A Letter For The Future

Dear Arnold and whoever else decides to read this,

Remember when you read what Steven King wrote about writing? He said it’s telepathy, and in a sense it’s time travel. I am you on March 31^st, 2015 at 1:55 PM. You’re questioning yourself over and over again. You’re feeling all kinds of emotions and feelings that you force yourself to accept. You want so much, but you feel guilty about it as if you don’t deserve it. I don’t know why you feel this way, but I’m hoping that the next time you read this you don’t feel this way. You’re not going to get where you want to be by feeling guilty about it, so give the false humility a rest.

Now, on to other things. Right now I think it’s best to list all the things that you absolutely need to remember. No matter where you end up you can’t forget these things. Remember your childhood. Remember the pain and the loneliness. Remember that you accepted it and got over it; don’t dwell. Remember your zombie-esque early adult life. Remember going through the motions with everything. Remember desperately trying to feel something. Most of all, remember forcing yourself to stomach things that didn’t make you happy. Remember cheating and being cheated on. Remember your false definitions of love, and what you discovered about the real nature of love. Remember losing every single thing you used to hide behind. Remember losing your wife, your status, your career, and every bit of yourself that you manufactured. Remember finding yourself for the first time way later than you should have. Remember coming back to writing like a child you grudgingly gave up for adoption, and ran into again later in life. Remember the early attempts of writing. Remember turning raw emotion into words. Remember the suicidal poem of third grade. Remember the premature “I Am Africa.” Remember the first reading at Busboys. Remember being in the stockroom at MHS and discovering the magic of words and writing. Remember what writing really is. Remember the fantasies and the desires of being successful. Remember the humanitarian and political goals. Remember every person who believed/s in you. Remember Sam, Moi, Anissa, Ben, Brenda, Jona, Skot, John, and Baby Arnold. Remember Roses, Arnold. Remember that first time of feeling absolutely sure that you will be successful, and then remember the subsequent feelings of fear and doubt. Remember mushrooms, alcohol, and weed. Remember overdraft fees. Remember being hired, fired, and then hired again. Remember acknowledging that the workforce isn’t you!

Get the point yet? Write, Arnold; it’s what you enjoy. Be successful and do everything you want to do. If you are reading this, and you have conformed then you’re not yourself; you don’t conform. You believe in yourself no matter what, and then you charge ahead. Charge ahead, and do what you love.

Sincerely,

You. 

Untitled (Non-Fiction)

“You want to hear about me? You sick bastard.” That was my initial reaction when I heard what he needed. I called him sick, but I understand the interest. His memories of me are fond, but he knows a lot has changed. I’m still the same frivolous guy he knew me to be, but life has a way of edifying those who need it most. Don’t get me wrong; I still enjoy an obscene amount of lewd humor: Cock jokes, weed stories, and jokes about homosexuality are my go-to jokes to laugh off most situations. I remain the motherfucker that will take the joke entirely too far, just to get a rise out of most, and a laugh out of those who are like me.  This story is for them. The coterie of folks who have wallowed in a self-created hell, and found their way out of it.

Middle school was a good time for me. The ephemeral era of happiness and innocence. Well, as innocent as a thirteen year old boy balls deep in puberty can be. Life at home was a circus. My dad, “Harpo,” as my siblings and closest friends called him, was a wreck. He was abusive, and he seemed to be above such normalcies as keeping a job. I didn’t give a shit back then. As long as I had my two best friends, I was content.

We used to do all sorts of ludicrous shit. We would meet at five in the morning just to loiter and wreak havoc on unsuspecting people’s property. We shoplifted, ruined our respective kitchens, picked on kids junior in age, and held contests to see who could stay awake the latest. In retrospect, I would say we were explorers; exploring the ostensible feeling of being invincible and misunderstood. At any rate I was happy, and that’s all that mattered, but after two short years everything changed.

Harpo lost another job and decided to move the family to another state. I have five siblings, and each of us felt like we were in the prime of our lives. We didn’t recognize it back then, but the move was the first of many fissures in our family’s livelihood. I coped as best I could. I met some new little shits, but none quite like the ones I left. Social media was a mere reverie back then, most people were exploiting aol trial discs just to check their emails. Keeping in touch wasn’t a click away, so my best friends and I lost touch. I wish we had been better at communicating; I could have used them when my mother died.

About five years after I moved my mother died of asphyxiation. She had an epileptic seizure and died in her sleep. If the move was a fissure, then this was a goddamn catastrophic, apocalyptic, devastation. My mom’s death engulfed my family like a plague out of the bible. The void left in my sisters compelled them to become amative, and they all went off to form families of their own. One of my brothers turned to meth, and he still isn’t the same. My other brother assimilated the qualities of a rogue, and went down his own lonely path. I was 15 at the time, and in the subsequent years the borderlines of morality became mere suggestion.

I developed an alcohol addiction at the healthy age of 17. By 19, I was snorting blow, chewing ‘shrooms, and kissing Maryjane in the mouth as often as I could. When I was “sober” I was munching prescription pain killers like they were skittles, and I would wash them down with any liquor I could get my hands on. I lived that life, and it was awful.

One time I gave this asshole 90 bucks to score 16 grams of mushrooms, and he decided to use the money to go on a nice coke binge. He prevented the incoming ass kicking by giving me the rattiest looking ‘shrooms I have ever laid eyes on. I shouldn’t have taken them, but when you’re dying of thirst, toilet water begins to look like it came from a glacier. I took the ‘shrooms with one of my favorite drug buddies. We took eight grams a piece and experienced six hours of pure torture. The trip was a nightmare. Our most sinister nightmares manifested right before our eyes, and tormented us for the entire time. Up until that point mushrooms were my favorite drug. I loved the euphoria, but this trip still haunts me like a specter with a vendetta. I never took mushrooms again.

Drugs and crime go together like love and marriage. Between the ages of 17 and 23 I racked up warrants like it was my job. I was bouncing around from place to place, because nothing is steady in the lifestyle I was living. I bounced so often that eventually there was nowhere to land. I had no home, no friends, and seemingly no future. Being homeless was about as scary as the dark trip I had on the shitty ‘shrooms. I wandered around aimlessly reflecting on my life, and one night I drifted into a school. Someone must have seen me trespassing because it didn’t take long for the police to flag me down. They asked me for my name, and I gave it to them. When they ran it in their database they found my pile of warrants. At least I would have somewhere to sleep.

I spent 45 days in jail. I kept to myself, mostly, but I witnessed other hapless bozos get the shit kicked out of them on a regular basis. Jail is where I met Vlad. He was this large Russian body builder who was a lot wiser than I. When you’re in jail and going through withdrawals you talk just to feel sane. I ended up telling Vlad my life story, and do you want to know what this Russian wizard told me?

“Your definition of family is fucked. The pricks you dope with aren’t family, and if your relatives dope with you, then they ain’t family either. You choose your family, you scrawny American fuck.” Thanks Vlad.

For some reason those words stuck. When I was released I reached out to one of my sisters. She said she would take me in as long as I found a job and enrolled into college. I took her up on the offer immediately. I found work, and I started going to school for accounting. Not too long after that I met the girl of my dreams in a sandwich shop. She took to me right away, and I have a feeling she saw everything there is to know about me in one look; she saw it all and still accepted me.

I began to spend every day with her until nothing else mattered. I didn’t think about drugs or my past; all of my focus went into being happy with her. I like to say I have an addictive nature, and I don’t think it’s a bad thing; it’s human nature. I channeled my addiction through her, and eventually I married her.  

So that’s where I’m at today, happy, married, and sober. The sick bastard who needs a non-fiction story for his Creative Writing final is going to have one helluva time sorting this out, but I’m happy to be in touch with an old friend.  

Skeletons In The Backseat

My first play. It's a "one act play."

PATRICK, 27, a painter, and a man reborn

AVA, 24, Patrick’s new girlfriend. She hates to be compared to his ex-wife

AARON, 3, Patrick’s stubborn son

The entire play takes place during a single car ride.

At Rise: There is a drop-top prop car onstage. Every member is buckled in and ready to go. The sounds of a moving vehicle are playing out over a speaker. Patrick is moving the steering back and forth to simulate driving.

(Ava is smiling brightly at Patrick. Patrick is staring thoughtfully ahead, and Aaron is in the backseat being a three year old)

AVA

Where are we going to lunch, Babe?

(AARON gets ecstatic at the mere mention of lunch and tries to get out of his car seat)

AARON

Daddy I want French-fries!

                                                PATRICK

Sit down, AARON!

