I almost put the belt on Tuesday morning as I went to work, but I remembered in time and put on the brown belt I've worn for the last two years. The temperature had gotten unseasonably warm and though I stepped out of the door in my sweatshirt, I immediately pulled it off and tossed it back into the apartment right before I closed the door and locked it. The walk was boring. I almost missed my little visions.
Ridiculous as it was, I felt my insanity made me special. It was like wishing to have a disfigurement to be distinctive. It also felt like it gave me an insight into people. Maybe this was what women who stayed with abusive men were feeling. The men were abusive to, but made them feel special when they weren't, and feeling special has a draw to it. I've felt normal (if I'm honest, I've felt smarter than average, but still basically normal) for the majority of my life. Even when my mother insisted I was special, I knew it was just her saying what any mother would say to her son. If anything about me was special, it was that my parents were only ever married to each other and remain that way.
When I arrived at work and settled in, I was fairly quickly cornered by Kim and Hannah. They had a surprise for me.
“Francis, I have a phone number for you to call. I want you to call it tonight and ask Erin out to dinner and coffee this weekend,” Kim was looking fairly serious, but Hannah had a huge grin on her face.
“Before you leave today, we are going to make sure you know exactly what to say and how to act. We're not going to let you screw this up before you even meet her. Erin has agreed to see you, but if you don't make a good impression on the phone, you're in trouble before you meet her for real,” Hannah started jovially, but ended with a more serious tone to her voice.
“You two seem to be taking this pretty seriously,” I had felt a surge of adrenaline as the told me I was going to call her, and I was already beginning to feel nervous.
“We are not going to let you avoid this. We know you tend to slip out of things that make you feel uncomfortable. So we are going to make you feel comfortable before you call her,” Kim was staring me in the eyes and it was a little unnerving.
“Are you going to tell me anything about her?” nervous as I was, I was also quite interested. A real live date was pretty big news in my world. I don't want to sound like I'm a stereotypical nerd with regards to women, but my dating history has been rather non-existent. That being true, I have spent quite a lot of time with women my age and am generally comfortable around them I know how to treat them, and I don't get monosyllabic around women. It takes some effort, but I can talk to a woman's face, not her chest, though the more cleavage she has, the harder it is, and I can deal with nerve wracking situations, though I may feel like jelly inside.
“We already did,” now Kim had a mischievous smile on her face.
“I'd think I would remember if you did,” I played along since I didn't have much choice.
“Remember our conversation about what kind of girl you would like?” Hannah asked this with a grin as well.
“Yeeess.”
“Well, that's her description.” Hannah explained.
“I see. And how am I going to be prepared?”
“You're going to call us during the day and ask us out,” Hannah nodded as Kim said this.
“But--”
“No. No excuses. I know you find us both irresistable and will be horribly nervous asking us out, but that will just make this a better preparation,” Kim laughed as Hannah needled me. “You will also be the one to decide when to call us. You have to keep alternating between us until we say you are ready. So don't wait too long.”
I knew they weren't going to let me out of this, so I nodded and excused myself to prepare. I figured I'd call Hannah first, because I was much more comfortable with the idea of asking her out than Kim who was married with kids. (I was probably also feeling guilty about finding her hot.) I waited an hour, not really getting anything done before I made the phone call.
“Hello, this is Hannah.”
“Hannah, this is Francis. I was . . . uh . . . are you free this Friday?”
“I'm not sure, what's up?”
“Um . . . I was wondering if you might be interested in going to dinner with me?” my heart was racing far faster than I thought it should be, and I was really nervous even though this was a stupid exercise.
“Are you asking me out Francis?”
“If you are okay with that. I mean, you can say no,” I was calming down a little, but when those words escaped my mouth, I knew they were stupid and smacked myself on the forehead. “Let me rephrase that. I would be very happy if you would go out with me this Friday.”
“Where are we going?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Maybe . . . but I need to know where we are going.”
I wasn't prepared for this question. I immediately ran through my list of known restaurants. Most of them were loud chains. I stammered for a moment, then chickened out, “Where would you like to go?”
“I have no idea. I'm so surprised and taken aback by your sudden call that I can't think straight. If you gave me some options, I might be able to comment on them.”
I couldn't seem to remember any restaurants, but I knew that I had to go for a nicer restaurant, but all the ones I could even vaguely remember were too expensive for a first date. “Uh . . . I didn't think far enough ahead for this call did I?” I dropped out of character and hoped she would let me off. Fortunately she did.
