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Twisting all the bad things into good

Dec 17, 2011

The Nitty Gritty, 27: The Talking Dead

My life has been full of terrible misfortunes,
most of which never happened.
 Michel de Montaigne 

            This mother fucker.
            "What do you mean my dad's not dead?"
            "I just talked to him" Jeff says.
            This guy's holding seances and shit now?
            "You need to call him. He's worried about you".
            Enough with this 6th Sense bullshit.
            "My dead father is worried about me?"
            "Yeah. Everybody's worried about you".
            I don't understand what is happening.
            "Your dad's gonna call you. Make sure you pick up".
            I don't even know what to say. This is cruel. I do not deserve this.
            My other line beeps.
            I look to see who it is.
            It says "Dad" on my caller id.
            Someone must be using his phone to call about the funeral.
            I click over and answer.
            "Jimmy boy."
            It's my dad.
            It is my dead father on the phone.
            I am Hamlet. This is Denmark.
            My head is spinning. I may faint. I might vomit.
            My God, my God, why has Thou forsaken  me?

            In 5 seconds of silence, I imagine every possible explanation for this insanity.
            Is this a prerecorded message?
            Did he fake his death to get away from his legal problems?
            Did he fake his death to find out if my mom was having an affair?
            Whatever the reason, it was not fair to have put me through this.
            There is no comprehending what I am caught in the middle of.
            Everything is a lie.
            Nothing can ever be the same after this.
            Nothing would ever make this okay.
            This is panic.
            This is bewilderment.
            This is insane.
            This is the end of my world.
            This is fucked.
            This is all I can say. "What's going on?" I ask in overwhelming desperation.
            "What do you mean?" He sounds so nonchalant.
            "I thought you were dead?"
            I want to cry, but I can't. I am too confused.
            "You thought I was dead?"
            "Yeah. We had a party".
            "You had a party because you thought I was dead?"
            "Not a party. Like a memorial". Wait. Why the hell am I explaining myself. I'm the one who deserves answers. I am disintegrating where I stand. I'm trembling like an earthquake.
            "Is this because of mom?" He doesn't know what I mean. "Did you do this because mom is cheating on you?"
            Please tell me something that makes sense. Please stop making it seem like I am the crazy one.
            "Your mother's not cheating on me".
            "Dad, I saw her".
            "What have you been doing? Have you been taking something?"
            "No. I was in Vegas. I had a great time and then I got home and found out you died".
            "You were in Vegas?"
            "Yeah, then I was up in Philly". I told him that I had been with my police officer cousin who involved me in the pimp and drug shit and say "Yeah, I will never hang out with that dude again". I bring up the treasure discovery. "It was the greatest adventure of my life. I don't know how to describe it. It was like something out of a Hemingway novel".
            "You stay there. Jeff is on his way over. Just wait for him".
            "You're really okay?" I ask. He says he is. I tell him I'll wait for Jeff.

            Even though my mom was cheating on my dad, I thought I should warn her that he is alive before he OJ's her and her boyfriend. I walk back in the garage and see my mom and her boyfriend run by. They are being followed by my dad. I yell at him to stop, but he chases them out the back of the parking garage.
            Why is this happening to me? Why can't I have a normal life?
            Why am I the only sane person left in the world?
            You know what? Fuck this. Fuck my parents. I'm not a goddamn pawn in their game. I'm not getting dragged into this madness. I need to leave. I don't want to be here. I don't want to witness what is going to happen. I don't want to incriminate my father for the murders that are about to happen. I am already scarred. I have already seen too much. I have to save myself.
            I run to my car and fumble with the keys as I start it. I take off my red flip flops so I can drive. I pull out of my spot so I can exit through the front of the garage. I only stop because the gate is closed. I hit the garage door opener on my visor. Before it opens, my passenger door opens up and Betsy gets in and looks at me with disappointment.
            "I thought you said you loved me?"
            What the fuck? I never said that. I didn't love her, but maybe I told her I did when I was wasted in Vegas and just didn't remember. I must have been trying to sleep with her.
            In my hallucinations, I am still a whore.
            "I do love you", I promise her.
            "Are you sure?"
            "Yes. It's the only thing I am sure of anymore".
            In my delusions, I am still a liar.
            She doesn't seem convinced, but I've got bigger issues right now.
            "Then why is the FBI calling me?"
            "Look, something is going on with my dad. He's not dead. I just talked to him. I just need to get out of here. I do love you. I'll call you in a little bit once I know what's going on".
            She gets out and I drive under the garage door before it can close again. I pull through the parking lot. I start making a right turn on my street so I can go to A1A, then I'll figure out where I'm going.
            As far gone as I am, I am going no further.
            I hit my brakes, but there's no way to stop what is coming.

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