(AARON’S face falls as he crumples into his car seat defeated)

Not sure yet, AVA. How about pizza?

                                                AARON

PIIIIZZZZZA! I like pizza! You like pizza too daddy, right daddy?

                                                PATRICK

Mmmhmmm.

                                                AARON

I don’t like mushrooms. Only “peppini”

(AVA watches the world blow past her from the passenger seat. She clearly has something on her mind)

                                                AVA

Pizza sounds good. Did you start the papers?

(PATRICK smiles sheepishly. He nervously turns to face AVA)

                                                PATRICK

I haven’t yet, but I downloaded them. I just can’t wait till this divorce is over.

                                                AVA

Me neither. You two have been sitting on this for almost two years.

                                                PATRICK

You’ve been sitting on me for about a year.

(PATRICK’S face widens into a devilish grin. AVA can’t help but to grin right along with him.)

            AARON

Daddy I want to sit on you lap

(PATRICK and AVA laugh together)

                                                PATRICK

Ewwww! No AARON.

(AARON’S face lights up into an innocent look of confusion)

                                                AARON

That’s not nasty, Daddy. Right, Daddy?

                                                PATRICK

Right, Aaron. Anyway, it’s not like I still love her or anything. I love you, AVA

                                                AVA

I know—

                                                PATRICK

No, wait.

                                                AARON

I love you too, Daddy.

                                                PATRICK

I love you too, AARON! Jeez, can I talk?

(AARON’s head hangs low and PATRICK’S face reveals the slightest sliver of guilt, but he continues all the same)

                                                PATRICK

I love you and I’m happy now.

                                                AARON

I’m happy too, daddy

(AARON says this quietly in the background)

PATRICK

I know it isn’t over until I get the divorce decree, but I am ready to move on. I try not to compare, but this is so much different; so much better.

                                                AVA

I’m happy too, babe, but it’s hard to be secure. We love each other, and that’s cool, but you’re still married. I’ve been seeing a married man for over a year. Sometimes I feel stupid.

(PATRICK meets AVA’s statement with awkward silence. The statement hangs in the air, and isn't broken until AARON poses a question)

AARON

Are me married daddy?

(Patrick laughs at the welcomed icebreaker)

                                                PATRICK

No, not yet. You shouldn’t feel stupid for following you heart. I did and I feel more alive than ever. I have AARON back, I have you, and I have my sanity.

(It’s AVA’S turn to be silent. She continues to lose herself in the passing scenery)

                                                      AVA

And you have your art. That last on you did, the one of the roses; what inspired it?

(PATRICK’s contemplation comes alive in his facial features as he thinks to himself)

                                                PATRICK

I’m not quite sure. It could be everything. It could be nothing. That is thee way of thee art-eest!

                                                AVA

Are you sure they weren’t roses for her?

                                                PATRICK

Of cour… of course not!

                                                AVA

You love me, but you lie to my face! Seven years you were with this woman, and you expect me to believe she means nothing? I’M NOT STUPID, PATRICK!

(PATRICK is completely taken aback by the sudden argument. AVA is teary eyed and AARON’S face is blissfully blank in the backseat)

                                                PATRICK

I DON’T THINK YOU’RE STUPID!!                     (PATRICK pauses for a moment)

This fight is stupid.

                                                AVA

Of course, it’s stupid when I express my feelings.

                                                PATRICK

GODDAMMIT AVA!                             

(PATRICK slams his fist down into the steering wheel)

AARON

Did you say God, Daddy? I like God.

                                                PATRICK

This is what she did to me! You’re doing the exact same thing. You’re blaming me for your insecurities; you want me to be as miserable as you. Well I won’t be!

                                                AVA

Oh, that’s what you think? And I thought I was stupid--

                                                PATRICK

See? You think you’re stupid not me.

                                                AVA

Shut up, you know what I meant. Do you honestly think I’m conspiring to make you sad? Is that it PATRICK? I look after you and your son to trap you in my web of depression? God you are sooooo full of yourself.

(PATRICK decides to take the high road and remain silent. He looks determinedly out of his window)

AVA

Exactly. You’re quite content to eat my cooking and have your way with me, but the minute I bring up the divorce, you demonize me. I’m nothing more than a mistress to you.

                                                PATRICK

I LOVE YOU AVA…fuck! This is just fucking hard for me

(AARON is terrified by PATRICK’S loud voice. His eyes shift nervously left to right and right to left. His palms are pressed tightly against his head.)

