like a popsickle
Paul rarely took hot showers, they left his skin red and feverish. He preferred just a warm shower. Standing alone, incubated within the glass doors surrounding him, he closed his eyes and let the warmth of the water caress him. Watered words of encouragement whispered into his ears. His mind was freed of tangled thoughts as the water dissolved his mind.
He was shaken from his trance by the telephone. There was no rush in answering it as he knew who was calling him. It was Thursday night and Eric would be calling to discuss their plans. Their Thursday evenings together remained the same for the past months. Thursday's were dedicated to alcohol. Together they would greet Friday mornings with regret and half hearted promises to abstain from such indulgences ever again, although they were never successful.
Their weekly jaunts lately seemed to blend into one another. Absolutely nothing changed. The faces and questions remained the same. He wasn't at all interested in friends inquiring about his career status. Everyone in this pathetically small town seemed to know about his job. They didn't mean any harm in their attempts to make small talk, but their questions stung him with pain. He hid his embarrassment behind shields of wit and quick laughter. They were oblivious of his pain but shared much with his jokes.
The reality Paul knew was no laughing matter. He never imagined leaving college and not being able to find a job. He wanted his freedom from his parents and their claustraphobic control over his life. He suffered the times of eighteen months of resumes and job applications and dead ends. His days were unbereably long and filled with a lot of wasted time. He fell into the trap of going to bed late and had to force himself out of bed before noon. Routine gouged out over half of his life. His parents offered a book of job hunting tips that were nothing but stupid. They were just scripted pep talks that left Paul stressed. Every morning he heard the alarm and knew his dad was off again to a job that he hated so he could provide a better life for Paul. And he did. The noise was a small distraction from the remaining hours of sleep he kept in mind.
Paul escaped the idealistic world of academics and was thrown onto a platter of economy poisoned by recession. He was forced to return home and live the humiliation of being a college graduate who still lived under his parents roof. It was disastrous.
Paul could hear Eric's car in the driveway. He left his parents the note that he'd written on his dresser. His parents were very particular about details and it made them happy that he always took the time to leave them a note about where he was going and what he planned to do. He would not disappoint them. Not tonight. He licked an envelope and left it upon his dresser.
Eric was a drinker and a drunk. This night would not be unlike their last Thursday, or the Thursday before that. The two friends laughed together in the uncomfortably hot bar and were pleasantly greeted by bar time. The clouds of smoke irritated Paul's eyes. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes as they left the neon lights and slot machines of the bar and headed to McDonalds for a late night trip of greasy food. Paul had fries like normal.
Eric dropped him off at his door step and then proceeded to drive of at a quick pace, unsteadily.
Paul tiptoed through the unlit house so he didnt wake his parents. The note he left was on his dresser, unopened. He signed it and placed it on the night stand.
He stretched out on his bed. He folded his hands under his head and fell into a light sleep. The watch his parents bought him for graduation clicked loudly in his ears. Each passing second sounded like a giant gong from straight from ancient China.
Eyes open, Paul could feel the warmth of the water as it dripped from his bedroom ceiling. Soon his face and hair were soaked with it. He could hear a low gush as the water bubbled up beneath his floor. Like a warm hand, it crept up his legs and immersed his entire body. His head bobbed just above the gentle current. He was alert and focused. His hands danced before his eyes. The swaying hand abruptly stopped and he smiled. The hand reached under his bed for the shotgun he placed under it earlier that evening. He slipped the cold barrel into his mouth. It stuck to his lips...just like a Popsicle.
By:
He was shaken from his trance by the telephone. There was no rush in answering it as he knew who was calling him. It was Thursday night and Eric would be calling to discuss their plans. Their Thursday evenings together remained the same for the past months. Thursday's were dedicated to alcohol. Together they would greet Friday mornings with regret and half hearted promises to abstain from such indulgences ever again, although they were never successful.
Their weekly jaunts lately seemed to blend into one another. Absolutely nothing changed. The faces and questions remained the same. He wasn't at all interested in friends inquiring about his career status. Everyone in this pathetically small town seemed to know about his job. They didn't mean any harm in their attempts to make small talk, but their questions stung him with pain. He hid his embarrassment behind shields of wit and quick laughter. They were oblivious of his pain but shared much with his jokes.
The reality Paul knew was no laughing matter. He never imagined leaving college and not being able to find a job. He wanted his freedom from his parents and their claustraphobic control over his life. He suffered the times of eighteen months of resumes and job applications and dead ends. His days were unbereably long and filled with a lot of wasted time. He fell into the trap of going to bed late and had to force himself out of bed before noon. Routine gouged out over half of his life. His parents offered a book of job hunting tips that were nothing but stupid. They were just scripted pep talks that left Paul stressed. Every morning he heard the alarm and knew his dad was off again to a job that he hated so he could provide a better life for Paul. And he did. The noise was a small distraction from the remaining hours of sleep he kept in mind.
Paul escaped the idealistic world of academics and was thrown onto a platter of economy poisoned by recession. He was forced to return home and live the humiliation of being a college graduate who still lived under his parents roof. It was disastrous.
Paul could hear Eric's car in the driveway. He left his parents the note that he'd written on his dresser. His parents were very particular about details and it made them happy that he always took the time to leave them a note about where he was going and what he planned to do. He would not disappoint them. Not tonight. He licked an envelope and left it upon his dresser.
Eric was a drinker and a drunk. This night would not be unlike their last Thursday, or the Thursday before that. The two friends laughed together in the uncomfortably hot bar and were pleasantly greeted by bar time. The clouds of smoke irritated Paul's eyes. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes as they left the neon lights and slot machines of the bar and headed to McDonalds for a late night trip of greasy food. Paul had fries like normal.
Eric dropped him off at his door step and then proceeded to drive of at a quick pace, unsteadily.
Paul tiptoed through the unlit house so he didnt wake his parents. The note he left was on his dresser, unopened. He signed it and placed it on the night stand.
He stretched out on his bed. He folded his hands under his head and fell into a light sleep. The watch his parents bought him for graduation clicked loudly in his ears. Each passing second sounded like a giant gong from straight from ancient China.
Eyes open, Paul could feel the warmth of the water as it dripped from his bedroom ceiling. Soon his face and hair were soaked with it. He could hear a low gush as the water bubbled up beneath his floor. Like a warm hand, it crept up his legs and immersed his entire body. His head bobbed just above the gentle current. He was alert and focused. His hands danced before his eyes. The swaying hand abruptly stopped and he smiled. The hand reached under his bed for the shotgun he placed under it earlier that evening. He slipped the cold barrel into his mouth. It stuck to his lips...just like a Popsicle.
By: