Champ By Tim Stillman
That'll fix him, Gregg thought. Just to go away like that. Just to always be so distant. I never told him to be distant. He's just such a rule follower--and I tried to get him to break those rules. To be his own man. Has he not learned anything? It's not I need him, it's just I'm tired of people running away when they can't take some criticisms, ok, ok, I got mad at him, and he deserved it. Good God, and he just leaves me sitting by the phone each night, when I could go out, go to bars, clubs, where I'm respected, where people kept telling me--isn't that partner of yours kind of a rube?
And I say nah..he's just getting the world arranged; I'm teaching him things; and he called and called and wrote and wrote, and I said would you kindly knock it the hell off; you are not the center of my world, and he just kept doing it and showing up late at night when I had the phones off, and he pleaded with me--you would think I'd be used to that by now, but still I put up with it, cause I felt sorry for him, and I'm a right kind of guy when it comes to feeling sorry for someone.
And he just ditches me? One night, no calls from him and I'm relieved. Then a second night and a third, and yeah I get it, he's pouting like a little baby, well I'm not exactly alone without him after all. I mean come on, I've got scores of guys and they treat me well and we go to fine places and things are good as good can be, but his absence is like a little tapeworm that started to grow and I hadn't called him or dropped by, haven't had the time or the need, and I don't spend my nights, usually, sitting by the phone like an Old Maid, I mean come on.
So three months of this, he's gotta be eating his heart out over me, I mean look at me; but he's doing this to be cruel; he's doing this so he will show me to me, and that's just not so; he is a cartoon; I am a man who's made it and wanted a little respect from him, as I give to others and would to him if he had stayed with the game plan long enough. So I have finally had it. All those days and nights---And I thought, yep, call him and ream him out with my words, yep, and just tell him what a nothing he is, like he asked and asked "I'm not a nothing, am I, really?" And that was the whole point; he was not a nothing, but enough of this silent treatment, while he's waiting probably laughing by his phone, for me to give in, so he can make a fool of me, well, he's not going to; so I call him, now, and I'll get his machine.
So I will make the call sarcastic and mean and hell with him and I did it and I hang up laughing, imagining his face excited to hear my voice then melting like an egg on a July sidewalk as he heard me continue, then his body lax, then the tears start and like I concluded with..oh god I have bloody well killed him..I am crying too, but I am crying from laughter. A huge world of weight off my shoulders. A knife in the heart for all those nights I lay awake waiting for him to phone me in the middle of the night and irritate me so I will let him have it; the only reason I woke in a panic and checked the answering machine or went right to it when I got home--to prove my point, in other words.
I run the words I spoke into the machine over and over again and I think how indeed I wish I could be a...and I stop..and I stop...
I played the voice message machine once, and he broke my heart, just ducky, here for Christmas in three days or four or something, and I sat on the side of the bed and wept. I never told him how I felt. I could have said--something. I was a coward and I can't call him back or drop by or un-send that Christmas card with just the basework of greetings. And I am selfish and was crowding him so I lay off for so long. Hardest loneliest saddest time of my life. I did it for him. Bravely.
I thought of him copiously. I had my hand on that phone or my cell at work, all the time. I tried to back off, tried to not be needy this time. I did what he wanted. I tried to be strong within myself, seek comfort from inside, which was from an old song, but I tried. He cursed at me and he was so mean on that message. He invited me to commit suicide, and who knows? Maybe I will accept the invitation. I mean, I thought, ok, let it ride, who needs someone like that? I couldn't listen to the rest of it.
But its miscommunication that causes so much pain in the world. Everything comes down to that most always. I got myself a can of Coke Zero and thought man you can't do anything--I tried my whole freakin' life I tried and every way I play it is the wrong way. God, you get to a place in life and it's here's searching again, but why should I bother? What's really the need of another human being? I'm 44 and I have slept with only two people my entire life. I need to finish the message, I need to stop being--yeah, dammit, I need to call him, and tell him---
Then why am I sitting here in tears and banging my fist on my knee. I have a responsible job. I keep a nice apartment. I don't like horror movies. I pay my bills on time. I try to be normal, not needy, normal, and I get rucked for it. Ok, the black pit of not hearing or seeing or talking or emailing or IMing him--well, it's always been like that--I mean why do I always have to have rules to follow? Why do I always get the task of giving what I'm told to give and don't crowd me--ok-ok--now what? I do what they say. They walk away. I don't do what they say. They never heard of me. I'm like one of those idiots on Dr.. Phil--"Say I am my own man!!!" Nerd: iam myown ah man. Dr. Phil:"No, no, say you have no right to tell me what to say!!!!." Nerd: iah have a ah no..." Dr. Phil, madder and matter, the champ bully: "NO NO. Don't tell me what to do!!!!" Nerd: dontahtellme ah what.." Oh will somebody shoot those morons in
the head? Or cut their throats?
I finish my Coke Zero, do not gulp, do not burp, am polite even when by myself. Thank you Dr. Phil. You and Gregg have given me my answer. You told me to cut my throat, for all you cared. So. Yes. Determined.
It's better than living alone and being scared and having to sell out for a friend who is no friend but you fake believing it long enough you come to believe it. Gregg, I say to no one, I loved you, I tried my best with you, but I screwed up again and I'm going to do what you say, and what Dr. Phil says, and I walk to the bathroom, get a Gillette razor blade from the gray pack in my bathroom chest, and I hope Gregg has lots of love, and I say it to Gregg as if he was really here, you are really a wonderful person and it was so truly lovely knowing you and I want you to have a full good life, I truly mean that, it all was worth it to get to know you for even a little while.
I pause a second. Force of habit. Can't stand them. I slap my right palm onto a fly on the wall next to my mirror. Kill it instantly. I have always been a champ at killing flies.
Then I continue. And I cut from left to right and open a little line of blood in my throat, artery to artery, and then my hands wet with blood as I look in my mirror the last time, I open my neck deeper and deeper..my blood gushing down to gravity..I feel weak..it tickles..and I can't see very well..I wish you had known, Gregg how deeply I adored you, when I had the time, if I had been as courageous and filled with integrity like you are and I always held you in my heart...
It was three days before the aroma from the apartment alerted enough neighbors on the floor to call the super. The cops arrived bored to another suicide, and one played idly the message on the message machine from someone named Gregg, mean nasty message, told the poor dead guy in there to go slice his throat, who after all wanted him? And ended up his tirade with "Man, I wish I was a fly on the wall to see you do it." Shit, the cop thought, people.
No one noticed the smushed fly on the wall by the mirror. The fly had gotten covered in blood. But was too insensate to know it. Insects--don't know how good they got it--totally oblivious to the human world round them. Even when there is horror right next to them. They are oblivious. Till they get zapped. Then they don't even feel pain or unconsciousness, God, yep, they got it made.
This fly too. Maybe or maybe not.