What's In A Name?
What's In A Name?
a short story
Preview: I haven’t got a success story to share with you. All I have is this story. It’s not impressive and it’s sure as hell no work of art. I’m not really good with words. I can’t make people feel things or give repentance crap. I’m not going to be perfect after this and I don’t expect you to, but an annoying little kid once told me that the whole reason for stories was that they should be told. So, here I am, telling you mine.
I have heard that when you have a story to tell the best place to start is at the beginning, but I have no beginning and I have no end so I do not know where to start. One morning, I woke up with my head bandaged and people leaning their ugly faces over me asking me questions and speaking in loud annoying voices. I couldn’t answer their questions because I didn’t know myself. The same questions they were asking me, I was asking myself.
Who am I? Do I have a name? Are there any people they could contact? Friends? Family? I was alone and hurt. The only clues to any and all of these questions were things I had in my pocket when I was found. They were a half empty cigarette package, the keys to a car that was not my own and a ten dollar bill. I was completely unaware of who I was. The only thing I knew in my former life was that I was a broke thief that had a nicotine addiction.
I remember being angry, and scared. I immediately lashed out at the people around me, the only people who seemed to care about what was going to happen to me. It didn’t hit me until earlier the reason there was no one around to tell me who I was. I must have been the worst person who ever was to have no one, no one come and claim me. What bastard is that unlucky? Even criminals have people to come and pick them up. Had I been such a scumbag that no one cared about my future except complete strangers? And them only because I was imposing and they were good enough people to have a conscience.
For days I brooded. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t sleep. I only stared angrily into space, confused, upset and indefinitely afraid. It seems odd to me now, that the predominate emotion I felt back then was fear. It was not anger, it was not self-pity, it was fear. I can’t recall what exactly I was afraid of. It might have been the big question mark in front of me, or the even larger one that loomed behind me, but I don’t think that was it. It could have been that I was afraid someone would take advantage of my vulnerable state, but why should I be afraid of someone using me when I couldn’t even do much for myself, much less them? No, I can’t put my finger on the reason for my fear, but it was there. Oh God, I was afraid.
I hadn’t finished fearing things when an angel came into my life. It wasn’t true love, she was just a kid, but she was a blessing. She wasn’t particularly pretty and her voice wasn’t exactly the jingle of Christmas bells. I can actually remember her laugh. It sounded like a cross between a donkey he-haw-ing and a pig dying. I thought she was annoying at first. If I was to meet her again now I probably would think that again. She was noisy and unrelenting and followed me around like a lost puppy. I told her that once. Do you know what her reply was? She squared her ugly shoulders and looked straight at me with her squinty eyes and sassily retorted, “I’m following you? How do you figure that when you’re the lost puppy?”
That was the first time I really came to my senses. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I had an epiphany from that. I don’t believe in single pivotal moment crap, but I will tell you that her answer, despite how bratty it came, knocked some since into me. I was like a lost puppy. She must have seen the stunned look on my face because soon afterwards she simply sniffed in distaste afterwards and told me not to look so broken hearted. I wasn’t a puppy after all. I needn’t look like she had kicked me. But, she had, and I needed that kick. God, I really needed it.
I had spent a disgusting amount of time gloomily moping about literally having a pity party for myself and I, the me I didn’t even know. I was so wrapped up in the fact that there was no one in my past that I could call to help me that I hadn’t realized the person that was in my life right then that I could not only call but talk to. This ugly, annoying little brat was the only person that seemed to pay me any mind. That should tell you how pathetic I was. It sure told me, but it made me feel a little grateful for her attention. Sure she was the most bothersome creature that ever walked the on the face of the earth, but she didn’t seem to mind that I was the second most bothersome so who was I to judge, right? I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, but she was a damn good acquaintance and I was grateful for her company.
I must have lost control of my limbs as well as my memory because a few seconds later I was hugging this little demon and smiling. She squirmed in my arms and struggled under my grip. She hurled insults at me and even threatened to file a sexual harassment suit against me if I didn’t let go. I didn’t believe her but I let go. She growled at me and huffed as she straightened out her shirt, glaring at me all the while, but I could see under all the ferocity that she was smiling too, secretly, deep, DEEP down. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she scolded me. “I’m not done with you yet. There’s still a lot more I have to say to you.” I asked her what it was and she hesitated before continuing.
“You’re lucky,” she said simply. I was taken aback. Lucky? How the hell was I lucky? But I didn’t interrupt. I allowed her to continue. I didn’t expect pure wisdom, and that’s not what I got, but it was damn smart for someone her age. “Everyone makes mistakes and everyone says to themselves at one time or another ‘if I could only do this over blah blah blah’. Everyone wants a second chance to live life over, to start out fresh without any shadows from the past. Do you know how many people get that chance? Well, neither do I, but I can sure tell you it ain’t a hell of a lot that’s for sure.