“No you didn't, but you didn't do terribly. You should have a couple of restaurant options ready and I can give you some good ideas.”
“I would appreciate that.” For the next ten minutes I got a little coaching. Things I'd done well, things I done poorly and so an hour later, I made a much more compelling call to Kim. She play acted the whole thing too well, so by the time I was done it was actually creepy. I had to remind myself that she was a married mother of two and is in no way interested in me. Even then I felt a part of me saying “maybe she really is. Did you ever think of that?” but an even stronger part of me rejected this out of hand and said “No woman will ever really be interested in you,” and I saw the truth in that and let it go.
No day at work I can remember has gone faster or slower than that day. Kim and Hannah made me call them twice more each, which did make things move a little faster, but Kim continued to creep me out a bit as she acted as though she genuinely wanted to go out with me. I kind of wished Hannah was more convincing, but alas I could always tell she was play acting. But those distractions were few and far between as I both dreaded and dreamed of calling Erin that evening.
When I got home however, all desire to make the phone call left. I had about an hour before Erin, whoever she was, would get home, and I could give her a call. But now it was so close that the dread was starting to overwhelm me. I began to think about how foolish it was for me to even consider that a girl may be interested in me. No girl will want me. I'm too ugly and nerdy and goofy for any sane, attractive girl to be interested in me. I must be insane to think a girl would want me for anything other than a guy she can be safe around. In college I used to be the guy that drove all the drunk girls home from the parties, and it wasn't just because I didn't drink much and was sober enough to drive. A girl once entrusted her drunk younger sister to my care because she knew I was “safe”. Don't get me wrong. It's a good thing to be trusted by women. I do really believe that, but I wish I wasn't always the “safe” guy. I'd rather be good, but not safe. And definitely not nice.
I was supposed to call at 6:30, and I sat around not doing much, waiting and dreading the call until about 6:20, at which point I forgot what I was waiting for and got distracted until almost 7:15. At 7:19 (I have a thing against calling at even numbered minutes on my clock. Even though my clock almost never coincides with the clock of the person I am calling. I had decided that since I knew the conclusion already, I would just not get too worried. This was easier said than done, as my body conspired against.
My palms were already sweating when I picked up the phone and I noticed that my breath was a little ragged as I dialed. Before it started to ring, I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. In the end I had to sit down, because my legs were trembling when I stood. The phone only rang twice before it was picked up.
“Hello, this is Francis, may I speak to Erin?”
“This is Erin.”
“As you know, I got your phone number through a mutual friend, and I was wondering if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner at The Macaroni Grill on Friday?” both Kim and Hannah had said that normally the “honor of” comment would sound corny, but I somehow managed to make it sound good and they weren't going to mess with that. “I don't know what time you are available, but if you are available around 7:00, it would give us time to do something afterwards if the mood so strikes us,” Apparently making a time suggestion was good practice, it showed that I was “prepared” for the phone call.
“Wow, you really prepped for this call didn't you?” it was not the response I was expecting.
“Well, Hannah and Kim insisted and made me practice on them today,” I figured honesty was the way to go here, “but I could just be really confident and perpared.”
She laughed, “That sounds like Hannah, but we'll pretend you're just confident, because it sounds much better,” I liked the fact that she would play along and started to loosen up a little.
“So would you feel more comfortable meeting there at 7:00 or should I pick you up at 6:30?”
“While it is true that if I let you drive, I'm at your mercy for a ride home if things go badly, I think I prefer that to waiting somewhere trying to identify my would be date from the crowd. You can pick me up at my place. What will you be driving?”
“The sexiest vehicle on the face of the planet,” I was feeling good and confident after only a few minutes on the phone with Erin. This was a good sign.
“Your parent's old Mini-van?”
“I prefer to call it...well, I don't call it much of anything, I barely drive it to be honest. But in any case, you are totally correct. I can't keep the soccer mom's away.”
“I'll bet. Pick me up at my place at 6:30, and expect me to be waiting at 6:30, not still getting ready. I think I'm actually looking forward to this,” she sounded fairly surprised by this, but also positive. She gave me her address and I found it on Google Maps, made sure the directions were correct and we said goodbye.
Hmm, life seemed to be looking up and I had something to do on Friday night that wasn't sit at home and watch Sci-Fi channel reruns.

