Commit this to memory...

I suppose it's been a while since I've posted anything significant. This is one of the short story's I've written that I'm rather pleased with. I have another one that I feel has much more potential but until it's revised perfectly, I won't be posting it.


Commit this to Memory

“You know if they just legalized murder then there would be a lot less crime in places like this,” Kyle commented while piloting his fictional, video simulated character through the streets of a made up city and brutally slaughtering any pedestrians, drug dealers and gang members foolish enough to get in his way.
“Well yeah, but then people could run around killing anyone they wanted. I think society frowns upon things like that,” I replied.
“Yeah but at least it would solve the ever-rising and often overlooked over-crowded prison problems our country has.”
We both laughed and continued on in our video-simulated shooting rampage. We were both mashing buttons on our controllers in a precise order so as to avoid the wrath of the police officers who could bring an end to our game and simultaneously. This would quickly destroy our dreams of attaining the highly sought after high score achievement. Just then my character (while wielding a flamethrower) was picked off by a sniper, keeled over, and died a horrifically painful and dramatic death.
“Weak sauce.”
“Nice job, Madison.”
“Meh,” I replied while trying to act unfazed that I cost us the high score, even if it was crushing me on the inside. Kyle got up and left for his bedroom.
I didn’t mind rooming with Kyle. I had to admit that I was a bit iffy a few weeks ago when he asked me to move in with him because I didn’t know him very well. I met him through a friend at some party we were really too old to be attending. He mentioned in casual small talk that he needed a new roommate because his previous one had moved out suddenly. I’m not normally one to act out so spontaneously when a situation such as this arises, but given the fact that I’d only just graduated, I thought what the hell?
I finished up with my schooling at the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in writing and a useful minor in history to back it up. Realizing that I might struggle finding work, I leaped at the opportunity to remain in Pittsburgh with a stranger and pursue a fascinating career as a freelance writer. The conversation at the party may as well have gone something like this:

Stranger I’ve never met: “Hey, I’m Kyle and need a roommate. Wanna move in with me even though I could be a potential murderer, rapist, racist, arsonist, axe-wielding maniac, or rude car salesman?”
Gullible Madison: “You bet.”