“You actually get to do it though. You get to try to live again. You’re always sitting around complaining because of the jerk you use to be. Well who the hell cares who you use to be? You can’t even remember, why should anyone else give a crap? This is your chance at life a second time around. Your second chance,” she repeated. “Aren’t you at all curious to know what things could have been like if everyone loved you? Don’t you wish that there had been loving faces looking down at you, telling you all was going to be alright instead of total strangers? I know I sure as hell would.”
Like I said, I don’t believe in epiphanies crap. That moment didn’t change my life, but it lead to events that would help me to change it. It started me thinking. Not about what I was before the accident, but what I could become. As much as I hated to admit it, that brat was right. I really was getting a second chance and I knew I’d be a bigger fool than anything I could have amounted to in my previous life if I didn’t take it. I’m not going to give you some Hallmark movie channel crap that now I live happily ever after, cause I don’t. I’m still alive you know, and as long as someone lives their going to get shit and their sure as hell going to give it.
I still get shit every day, but I’m doing my best to give a hell of a lot less shit than everything I receive. I’ve got friends now and a job. I’ve got more than ten dollars in my pocket now and I’ve quit smoking. I’m no money bags, but I’m doing alright. I’ve got a life now, and I have a name. I’m not going to tell it to you, names don’t matter much. I had to learn that the hard way. When people care about someone they don’t care about the name that person has. Sure, they associate those feelings whenever they hear that name used, but a name’s just like a telephone number. To someone who doesn’t know the person on the other end, it’s just a jumble of useless numbers. Nothing special.
When I was in that pathetic state one of the biggest questions I had was what was my name? It seemed important at the time. I considered my name to be the very fiber of who I was, but a name was still just a name. When it was gone I was still me. I was a nobody, sure, but even a nobody is a body and a body is sure as hell close enough to a somebody to care and be cared for.
I haven’t got a success story to share with you. All I have is this story. It’s not impressive and it’s sure as hell no work of art. I’m not really good with words. I can’t make people feel things or give repentance crap. I can only tell this story the way I see it. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. This is my story, or part of it anyway. I’m still living out the rest. I’m not going to be perfect after this and I don’t expect you to, but an annoying little kid once told me that the whole reason for stories was that they should be told. So, here I am, telling you mine.
Note; Okay, so there's my first post thing. It's a short story I wrote a while back and I figured I'd just post it and see how it goes. None of that is true in any way, it just came straight out of my imagination. One day I had a need to write it out and I did. I don't expect it to connect to anyone, but maybe it will. So, yeah. There's that.
a short story
Preview: I haven’t got a success story to share with you. All I have is this story. It’s not impressive and it’s sure as hell no work of art. I’m not really good with words. I can’t make people feel things or give repentance crap. I’m not going to be perfect after this and I don’t expect you to, but an annoying little kid once told me that the whole reason for stories was that they should be told. So, here I am, telling you mine.
I have heard that when you have a story to tell the best place to start is at the beginning, but I have no beginning and I have no end so I do not know where to start. One morning, I woke up with my head bandaged and people leaning their ugly faces over me asking me questions and speaking in loud annoying voices. I couldn’t answer their questions because I didn’t know myself. The same questions they were asking me, I was asking myself.
Who am I? Do I have a name? Are there any people they could contact? Friends? Family? I was alone and hurt. The only clues to any and all of these questions were things I had in my pocket when I was found. They were a half empty cigarette package, the keys to a car that was not my own and a ten dollar bill. I was completely unaware of who I was. The only thing I knew in my former life was that I was a broke thief that had a nicotine addiction.
I remember being angry, and scared. I immediately lashed out at the people around me, the only people who seemed to care about what was going to happen to me. It didn’t hit me until earlier the reason there was no one around to tell me who I was. I must have been the worst person who ever was to have no one, no one come and claim me. What bastard is that unlucky? Even criminals have people to come and pick them up. Had I been such a scumbag that no one cared about my future except complete strangers? And them only because I was imposing and they were good enough people to have a conscience.
For days I brooded. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t sleep. I only stared angrily into space, confused, upset and indefinitely afraid. It seems odd to me now, that the predominate emotion I felt back then was fear. It was not anger, it was not self-pity, it was fear. I can’t recall what exactly I was afraid of. It might have been the big question mark in front of me, or the even larger one that loomed behind me, but I don’t think that was it. It could have been that I was afraid someone would take advantage of my vulnerable state, but why should I be afraid of someone using me when I couldn’t even do much for myself, much less them? No, I can’t put my finger on the reason for my fear, but it was there. Oh God, I was afraid.
I hadn’t finished fearing things when an angel came into my life. It wasn’t true love, she was just a kid, but she was a blessing. She wasn’t particularly pretty and her voice wasn’t exactly the jingle of Christmas bells. I can actually remember her laugh. It sounded like a cross between a donkey he-haw-ing and a pig dying. I thought she was annoying at first. If I was to meet her again now I probably would think that again. She was noisy and unrelenting and followed me around like a lost puppy. I told her that once. Do you know what her reply was? She squared her ugly shoulders and looked straight at me with her squinty eyes and sassily retorted, “I’m following you? How do you figure that when you’re the lost puppy?”