Monday November 7, 2005
I’m never wearing that belt again. I don’t know how psychotic episodes occur, or if a sufferer can associate it so strongly with an article of clothing that the problems stop or start depending solely on whether that article of clothing is being worn, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep seeing and hearing weird things just because I like a belt, because all my delusions seem to focus around it.
On Saturday, I wasn’t planning on doing anything, but I woke up at about 8:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I laid there until 9:00 and then decided to get up. The morning was pretty standard, but at about noon, Walt called and wanted to see if I’m run out with him to pick up some things. He wanted to hit Best Buy and EB and Lowes, and he suggested maybe we could catch a movie when we were done. It sounded like a pretty good idea, so I agreed. I had been lounging around in nothing in particular, so I took a shower and got dressed. I pulled on a pair of the khakis I had bought and the other button down shirt, which had hung out it’s creases rather well the night before. I grabbed the belt of the nail where I had hung it the night before, put on my casual black leather shoes and headed out the door.
Another friend might ask me why I’d dressed up like that just to run errands, and to be honest, I had to ask myself, but Walt was one of those guys who always looked great all the time, and he would appreciate me looking better than ratty jeans and a T-shirt. Nothing really strange seemed to be happening, but I didn’t see anyone as I headed over to Walt’s place, which was just another apartment in the complex. For being just after 1:00pm, the place was pretty deserted. When I got there and Walt opened the door, my good feeling vanished. There, standing on his shoulder was a miniature Walt, but being as close as I was, it seemed like it was more like something wearing a Walt costume, not really a copy. It was whispering intently in his ear.
“C’mon, you know you want that LCD TV. If you got that, you’d be happy. You’d have an awesome TV and everything would be great. You wouldn’t want anything for a long time if you got that TV, which is why it would be okay to spend all that money on it,” it paused, as if listening to something “No, really, you can afford it. Just don’t buy so many computer games. Don’t get a new couch, you’re current one is fine…”
It kept talking, but I made a concentrated effort not to listen. I wasn’t seeing or hearing things like this, and that was that. In “A Beautiful Mind”, Russel Crowes character dealt with his Schizophrenia by figuring out what was real, and what wasn’t and ignoring the people who weren’t real. I wasn’t as smart as the guy he was playing, but I could do the same thing, and little people standing on shoulders giving what sounded like bad advice were clearly not really there, and so I would do my best to ignore them. Unfortunately, since I was pretending it wasn’t there, it never seemed to get shy like the ones I’d seen the night before and vanish, and so it stood there gabbing into Walt’s ear for the next five minutes as he got his shoes on and grabbed his cell phone and wallet and keys and we headed out to his car.
I do have a car, but it’s an old green minivan I got from my parents when my last car was totaled in an accident that was not my fault. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault legally, and so I’d gotten the settlement amount from my insurance and my parent’s had the minivan available. Well, I wasn’t picky and I took it. But I’d much rather be riding in Walt’s black 2004 Jetta.
We made it to Best Buy in short order, since it’s pretty close to his house, and Walt walked immediately to the DVD isle. I got the impression he was intentionally trying to avoid the TV’s. Then I realized that I was thinking this because of what an imaginary man on his shoulder had been saying. The man was still there, and it looked like he might have still been talking, but he was leaning really close and whispering in a really low voice. I quickly ignored him again.
Walt picked up Battlestar Galactica season one, something I had been pestering him to get since I picked it up the day it came out.
Then he turned to me and said “Let’s go look at the sweet TVs and dream.”
This was something we did fairly often when in Best Buy, so I wasn’t particularly surprised and agreed. We walked over and found the Plasma and LCD TV section. Even “on sale” the prices were still ridiculous, but Walt was spending a lot of time looking at a 42” Sony plasma.
“I could actually afford this if I squeezed a bit,” Walt commented.
“No you can’t. You have to be pulling down significantly more than we are to pay for that Jetta, and that TV at the same time.”
“Really I can. I just have to stop going out to dinner all the time and make some cheap pasta dinners for awhile. Maybe hold back on video games. Cancel my World of Warcraft subscription. That’s $180 a year right there. Skip out on some of the box sets I want. At $50 a pop, they add up fast.”
“But wouldn’t having a TV like that mean you wanted to get tons of DVD’s to watch on it? And then you’d have to get Digital Cable, or Satellite to get the HD to really feed it,” I saw that BSG Box set being put back on the shelf in a momentary fit of “fiscal responsibility” but that lasting for about a week.
“Well, that may be true I suppose. But I could do the Satellite, that should be cheaper than Digital Cable, and I’m already on DSL, so my broadband won’t be more expensive if I switch,” Walt seemed pretty convinced he was going to do this already.
“So should I take back Battlestar while you find a salesperson?” I knew he was making a bad choice, but there is a limit to what a friend can do.
“Why would you take it back?” Walt looked genuinely confused.
“You're refraining from buying Box sets to pay for this TV right?” I'd much rather he bought the box set, but if he was going to buy the TV, I was going to make sure he didn't spend more than he needed to. Then I stopped. I didn't actually know his financial situation. I was judging everything based on seeing that stupid little man on his shoulder, and unconsciously believing that anything it said was bad advice.
This really bothered me, because – well, because I always thought that crazy people must be really out of touch to believe in their delusions, and here I was unknowingly letting something that must not be real determine how I saw something. So I stopped and tried to think what I would be thinking if this was just a normal occurrence. I guessed I would think it was pretty cool and be excited. I mean, I've always wanted a TV like that, and even though I knew I couldn't afford one, I would be totally psyched to use my friend's. I was trying, but it was hard to get over my reservation.
“You know what?” I attempted to reconcile a little, “It's your money, and if you've got it to spend on a TV like this, good for you. I'm just jealous. So what can I do to help?”
“Help me pick a wall mount. Damn, I can't believe a metal bracket can cost this much,” Walt had sticker shock, and I couldn't blame him. I started to wonder if he'd considered the extra cost before he had told the salesperson he would take the TV.
“It's what keeps your $3000 Plasma Screen from falling off the wall and smashing to bits. It really kind of should be a bit expensive, but that does seem steep.
“Dude, the sales guy is going to try and push a Product Replacement Plan on me. Do I want it?” Walt had the look of a man staring at his doom.
“Depends on how much it is. I'm figuring at least 10%, which is another $300. I wouldn't pay more than that. Does your current TV have any problems?”
“No, I've had it since Sophomore year with no issues,” Walt seemed distracted.
“If you take decent care of it, then it's not too necessary. You could try negotiating the price down if he really wants to sell you a plan,” I suggested.
The whole discussion ended up being moot because the plan was $549 which was more than a sixth of the cost of the unit. They would drop the TV price $100, but that still left Walt's extra cost at more than 10%, and after making sure there was at least some waranty on it, he forcefully declined. It was disappointing that he had to arrange for delivery the next day and not just take it home. But even if they had let him, his car wouldn't have known what to do with a box that big.
We did walk out of there with Battlestar and the wall unit so we could make the apartment ready for delivery in two days. We spent a couple more hours in stores looking at things and I pointedly avoided looking at people's heads and shoulders, and ignored any voices that seemed suspect, which is why it took Walt about five minutes to get me to respond to his question about getting some dinner. He looked worried when I finally replied and asked if I was sure I was okay. I made up something about being deep in thought and changed to subject to where we should go. He suggested UNO's so we could hit the theater afterwards. I didn't have a problem with that and we headed over.