So here I am two-weeks later rooming with Kyle. I had to admit that the apartment was very nice, although perhaps I was basing this off the fact that my place in college looked like Genghis Khan threw up on it. The living room was always very nice and I tried to make sure I did my best to keep it that way. Keeping this in mind, there were always those nights where one of us had a little too much alcohol and turned the place into a wrestling ring, battleground, or slip-n-slide. Regardless, we always did a good job of keeping things tidy afterwards.
The room was very white. The white leather couch with white pillows sat atop a comfortable coat of white carpet providing a pathway up to our white curtains which were very close to the white end table and white telephone. Everything looked nice so I had no problem with the fact that the room also looked like it was devoid of all life, or like Martha Stewart was let loose in it for fifteen minutes with an armada of cleaning and decorating supplies at her disposal and told to “go nuts.”
I was currently working at an electronics store in the city and disliking my job very much. I soon discovered that new writer’s often struggle finding work that will fully support them when they are fresh out of college. I was able to find a little bit of success writing humor columns for various magazines. My most recent success was an educational article informing readers as to how they could win a fight against a mob of twenty five-year-olds should the need arise. I also wrote an article explaining a list of ten dinosaurs that most readers would be able to take in a fight with relative ease. I was getting by on the money I was making because I was able to get a lot of hours at the electronics store and the freelance writing checks were just sort of an occasional bonus.
Kyle was working at a credit card collection agency and somehow making much more money than me. He had recently received a big bonus for leading his department in collections and instantaneously spent it on an oversized, high-definition television. I didn’t complain.
Kyle emerged from his bedroom wearing only his boxers.
“What are you up to tonight, man?” Kyle asked while making his way to the kitchen.
“Oh, my girlfriend is coming over. Her name’s Samantha, I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned her before. She’s just now getting back from vacation in Florida.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You guys just hangin’ around here for the night then?” Kyle asked while reaching into the refrigerator.
“I think so, she just got back tonight and said she’s pretty tired,” I replied, watching Kyle sniff an old carton of milk questionably, and then cough and choke on the noxious fumes that emerged. He then proceeded to place the carton back in the fridge.
“That’s cool, I think I’m just gonna hang around here too. You know, I used to date a girl named Sam, brings back memories,” he shuddered and meandered his scrawny, muscular frame back into his room.
It was 6:00 pm. Samantha wouldn’t be over until 8:00. I figured I could kill some time by sitting down at my laptop and at least trying to spit out a few words for another humor article. I had myself convinced that every written word, no matter how stupid or senseless, brought me one step closer to writing a best-seller. I had been trying to sit down and write a comical argument aimed towards the raison and why he should keep his shriveled ass away from my delicious cookies. My argument was that nature should mind its own damn business and stop ruining my sugar-filled treats with unwanted nutrients. Just as I sat down at my desk, my phone rang. Samantha.
“Ahoy-hoy?”
“Hey dollface, it’s me!”
“Hey hey, what’s up? Did your flight come in yet?” I asked, excited to hear from her.
“Yeah we actually got an earlier flight so I’ll be over shortly. Gotta go, my phone’s about to die. See you soon.”
I ran outside to meet Sam at the curb as the familiar sight of her black Honda Civic approached my building. I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks so we exchanged a seventeen minute long hug and the mandatory exaggerated kiss accompanied by intermittent comments from her explaining how much she missed me. I really liked Sam. Seeing her short, slender body, pretty face and long librarian hair often made me feel better if I was upset. We had only been dating for a few months but things seemed to be going pretty well.
We came back upstairs and situated ourselves in the angelic living room and she started to tell me about her trip. None of this was news to me considering she’d been calling me most days to tell me about everything her and her friends had done. Most of it involved lying on the beach, gradually roasting under the hot sun.
“So what’s been going on around here? What’s your new roommate like?” She asked while picking at a piece of flaking skin on her forearm.
“He’s alright. No complaints thus far. We’ve spent much of our time drinking and playing video games when we aren’t at work so I can’t complain.”
Just then, Kyle emerged from his room yawning. He was fully clothed this time. He wandered to the kitchen seemingly still in a daze from a nap that may or may not have put him in a coma, his eyes staring blankly at the floor. Sam was flipping through a magazine she found laying around.