That was the first time I really came to my senses. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I had an epiphany from that. I don’t believe in single pivotal moment crap, but I will tell you that her answer, despite how bratty it came, knocked some since into me. I was like a lost puppy. She must have seen the stunned look on my face because soon afterwards she simply sniffed in distaste afterwards and told me not to look so broken hearted. I wasn’t a puppy after all. I needn’t look like she had kicked me. But, she had, and I needed that kick. God, I really needed it.
I had spent a disgusting amount of time gloomily moping about literally having a pity party for myself and I, the me I didn’t even know. I was so wrapped up in the fact that there was no one in my past that I could call to help me that I hadn’t realized the person that was in my life right then that I could not only call but talk to. This ugly, annoying little brat was the only person that seemed to pay me any mind. That should tell you how pathetic I was. It sure told me, but it made me feel a little grateful for her attention. Sure she was the most bothersome creature that ever walked the on the face of the earth, but she didn’t seem to mind that I was the second most bothersome so who was I to judge, right? I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend, but she was a damn good acquaintance and I was grateful for her company.
I must have lost control of my limbs as well as my memory because a few seconds later I was hugging this little demon and smiling. She squirmed in my arms and struggled under my grip. She hurled insults at me and even threatened to file a sexual harassment suit against me if I didn’t let go. I didn’t believe her but I let go. She growled at me and huffed as she straightened out her shirt, glaring at me all the while, but I could see under all the ferocity that she was smiling too, secretly, deep, DEEP down. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she scolded me. “I’m not done with you yet. There’s still a lot more I have to say to you.” I asked her what it was and she hesitated before continuing.
“You’re lucky,” she said simply. I was taken aback. Lucky? How the hell was I lucky? But I didn’t interrupt. I allowed her to continue. I didn’t expect pure wisdom, and that’s not what I got, but it was damn smart for someone her age. “Everyone makes mistakes and everyone says to themselves at one time or another ‘if I could only do this over blah blah blah’. Everyone wants a second chance to live life over, to start out fresh without any shadows from the past. Do you know how many people get that chance? Well, neither do I, but I can sure tell you it ain’t a hell of a lot that’s for sure.
“You actually get to do it though. You get to try to live again. You’re always sitting around complaining because of the jerk you use to be. Well who the hell cares who you use to be? You can’t even remember, why should anyone else give a crap? This is your chance at life a second time around. Your second chance,” she repeated. “Aren’t you at all curious to know what things could have been like if everyone loved you? Don’t you wish that there had been loving faces looking down at you, telling you all was going to be alright instead of total strangers? I know I sure as hell would.”
Like I said, I don’t believe in epiphanies crap. That moment didn’t change my life, but it lead to events that would help me to change it. It started me thinking. Not about what I was before the accident, but what I could become. As much as I hated to admit it, that brat was right. I really was getting a second chance and I knew I’d be a bigger fool than anything I could have amounted to in my previous life if I didn’t take it. I’m not going to give you some Hallmark movie channel crap that now I live happily ever after, cause I don’t. I’m still alive you know, and as long as someone lives their going to get shit and their sure as hell going to give it.
I still get shit every day, but I’m doing my best to give a hell of a lot less shit than everything I receive. I’ve got friends now and a job. I’ve got more than ten dollars in my pocket now and I’ve quit smoking. I’m no money bags, but I’m doing alright. I’ve got a life now, and I have a name. I’m not going to tell it to you, names don’t matter much. I had to learn that the hard way. When people care about someone they don’t care about the name that person has. Sure, they associate those feelings whenever they hear that name used, but a name’s just like a telephone number. To someone who doesn’t know the person on the other end, it’s just a jumble of useless numbers. Nothing special.
When I was in that pathetic state one of the biggest questions I had was what was my name? It seemed important at the time. I considered my name to be the very fiber of who I was, but a name was still just a name. When it was gone I was still me. I was a nobody, sure, but even a nobody is a body and a body is sure as hell close enough to a somebody to care and be cared for.
I haven’t got a success story to share with you. All I have is this story. It’s not impressive and it’s sure as hell no work of art. I’m not really good with words. I can’t make people feel things or give repentance crap. I can only tell this story the way I see it. It isn’t much, but it’s mine. This is my story, or part of it anyway. I’m still living out the rest. I’m not going to be perfect after this and I don’t expect you to, but an annoying little kid once told me that the whole reason for stories was that they should be told. So, here I am, telling you mine.
Note; Okay, so there's my first post thing. It's a short story I wrote a while back and I figured I'd just post it and see how it goes. None of that is true in any way, it just came straight out of my imagination. One day I had a need to write it out and I did. I don't expect it to connect to anyone, but maybe it will. So, yeah. There's that.