If I had thought the number of “little people” at the bar was bad, well the number at the restaurant made it seem like they were the in style pets of the year. They were all over, encouraging people to order more food and appetizers. They insisted that if they didn't they would be hungry later and eat more bad food at home. That by ordering a huge amount of food now, they wouldn't want dessert. I sat down and started looking at the menu, and I heard the same kind of voice in my ear. I turned my head and there I was, insisting that I needed to get more to eat than I really did. Walt had two people on his shoulder. This was the first time I'd seen that. One was telling him to order something large, the other was telling him that he might as well forget about money today and just get whatever he wanted to eat.
“Dinner is my treat tonight,” I didn't want him to spend more money than he had to today, and I knew we were planning on a movie later.
“Thanks,” Walt didn't argue, and I appreciated that. We'd been buying meals for each other for years and didn't even feel compelled to keep track any more.
I had to excuse myself after about ten minutes to go and hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. Another two urinal, two stall place with a divider between the urinals. But this time I spent most of my time at the sink with a little cold water and muttered commentary to myself. I was still seeing little people everywhere, and their voices were starting to just disorient and confuse me. I was starting to get twice the information all the time and was having trouble keeping up. When the man walked in behind me, I barely registered him.
“Stupid bitch. When we get home you should teach her a lesson for embarrassing you in front of everyone. She won't mouth off like that again if you teach her there are consequences” there was a pause and the room was silent until I heard the cascade of urine at the back of the urinal furthest from the sink. “Of course you love her. If you didn't love her, you wouldn't bother correcting her. You know she needs it.” the voice continued, like it was responding to something it had heard. I pointedly looked away and walked back into the restaurant proper. We finished dinner and by the time we left, I was starting to get a head ache, but we went and rewatched Serenity. Partially to support the movie, but mostly because there was nothing else we were interested in that we didn't have to wait an hour or more to see. After that, we went back to Walt's place and I helped him hang the wall bracket for his TV, and we watched SNL. At 12:30, the combination of my headache and the last couple of late nights combined to make me deeply regret being awake and I bid Walt goodnight and walked back to my place. I was so worn out that I lay on the bed for a minute before brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. I must have fallen asleep right away.
I woke up sweating and still in my clothes, but it took me a good five minutes to remember where I was and what time it was. I spent ten minutes reliving my dream in my mind. I have had a couple of dreams that vivid before, but none seemed to be as disturbing to me. I turned on the light, pulled out a pad of paper and wrote it down so I could remember it in the morning to write in my journal. It seemed desperately important that I do so right then. It was one of those decisions that is made while you are still not quite awake.
In the dream, the first thing I remember is that I was wandering around just doing normal things. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I think I associated it with my loneliness. With feeling rejected. I went to a doctor to be sure, but in the waiting room, and man – and what a man he was, he seemed like a male model. Perfect in form and with an ideal face, he even seemed to light up the room a little around himself.
“A doctor cannot fix your pain,” he said clearly, but I didn't feel like he was speaking English even though I understood him completely.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Your wound is not physical,” he replied. Then he waved his hand over my eyes and the scene changed. I was no longer in the doctors office I had been in. I could still see the chairs and magazines, but I had to look hard to see them, because they seemed insubstantial. I looked down at my chest, because the pain had intensified and saw a gaping hole. Crusted over with old blood, it still oozed a little new blood. I looked up at the man, but he wasn't there. Around me, there were soldiers fighting trench to trench and hand to hand. One of the men waiting in the doctors waiting room seemed to be ducking the shots and occasionally returning fire. We was wearing a helmet and flack jacket that I could see above the wall of the trench. From time to time he would yell orders, directing the other men, then men who I knew were not in the waiting room with us, from trench to trench. He would call in fire support and report when he was pinned down, and the men would respond immediately to reinforce his position. But the other members of my waiting room were simply sitting oblivious as shots flew around them. Sometimes a shot or slash of a bayonet would catch them, and I could see that part of them would stagger or call out in pain as the gash or hole would appear in their body, but part of them would sit there calmly as if nothing had happened. I found an opening and ran to where the active man was to ask him what was going on. He saw me coming and motioned for me to get down. I dove face first into the mud as a shell whistled over my head and exploded ten feet away. I felt the heat as the explosion threw hot matter over me. Then the man called my name and beckoned me into his trench. I threw myself to the floor of his trench and lay there for a minute afraid to move and catching my breath.
