Phone calls
I wake up at around 8:45 in the morning to the incessant ringing of my brown touch-tone, corded phone. I'm not sure how long it's been ringing, but I know it's not stopping until I pick it up. "Where the hell are my parents?" I think. Dad's probably at golf; Mom's walking the dogs, I bet. I don't feel like picking the damn thing up - It'll probably be some repair person for my parents, asking me jot down some numbers and shit, meaning I'll have to get up and out of bed. Fuck fuck fuck.
"Hello?"
"May I please speak to Alexander?" the man on the other end asks. This is new - a phone call, for me? I think the last time anybody called me was when the Army recruiters had my name. Telling them I was a gay, blind, cripple was the best idea I've ever had.
"Yeah, that's me."
"How are you this morning? Did I wake you up?"
"Yeah, you did." He apologized before I could get that sentence out. I told him it was alright.
"Anyway, my name is Fentruck Contouslio of the Council of Nine. Surely you've heard of us, have you not?"
"Yeah, I made it up. Who the fuck is this?"
"I already told you. Now, I am sure you must be confused, I would be too, but you must understand that I have very important news to relay to you, okay?" Important news? Like what? That my life is a complete farce?
"Your life is a farce, Mr. Czysz," he says. "This is not to say that you are not important. All living beings, if you will, are important. You, however, and your life in particular is not. Your sole purpose in existing is to be...well, maybe I could explain this a little better. Do you ever play pinball, Alexander?"
"Call me Alex, please." Who is this jackoff? And who the fuck plays pinball anymore? "Yeah. The first day I ever got in trouble in school, I come home to find out that my older sister bought us a small pinball machine. It wasn't anything great, but we played it for years. Yet every time I looked at it, I remembered that day when I first got in trouble," I told him. It was in kindergarten. There were two Alex's in the classroom: Me, the "good" Alex, and the other, "Bad" Alex. He and I were playing with some plastic animals, getting a little rough and I threw a white tiger at him. All in good fun. Well, at Seffner Elementary, projecting objects is a top offense, so I had to get time out. The teacher's assistant heard of this and told our teacher that Alex was in trouble. Her first reaction: "The bad Alex?" I guess all that was irrelevant, though.
"Well, I guess that's irrelevant, isn't it?" he says.
"Yeah, it is."
"Anyway, what would a game of pinball be without the...what do you call them? Bumpers? Is that it?"
"You mean the two things on the side you use to hit the ball?"
"No! Not that! The stuff that gets in the ball's way - the bumpers!
I curl the cord between my fingers, lay back flat on my bed again.
"Yes, what about them?"
"Metaphorically speaking, that is you. The ball needs to hit up against you every once in a while during the course of life, but that's all you're here for, you see?"
"Doesn't this - and the fact that you're telling me this - imply that all life is predetermined? That god exists and has chosen me to be a bumper in a pinball game?" I'm almost relieved to come to this conclusion myself.
"Did you ever plan on winning at pinball?" he asked me, after a long pause.
"No, I didn't know you could win at that game. It just keeps going."
"Precisely!" This existential bullshit is getting my goat. It sounds profound on a base level, but anyone can come up with crap like that.
"This doesn't answer my question!"
"Nor should it! I'm just telling you what you already know."
"Which is?"
"That your life is a sham!"
I hung up and went back to bed. Sleep - life's cure.
Alex
"Hello?"
"May I please speak to Alexander?" the man on the other end asks. This is new - a phone call, for me? I think the last time anybody called me was when the Army recruiters had my name. Telling them I was a gay, blind, cripple was the best idea I've ever had.
"Yeah, that's me."
"How are you this morning? Did I wake you up?"
"Yeah, you did." He apologized before I could get that sentence out. I told him it was alright.
"Anyway, my name is Fentruck Contouslio of the Council of Nine. Surely you've heard of us, have you not?"
"Yeah, I made it up. Who the fuck is this?"
"I already told you. Now, I am sure you must be confused, I would be too, but you must understand that I have very important news to relay to you, okay?" Important news? Like what? That my life is a complete farce?
"Your life is a farce, Mr. Czysz," he says. "This is not to say that you are not important. All living beings, if you will, are important. You, however, and your life in particular is not. Your sole purpose in existing is to be...well, maybe I could explain this a little better. Do you ever play pinball, Alexander?"
"Call me Alex, please." Who is this jackoff? And who the fuck plays pinball anymore? "Yeah. The first day I ever got in trouble in school, I come home to find out that my older sister bought us a small pinball machine. It wasn't anything great, but we played it for years. Yet every time I looked at it, I remembered that day when I first got in trouble," I told him. It was in kindergarten. There were two Alex's in the classroom: Me, the "good" Alex, and the other, "Bad" Alex. He and I were playing with some plastic animals, getting a little rough and I threw a white tiger at him. All in good fun. Well, at Seffner Elementary, projecting objects is a top offense, so I had to get time out. The teacher's assistant heard of this and told our teacher that Alex was in trouble. Her first reaction: "The bad Alex?" I guess all that was irrelevant, though.
"Well, I guess that's irrelevant, isn't it?" he says.
"Yeah, it is."
"Anyway, what would a game of pinball be without the...what do you call them? Bumpers? Is that it?"
"You mean the two things on the side you use to hit the ball?"
"No! Not that! The stuff that gets in the ball's way - the bumpers!
I curl the cord between my fingers, lay back flat on my bed again.
"Yes, what about them?"
"Metaphorically speaking, that is you. The ball needs to hit up against you every once in a while during the course of life, but that's all you're here for, you see?"
"Doesn't this - and the fact that you're telling me this - imply that all life is predetermined? That god exists and has chosen me to be a bumper in a pinball game?" I'm almost relieved to come to this conclusion myself.
"Did you ever plan on winning at pinball?" he asked me, after a long pause.
"No, I didn't know you could win at that game. It just keeps going."
"Precisely!" This existential bullshit is getting my goat. It sounds profound on a base level, but anyone can come up with crap like that.
"This doesn't answer my question!"
"Nor should it! I'm just telling you what you already know."
"Which is?"
"That your life is a sham!"
I hung up and went back to bed. Sleep - life's cure.
Alex