spitting out a few curses in the driver's direction. Oh well. I continued down the sidewalk. I noticed ahead a strip of orange tape. The sidewalk was closed. The building was being cleaned. I looked up halfway to the heavens and two fellows stood on wooden platforms that were strung by a series of questionable rope. Very brave, I thought to myself and had to look down due to the vertigo.

Then things got weird. I trotted around the orange tape, stepping onto the street for a few paces when suddenly there was a great rush of overlapping conversation filling my head. What is this? I thought, though, as they say, and for the first time I can truly attest to its occurrence, I could not hear myself think! I looked about myself expecting to see an immeasurable lot of chatty noisemakers - but no, there was scarcely anybody talking at all. The same insipid, mundane march of the tuesday suits.

But the noise! It was unbearable! I raised my hands to my ears to block it out but this only magnified the sound. How can I explain it? Imagine answering your phone, and instead of hearing one voice, there are hundreds rambling on doltishly. Next I tried to focus on silence. I searched for space between the words. No space. Then I tried to push the noise away. But its force was irrepressible. So I tried to find a single voice and to stick with it. A-ha! A very high-pitched squeak stood out among the choir. I zeroed in on the sounds of the words and they began to seep to the fore of the racket like a ruffled quail suddenly breaking from the roost.

I looked to my left and there stood a short, bony woman with a great and slender nose. Her eyes darted this way and that about the sidewalk. She moved with great agitation. I realized I was hearing this woman speak. And this is when it hit me - I was listening to the thoughts of everyone around me! I was reading minds! I have recorded, here, to the best of my ability, the often incoherent, sometimes uninteresting, and always revealing, private disclosures of a number of men and women who just-so-happened to be within my proximity this morning.

* * *

He didn't notice did he? I came in at two but he was asleep and I snuck into bed. But he's always a sound sleeper and anyhow he didn't stir. What an imbecile anyhow. The way he always groans before he sits down and turns on the tv to fall asleep. He'd be nothing without that thing. What is it with the tv anyhow? I mean there are plenty of shows I like to watch… oh dammit did I miss the modern housewives episode last night? The season premiere. I forgot. Why didn't Renee call me? We always watch it together. Then again I haven't called Renee in sometime. Maybe I'm not such a good friend to her - or maybe not to any of them. My mother used to say, 'in order to have a friend you've got to be a friend.' I remember my mothers face when she said that. And the tears afterward. Jamie at the front door and me telling mother to tell her I was out. She lied for me. Why did she do that? Do I lie for my children? But that modern housewives episode. I wonder what happened…

* * *

Should have worn the blue jacket today. It's cold. I didn't think it would be this cold. Why is the weather always so dreary in this city anyhow? I should move somewhere. Somewhere warm. Not florida. Maybe to south carolina. I was there when I was younger. The beach was endless and the sand curved out along the edges and disappeared. I wish it were warm here. I should have worn the blue coat. But I am afraid to move anyhow and what if I couldn't find a job? I'd end up homeless or working as a line cook. I don't want to be a line cook. Like Brian who has been doing this since he was a teenager. And inflation has raised faster than his pay raises. And the grease and the food. Who could do that? Not me. But this city it's just so cold. But the cold isn't so bad. Kind of like being in a movie.

* * *

La de dummmm. La de dummm dahh. Laaaa de dummm. La de dum dum deeee.

* * *

I can't believe she just said that. I mean just because we had sex on the second date doesn't mean anything. Does it? I mean he likes me. Doesn't he? I mean just because I haven't been a long-term relationship, like, ever, doesn't mean anything. Does it? Maybe I'm not like, girlfriend material. But who cares anyhow. I've got my career. Don't I? Well I'm going to school. That's something. Right? And anyhow what is she doing with her life? Those shoes she was wearing. Yuck. Navy blue and yellow? Who does that? Anyhow at least I've got a good sense of fashion. Don't I? Damien. Hm. Do I even like him? What did we talk about? I don't really remember. Something about his family? His mother, oh I don't remember. But he's cute. He's definitely cute. And he's got a good sense of style. I like the way he smiles, though. I'm not fake am I? I remember they used to say that back in school. Maybe I like the way he smiles because it isn't fake. Maybe the way I smile is. I do think I try too hard. Ah, who cares, who cares. Wow look at those shoes those are nice shoes I wonder where she got those…

* * *

I'm going to march right in there and show them I'm intelligent. Because I am intelligent. I made deans list. For like, four semesters. I've got to mention that. I'm going to get this job. I need to. I've been doing this cold calling for too long. Granted it's been interesting. Like the woman who screamed that I was satan. And Juan who would always comment on the weather, 'oh it's fine out, just dodging snowflakes today!' That was funny. But I don't want to do that forever. I've got to make something of myself. I've got to be somebody. That way I can make some money and maybe even buy a house. Buy a house. That sounds dreadful. Maybe I'll just rent a really nice place. But first I've got to get my foot in the door here. I wonder if they'll think I'm too young or inexperienced. What's up with all of this experience business? Who would apply for a thirty-grand a year job with five to seven years of experience? And what's up with that number anyhow? Five to seven. Who decided on seven? These guys have got to be morons. I just have to be myself. Be myself. That's what I heard on the tapes. Everybody has a natural personality, and you can't force it. Just let yourself be. Let it be.

* * *

The body is in the river. It's fine there. Nobody will find it. Right? I saw it on a tv show. That's what you do. You chop up the pieces and put them into bags and load them with rocks and they sink to the bottom. That's what you're supposed to do, right? Maybe I should have burned it. But teeth are left behind. And they can find dental records and then you're done. Definitely shouldn't have burned it. The bottom of the river, that's a good place for it. She deserved it! She…

(I had to stop listening here)

* * *

I'll do it tonight. That's it. I can't take it anymore. I haven't been happy in years. And what's happiness anyhow? What was it about that happiness machine? It's like the pills they gave me. I don't want pills. I want happiness. But I can't find it anywhere. I know it's supposed to be in me. But I've never known it. Since I was in fifth grade. That's when it started, I think. But wasn't I happy for a few years? In high school? When we smoked weed all the time? I was happy. But now, everything is just in pieces and spread out everywhere. I don't know anyone. And the place I'm living is so drab. Nothing but poor, old miserable people. And I'm miserable too. So what do I do?

(Suddenly there was a great sucking noise, and a pop that nearly knocked me to the ground, and all the voices peeled away and were filed into this funnel and swirled away…)

* * *

So, make what you will of this. It was a very disturbing experience for me. I wonder if this has ever happened to anyone else? I'm thinking about telling my therapist about it. But maybe she'll tell me I'm crazy. The hard thing is, I can no longer look at people the way I used to. Before, they were these creatures who wore various masks. Some masks inviting and warm, others grotesque and repulsive. Some beautiful and others just ugly. Others you simply don't pay any mind. But now - now that I've heard just a small sample of these people, I realize that we're all just… it's like we're all connected in some way. In each of these monologues I've found pieces I relate to. And I realize we're not all so separate but in the separation we create from one other. It's been a very dreadful morning. I think I'm going to call off work and sit down with a cup of coffee.

For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Kurt challenged me with "I hate myself, and I want to die," and I challenged Snhamlett with "Write a story with a conflict between two brothers."