After a minute, or maybe a hour, I got up and crouched next to him. I noticed that he had ragged hole in his shirt, his hemet and armor seemed to have vanished, where his heart should be, but instead of a jagged hole like I had, he had fresh pink skin like a wound healing over. He also had holes and injuries in various states of healing over his whole body. But none of them was caked in old blood like mine was, or like all of my companions in the waiting room.
“I didn't expect anyone else here to be aware of what is going on,” his voice jarred me and I stared into his face trying to figure out who he was.
“What do you mean? You mean the war, how can they not see it? It's everwhere around them?”
“And yet you yourself are only just now aware,” his voice didn't sound accusing, it was just stating a fact. I looked around again an realized that this war had been going on for a very long time. The trenches were well dug, and it looked like both sides were occupying trenches that they hadn't originally owned along with ones they had dug themselves.
“But how could I not notice?”
“You didn't want to know. And the enemy has gone to great lengths to ensure that none of us know,” he spoke clearly, and though his voice was low, I had no trouble hearing him above the sounds of battle around us. “But now you have to make a choice. Do you fight, or do you hide, and pretend you cannot see the battle until it becomes true again?”
“I can't fight this! I'm not trained for war. I'd probably lead people the wrong way,” I protested. It was one thing to hide in a foxhole, but if I took the attack to the enemy, I could be badly injured or killed, or worse, I could cause others to be injured or die.
“No one said you have to lead. And training is available to those who ask for it. You can fight without it, and some people are gifted at warfare without being trained, but always remember that you are not fighting alone, and you are not fighting to survive. You are fighting to win,” he reminded me of someone when he said this, but I couldn't remember who.
“You mean those guys you are directing? They are the others you fight with?”
“They fight for him to. They can fight on my behalf, or with me. But we all fight for him.”
“Who is 'him'?”
“The one who gave me my armor,” as he spoke this I looked again and I saw he was in his helmet and body armor again, with combat boots on his feet, and riot shield on one arm and an officer's sword in the other hand. “You have known him since you were young, but you have never known the war he fights on your behalf. Now you have come of age, and you are to join the fight.” Before I could ask again who 'him' was, there was a tremendous explosion nearby and I was thrown against the ground.
When I opened my eyes, I was in my bed in my room covered in sweat. My hand flew to my chest to feel for the gaping wound, but I didn't feel it. It was some time before I was aware enough to turn on the light and write what I had dreamt down. Even as I wrote it, I had a hard time shaking the feeling that the dream had been more than just a dream. That it was somehow true. Shaking, I climbed out of bed, took off my clothes and brushed my teeth. I was awake now, and sticky from drying sweat, so I took a shower before climbing back into bed. When I did, it felt like hours passed before I fell asleep again. My mind was racing over what had happened.
When my alarm went off at 9 for church, I rolled over, turned it off and went back to sleep. My poor sleep had left me exhausted and I felt that rest was more important this morning. I slept until almost noon and when I got up, I didn't feel like doing anything, so I sat around surfing the internet and playing games until I was too hungry to ignore it any more. I made some instant rice and canned chicken and ate it silently. All day I'd been avoiding thinking about the dream, but now as I ate, I thought about it. I couldn't explain why it worried me so much. I got up from my meal, cleaned my dishes and went back to the bedroom. Lying on the floor by the bed was the clothes I had discarded last night after waking up. I tossed them into the hamper, then had to return and remove the belt from my pants. I looked at the belt, and realized it looked right in a way the people in the waiting room looked right while the chairs and tables and magazines didn't. Like it was more real, more there than the rest of the things.
When I saw that, I realized that the belt was the thing that was causing this all. Maybe it is the focal point for the delusions. Maybe I really am seeing things that have always been there, but I've been too blind to see, but if that's the case, I don't think I want to see them. I want to hide from them and live the boring normal life that I've always lived. Just then, I felt a pain in my chest, but I insisted to myself that it was merely a psychosomatic reaction. Just like when you think you might have eaten bad food and your stomach hurts.
If my heart had been shot out and I had a gaping chest wound, I would know. I walked to the trash can and dropped the belt into it. But immediately stooped to retrieve it. If it had nothing to do with the belt, if I kept seeing things without it, I might as well be able to wear it to keep my pants up.