“Hey Kyle, come over here I want you to meet Samantha,” I hollered into the kitchen. Kyle yawned again and stretched his arms upward as he made his way over. His hair was half-covering his face and his ribs protruded out of his chest as he stretched and approached the living room. Samantha looked up from her magazine and their eyes locked onto each other in astonishment. Both of them looked at each other like a deer facing imminent death from a tractor-trailer.
“Holy shit, it’s you!” Kyle screamed while pointing to Sam. I was shocked and confused. I looked over at Sam and she was sitting with her hands over her face, allowing her eyes to see through a partition in her finger-created mask.
“Stay away from me! Get out of here!” Kyle muttered in a panic, fear enveloping his voice. Sam looked at me with tears in her eyes, threw the magazine to the floor and ran out of the apartment.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t talk to her that way!” I yelled at Kyle, enraged that he could treat another person, let alone my girlfriend, that way.
“I don’t wanna talk about it” Kyle replied, rushing to his room and slamming the door.
I ran outside after Sam. She was just entering her car when I started dashing down the steps after her.
“Sam wait! I’m sorry, I’ve never seen him act that way before” I called to her while running down the stairs out of breath. She started the car and put it into gear. I caught up to her and stood at the driver’s side window hoping desperately that she’d open the door.
“Open the door Sam and talk to me. I dunno what the hell his problem was.”
“He’s my ex. I don’t wanna talk about it” she cried to me, tears running down her cheek. Her car pulled away before I had a chance to say anything else. I watched her black civic pull away down Tullamore Avenue, watching my tall, pathetic figure reflect off the shiny back window. Furious at what had just transpired, I stormed back inside and started banging on Kyle’s door.
“Come out here and tell me what the fuck just happened!” I barked at him through the thin layer of wood that was his bedroom door. I probably could have snapped it over my knee if I wanted but figured that’d only make things worse. There was no reply. I figured I could bang on his door all night but if he was going to be stubborn then I’d have a very hard time. I walked back to the living room and sat down on the couch, running my hands through my curly brown hair. Before I could even continue thinking about what happened, Kyle’s door opened and he slowly made his way out. I didn’t say anything and watched him come over and sit down next to me on the couch. It took him a few minutes to collect his thoughts and spit out what he wanted to say.
“I was seventeen when I dated Sam. I assume she told you that much if you were able to catch her before she left.”
I nodded. Still confused.
“Met her at a bar near the university. We both had fake ID’s. We were also both young and attending different high schools in the area. It wasn’t one of those corny one-night stand types of interactions, you know? We got along well and talked for a while and then all of a sudden I had her phone number and was calling her the next day. We were together for a long time and didn’t see eye to eye on what would happen to us after high school. I cared about her and even loved her but I just didn’t want to change my life around by trying to go to the same University as her. We saw a lot of each other and never really had any major problems like a lot of other couples do,” he paused and took a breath “that is, until she told me she was pregnant.”
My organs sunk about a foot lower each, effectively stopping each and every one for a moment.
“There were a few times that we didn’t use a condom and she called me while I was at work one day to tell me she was pregnant.”
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit him even though I knew everything he was telling me was perfectly understandable. I figured this type of thing happened to a lot of couples who may have been careless once or twice. It’s human nature.
“I was still only eighteen at the time and was ready to somehow change my life around and help her support the child. I decided not to be one of those guys that run out on the girl, leaving her with her grief and a stack of bills. After a few months, I noticed that she wasn’t getting any bigger. I asked her if she had been attending regular doctor visits and she assured me that she had. She told me that the doctor said everything was normal and that some women get bigger more quickly than others. I’m pretty sure that’s a load of horse shit, but I had no idea at the time. When after another month she still wasn’t any bigger, I found out that she was never really pregnant.”
“What? Did she have a miscarriage?” I asked, half confused and half enraged.
“No, she was never pregnant to begin with. She told me that she loved and cared about me so much and didn’t want to leave me after high school. Sounds cliché right? Like a lot of other high school couples go through the same thing? Nope, she faked a pregnancy with hopes I’d change my life around and move in with her at age eighteen.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“I promptly cut things off with her in a panic and stopped returning her calls. I was disgusted that someone would try to do something like that to me. She couldn’t take it and would often come to my house and bang on the door claiming she was still carrying my child.