                                                AARON

I thought you just love mommy, Daddy. Right, Daddy?

                                                PATRICK

Wrong, AARON. I want to forget mommy.

(AVA looks mortified)

                                                AARON

Nooooo. You don’t forget mommy. Remember when you was screamin’ at mommy, and mommy was cryin’? And you was hittin’ you head, Daddy. I was scared. Remember that, Daddy?

(PATRICK tries his best to mask his emotions, but the shock and sadness is splattered across face like blood spatter)

                                                PATRICK

No, I don’t remember that.

                                                AARON

I remember that, daddy.

(AVA is silently crying out the window. PATRICK’s face is a mask of gloom and despair. Having finally reached the pizza restaurant, he parks the car)

                                                PATRICK

Well, we’re here.                                                     (PATRICK says this quietly)

                                                AARON

Daddy, are you sad Daddy?

                                                PATRICK

No.

                                                AARON

I love you, Daddy.

(PATRICK begins to cry as he gets out of the vehicle. AVA sits quietly in her seat and stares out her window lost in her thoughts. PATRICK walks around the car to the backseat to free AARON from his car seat.)

                                                PATRICK

I love you too, AARON. 

Kicking My Addiction

One step forward and two steps back. That about sums up my life, but “one step forward, and a 3000mi flight back” seems to be a little more fitting. Every time I come to a “happy place” in my life I realize there is still much work to be done. It’s like spending a Saturday morning cleaning your bathroom, and going to your kitchen only to see that it looks like you served an entire army last night, but you don’t remember it. In situations like this I hit the same crossroad each time: Do I will myself to clean the kitchen, or do I resign to clean it the following weekend? I have spent most of my life going with option two, and not too long ago I realized it wasn’t working. So now I make every effort to better myself, and be the best man that I can be. That sounds great on paper, but the truth is the challenge is more demanding than I could have imagined, and maybe more than I can handle.

I look at myself objectively, and try to foster growth. I accept my faults and try my best to eliminate them. Recently, I ran into a severe fault. Somehow, right under my self-analytical nose I had developed an addiction. This addiction had literally taken over my life, and I was none the wiser. If I were to write what I was addicted to no one would take me serious, so for that reason I will keep my addiction anonymous, but it was serious. I would use first thing in the morning; sometimes so much that I would be running late for work. On my way to work I would use while driving, and some more while at work. I would take bathroom breaks, smuggle my addiction into a stall, and spend about fifteen minutes using pretending to have a bowel movement. I would use while talking to people, and even while reading my son a bedtime story. My addiction was the center of my life, and I didn’t even know it.

The effects of the drug aren’t physical, so it was hard for me to notice, but eventually I caught on. It was on Tuesday, March 10^th, 2015, that I decided to try and conquer my habit, and already my life has turned around. That Wednesday I plowed through work, so much so that the following day I was bored out of my mind. Thursday was so boring for me that I almost started using again, but I persevered. That week in school I blazed through all of my work. Usually, I get home and hangout with my son until about 8:00. At 8:00 I put him to bed using the same ritual that I use every night. At about 8:30 I start my homework, and finish around 11:30.  Once I stopped using my drug the ritual took 15-20 minutes rather than 30, and I began to finish my homework at around 10:00. That added a whole extra hour and a half to my night! Last week I composed a reading list (finished one book already), wrote a play, started a poem, and took up a new venture. I understand my friends and my son more because I am actually listening. I feel like a new man.

I would be doing you all a disservice if I didn’t tell you what the drug is. Most people my age are users too, so I really shouldn’t hide it. The drug is none other than our smart phones. All I did was delete the Facebook and Instagram apps, and that has proved to be worthwhile. Many of us users believe that we are great listeners, multitaskers, and great friends, but in actuality we aren’t. Going out with your friends only to be on your phone is contradictory. You drive better if you aren’t texting, and holding a conversation with someone while browsing your phone is rude.  I am not going on an anti-social media tirade; I just believe it might be worthwhile to disconnect from time to time. Keep in mind that the problem is the phone, and not the apps. For me it’s Instagram and Facebook, but for you it could be Pinterest and Clash of Clans. The phone is the gateway. Anyway, this is my story and my struggle. I hope that I don’t backslide.