On Thursday, Hannah dragged me out to a bar with her. It’s local, and not too bad honestly. Unfortunately, I got to spend the first two hours listening to how much of “a shit” her ex-husband is. I sat and listed as she told me she feels like her life is in ruins because of his departure, how she’s been set back ten years on her life plan because of it, that it’s a really good thing that they didn’t manage to get pregnant even though they had been trying for almost a year before they split, and I got to buy her drinks. She “claimed” we were there to get me a girl, though I really didn’t fancy the kind of girl you met in bars. Not that there weren’t perfectly wonderful people in bars, I mean, for that night, I was the kind of guy who hangs around in bars looking for women, and I’ve been assured that I’m “a good guy”. So I really shouldn’t have been judging, and to be honest, I wasn’t, but one thing about the kind of girl that hangs around in bars, is that most of them smoke and that is one thing I just won’t budge on. No smokers are going to kiss me. Until now this hadn’t been a problem, as the only girl I had kissed so far had been Lani during a debate trip while we played Truth or Dare in the back of the bus on the way home. I had a huge crush on her at the time, so it was both thrilling and terrifying. I’m pretty sure one of the girls knew this, because every time it was my turn to be dared, Lani was always the subject of my dares. It ended with some length of time spent “French” kissing her in the back of the bus. It was my first time and not hers, and I was terrified that I was horrible.