“Wow…” It was all I could think of to say. I was having a very difficult time trying to think about Sam the same way. I had always figured that situations such as these rarely, if ever occurred outside of Jerry Springer re-runs in which multiple lounge chairs are thrown across the room in anger. I got up from the couch and dispatched myself to my room without a word. Kyle didn’t bother coming after me. He retired himself back into the seclusion that was his bedroom.
I plopped myself down on my bed and began staring at the ceiling as I thought about what Kyle had told me. My cell phone was sitting on my bed stand and I didn’t bother picking it up to call Sam just yet. I figured she probably wouldn’t even answer for a little while. I put on my headphones and let the shuffle button on my iPod decide what I should be thinking about as I drifted into sleep.


Over the course of the next couple days I didn’t talk to Sam at all. Neither one of us made the effort to contact the other, likely thinking that we both just needed a little bit of time to let things sink in. Things with Kyle were okay, but only okay. We didn’t talk to each other much, but my feelings of rage had subsided gradually. I couldn’t in good conscience blame him for something that happened before I was with Sam and at that, something she was responsible for. I was avoiding her in all my cowardice like a seven year old kid trying to avoid a girl that had a crush on him.
I spent most of my time outside of work focusing on writing. Even though it was partly my job, I really enjoyed writing. It was one of those things that helped keep me sane in an otherwise boring atmosphere I called my life. I had spent the greater portion of the last few days spitting incoherent jumble into my laptop. Nothing that I had written really made any sense; it was mostly just inarticulate free-writing. I didn’t care. It was helping.
I enjoy writing humor columns for whoever is willing to take the time to read and possibly publish them. I like to think that every day someone is laughing at something I’ve written, or even cursing at the poorly developed themes that I pass off as humorous and slap my name onto. However, when I sat down after speaking with Kyle, I wasn’t really in the mood to continue my rant about the egotistical raison. I sat down and spat out some garbage about why I’m a bad writer.
I don’t read, I don’t note small things that should be written down for later use in writing, I don’t envision anything that I may want to write about, I give poor critiques to others if I’m uninterested and I claim to know more than I do about many topics. I don’t properly proof read anything I write until it is positively reinforced as a “good piece of writing.” I lack the confidence to recognize when a piece of my writing is a valid and well constructed piece of work and I overestimate other pieces of writing simply because I use good diction and a few humorously compiled words. I lack the ability to recognize when I’ve bludgeoned a dead horse, lost the reader or poorly constructed a scene and the fact that I’m not working to correct these problems isn’t helping.
I don’t really consider myself a bad writer, but after seeing some recent flaws in myself and my mindset towards Sam, it was hard for me not to be critical of other things in my life.
I had a very difficult time thinking of Sam after what Kyle had told me. I had never once seen any kind of psychotic behavior from that girl. Hell, we still hadn’t even used the word love around one another, and the thought of it scared me after only two months. She was only ever a good girlfriend to me and I knew she cared about me like I cared about her. I almost wanted to see this other side of her just so I could find out if she was capable of acting in such a manner. However, when I thought about it, I realized that we were twenty-two now and this all happened when Sam was leaving high-school. I convinced myself that everyone is a dumbass in high school and that made me feel a little better – but I still couldn’t shake these new thoughts I was having about her. Was she really as crazy as Kyle thought?
I decided to man-up and head over to her place after work the next day. I didn’t get off until 7:00 so I figured she would definitely be home when she got back from her job as a secretary at some local firm. I got to her apartment complex and rang the buzzer.
“Hello? Who is it?” The familiar sound of her voice.
“It’s me, it’s Madison. Can you let me in?”
…
“Yeah, alright.”
Our fifteen second conversation was very awkward and I feared this would foreshadow the rest of our conversation that night. She slowly opened the door and let me inside. I quickly entered and made my way right for her couch and sat down. I looked up at her. She was wearing a pair of shorty short shorts and a tank top with what looked like a push-up bra. I instantly forgot about why I came here for a few seconds after looking at her. Her long brown hair was curling down over her chest. It was as if she picked the most seductive clothing possible and sat around waiting for me to call. She came and sat down next to me. It didn’t look like her roommate Cassie was home. That was a plus.
“I assume Kyle told you about our past together” she asked slowly.
I nodded.
“Look I was very young and still in high school when we were together. I had never had a serious boyfriend before and panicked when college was going to come around and we would both be going separate ways. I didn’t want to lose him at the time and now I realize that my behavior was totally irrational, immature and straight retarded. I hope you understand why I didn’t tell you about this. It was embarrassing.”
“So everything Kyle said was true? Everything about the pregnancy, and the restraining order?”
Sam was sitting on the couch, looking down at her awkwardly crossed legs. She sighed and heaved a deep breath before responding.
“Yes, it’s true,” she eventually revealed, “I hope you aren’t petrified of me now.”
I hesitated before I could reply which apparently was mistake number one. After a quick breath to think about what I could say in response, I came up with absolutely nothing.
“Madison?” She interjected before I could correct my error and say something.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t say I’m scared, but it’s definitely something that’s been on my mind over these past few days. I really didn’t see something like this coming.” Weak at best, but it was all I could come up with. Sure, Sam and I got along pretty well and we liked each other but we’d only been together for a couple months. I really didn’t think our relationship was strong enough to withstand a ship wreck. It was around this point that I realized how much I didn’t want to be at Sam’s place. A lot was racing through my mind and none of it was willing to slow down and let me catch up to myself.
“You’re really thinking seriously about everything Kyle told you, aren’t you? I know we haven’t been together long but I liked to think that by this point we would at least be capable of acting maturely and attempting to figure things out. Yes, I had a bit of a rough adolescence and I understand why this would be a bit of a shock to you but it’s no reason to act like a coward, Madison. Either speak to me about things that bother you, or don’t bother wasting my time. I sat around here these past few days waiting for you to call, and half-hoping that I wouldn’t be home when you did. I’ve been scared shitless of your reaction and I had to wait three days in mental anguish, waiting for you to come talk to me.” I watched as her kill switch engaged, switching her from defensive to aggressive. I couldn’t blame her. She was right about everything. No matter which way I went about this, she was right and I wasn’t able to grow up and accept it. Mistake number two came in the form of another hesitation. It was a few seconds before I could find my tongue and muster up the strength to say anything.
…
“Sam, I-”
“Save it.” She cut me off and motioned towards the door, gesturing that I leave. I chose not to say anything and obeyed her. The fact that I couldn’t even say anything confirmed her accusations that I was a coward. I think most normal people would have tried to defend themselves and at least left with the tattered remains of their dignity. Mine was left on the center cushion of the couch she ejected me from. I looked back over to her as I opened the door to see if the expression on her face had changed. Before I could think of my last words, she once again interjected.
“Don’t let the door hit your ass.”

When I arrived back at home I found Kyle sitting on the couch in his underwear slaughtering police officers and pedophiles with a chain gun. I sat down on the couch next to him and watched him play the game. I finally worked up the courage to say something.
“Sam won’t be coming by here anymore.”
“You wanna talk about it?” He asked while throwing Molotov cocktails at unsuspecting cars.
“No, that’s alright. Maybe later” I replied, thinking of very few other things to talk about. Kyle picked up a controller and handed to me. Within seconds I was wielding my trademark flamethrower, burning innocent victims and watching them suffer. I felt better instantly, smiled, and asked Kyle if he knew where the sniper rifle was.

****
As mentioned several times, I like to write. I often write humor pieces because they seem to be one of the elements I excel in, and sometimes I just write whatever the first thing I think about is. Up until the incident with Sam I had never been very good at articulating my emotional or intellectual thoughts and getting them on the page. I always avoided such things by writing like a smart-ass, making myself laugh and forgetting about any insecurity I might have had to face that day. Everything Sam had scolded me about in that brief interaction was not only true about my personality, but was also reflected in my writing. These limitations seemed totally unwarranted in my writing and there was no reason I couldn’t correct them. I sat down at my computer screen imaging the horrific scowl on Sam’s face as she sent me away and quickly began work on something with a little more meaning. I made sure to commit this to memory.