What If

So the other day I was at my grandmother’s house in my old room rummaging through a pile of forgotten belongings that were resting in the giant old wardrobe that takes up a quarter of the room where I spent a good part of my childhood. In this pile I found weird old games (Crocodile Dentist, Just Say No), a Incredible Hulk Uno game, a painting of a cat, and a strange pile of homemade cards that apparently dated back to when I was in the second grade. That was when I lived in Florida, and these were going-away cards. They were all written to me by friends I had when I was nine, who I have since long forgotten, and who in turn have long forgotten me. Reading these gave me a pleasant, sad feeling, as I imagined a parallel world where I stayed in Florida and stayed best friends with Andy, Mitch and Katey. These letters were handmade, with bizarre illustrations of palm trees, conch shells, and people made of bubbles. Two of them have squares cut into the middle, simulating windows, while one is actually a note proclaiming the maker’s love for a girl named Catherine. Catherine herself wrote me a good-bye letter, where she say’s that she will miss me even though I used to call her a “cockaroach”.

I miss them.

Suprisingly Beautiful

One surprisingly beautiful, near-winter day found me walking into Rite Aid looking for iced tea. I found it, and started walking over to the checkout counter. Once there I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation taking place between the young man ringing me out, and his boss, a middle-aged chubby woman. She said, “…God was smiling at you, the day you got this job.” The young man agreed, nodded his head, and said “Yeah, I was looking for work, and I guess no one was hiring, then I walked in one day, and saw Joe.” At this point, I had bought my iced tea, and felt strangely compelled to listen to this young man’s story, so I stayed. He continued. “Joe said come here, and I followed him into the back room where he had a row of cans on a shelf. All the cans had different markings on them. He picked up a blue can with an orange triangle on it, popped it open, and began eating what I assumed were Vienna Sausages, as they were small, wet and pink. He started talking, and this is what he said:
“’When I first started working here, my boss was a man by the name of Kevin. One day I came in and saw Kevin, and he took me into the back room, and started to lick my face. I didn’t like it, I told him to stop! The more he licked, the worse I felt, but he wouldn’t stop. He would lick, and I could feel pieces of me evaporating, small chunks flaking off of my soul. He said, ‘don’t worry, stop complaining, they will regrow, you won’t lose those pieces of yourself forever, they will come back! Just think, I need this more than you need yourself! Don’t be selfish, my needs are immediate, and you will eventually recoup your losses, so stop resisting!’ He was right, so I stopped complaining and let him lick my face.’”
Joe then stopped eating his Vienna Sausages, put his arm around me, smiled, and gave me a Rite Aid shirt!” The young man had finished his story, and I was surprised to see that a small crowd had gathered around him, listening to him speak. His boss, the middle-aged woman, nodded. “God smiled at you the day you got this job.”
I went outside and drank my iced-tea.