I’m pretty sure I was saved by the fact that it was a short length of time. At least I didn’t “just sit there like I was asleep” as one of her many boyfriends had done for the week or two she dated him. Later on while studying for finals in the library with her and a mutual friend, the subject had come up, and she had said I was fine, but that was two years later, and I’m sure she didn’t even remember. In any event, no girls in high school had thought me worth their time. Granted I participated in many of the geekier pursuits, and I was a stick thin guy, though fortunately my various outdoor activities did keep me from being stereotypically pasty. I often thought it was a crime that our school had never had a Sadie Hawkins dance. But then, I probably would have been ignored anyhow. Or if I’d have been asked, I would have been asked by one of my friends who didn’t want me to feel bad, but didn’t really want to date me.

In any case, Hannah was pretty well gone by the time she actually turned to the task of trying to find a girl for me. She said she was sorry for spending all that time talking about herself and her problems when we were supposed to be finding a girl for me and I knew she meant “this is the way you get me, deal,” and didn’t really care about finding a girl tonight, so I said it wasn’t a problem. One of the problems with going to the bar with Hannah is that she’s cute, and therefore looks younger than her age, and it looked like we were going out the way I was buying her drinks and she was talking intently to me over them. I’ve heard that guys who are taken are supposed to be more attractive for some reason, and if it had been Kim (though the age difference was more noticeable) I might have actually suspected that motive, but I don’t think Hannah was thinking like that. By the time she actually tried to find me a girl, she was barely thinking at all. She made some half-hearted attempts to pick a girl, but I shot them all down from my stool. If she’d been sober, she probably would have put up more of a fight, but she wasn’t and let me get away with my cowardice.

At about midnight, I insisted that we needed to get going so we could manage work the next day. I paid my eighty dollar bar tab (three beers were mine, the rest was hers) and went to the restroom before we left. It was a typical two urinal bar restroom, with the odd short urinal. I’ve never understood why bars include these, since they don’t cater to children. But they at least had the dividing wall making neighbor or no neighbor almost a non-issue. Since she was in no way capable of driving, I drove her home in her car and walked the fourty-five minutes back to my place. It was getting windy and cold, but there really wasn’t another solution, and I wouldn’t feel right leaving her to some cabbie in her state. I got home around one and took a shower because I knew I wouldn’t want to do so in the morning, and went to bed.

Hannah looked rough the next morning, her brown hair was up, (which I find much sexier) in a hasty looking bun, and the light makeup she normally wore was absent. I guessed she had woken up a bit late and just hurried out the door. Cute girls can manage this quite well. She make have looked rough, but she thanked me for a good time the night before (and honestly, there are worse ways to spend a Thursday night than in the company of a cute drunk girl, even if she is complaining) and promised that the next time we went out, she would pick up the tab. Since I don’t drink too much, I knew this wasn’t the same as me picking up hers, but thanked her and told her I enjoyed it and I was more than willing to pay for a cute girl to get drunk and forget her troubles. She smiled and went to her office to avoid the harsh light and noise of the lab.

We all have offices in addition to our lab desks, but so much more work can be done in the lab, that virtually none of us use our offices (or cubical in my case) to do any work. I checked my mail and remembered my order from Tuesday. I figured it was about time for it to show up at my door. I entered my tracking number into Google, and saw it was scheduled for delivery. When I mentioned this to Hannah as we walked to the cafeteria to pick up lunch, she insisted that she come over after work to see what the clothes looked like on me. I wasn’t totally comfortable with this, but in the end I agreed, because it would be nice to actually have a real opinion on it. I’m a fairly neat guy, so I wasn’t worried about my apartment being messy, and I didn’t have any porn to hide, though I don’t think Hannah would have minded too much. Besides, how often do cute girls invite themselves over to my apartment? In its history, I think the number is two, though Matt insists that a couple of other girls did everything but ask. He’s an asshole with women though, so I didn’t put much stock into his opinion.

At about 5:30 (Hannah and I had both gotten in around nine-thirty, and with a working lunch had to stay later than my general 4:30 to 5:00) we headed over to my apartment. She’d never been and she’d forgotten her jacket in her rush out the door. I tried to offer my hoodie, but she declined, so I tried to walk fast to get her there quicker, but she just wasn’t keeping up. In the end, the three blocks went by fast enough and we stopped by the leasing office to pick up the package before heading to my building and up the stairs.

My apartment is on the third floor and is what I referred to as the “Bachelor Pad” floorplan, though I think it had a much more interesting name in the leasing office sales material. Something pretentious like The Weststock or Charleston, which was humorous considering it is a basic and rather unimaginative one bedroom with a kitchen and living room/dining area. The laundry facilities are in the basement, and the kitchen has a half sized stove and dish washer. Hannah peered interestedly around the place when we got in, and commented on the fact that it was pretty clean. The morning’s cereal bowl was in the sink, but otherwise things were quite tidy.

She started opening the bag and quickly pulled out the clothes and pulled the jeans and shirts out first.

“Try these on first. And don’t tuck in the shirt,” she instructed.

“Why wouldn’t I tuck it in, it looks messy un-tucked?” I asked.

“Because that’s the style. Now go try it on.”

I felt a little like my mother was dressing me, but my mother would have never told me to untuck my shirt. I also felt a little excited that she seemed to be taking so much interest in me. I even momentarily thought about what it would be like if she were my girlfriend, but I dismissed it as quickly as I could. The last thing I needed was to start thinking of her in a sexual way. The pants and shirts fit pretty well, and though I felt fairly goofy when the shirts weren’t tucked in, I did like them, and she said I looked “totally hot.” I knew she said it in the same way my mother always called me her “handsome young man,” but I still appreciated it. I mentioned that the pants were a little loose around the waist, and she handed me the belt. It didn’t look quite like the one I thought she had ordered, and I mentioned this. She agreed, but said it seemed like a nice enough belt, and it hadn’t cost any more, so I should just try it on.

When I took the belt into the room, I noticed the the belt just seemed right. I’m not quite sure how to describe it. It seemed maybe more real than everything else in the room. I’m not sure I know what happened next. I put on the belt and came to show her. I had fought the urge to tuck in my shirt. When I stepped into the room, I swear I saw a little copy of her, standing on her shoulder whispering into her ear. It was like a cartoon with the angel and demon, except there was only one, and I can only assume this was the demon, because it was trying to get her to go to the bar and have a drink. While I don’t think drinking in and of itself is bad, I have trouble with the idea of an angel advocating a drink at a local bar. Maybe some wine and bread, but not Sex on the Beach at O’Kelly’s. She seemed to have a slightly spacey look on her face when I came out, and seemed a little startled when she saw me. When I looked back at her shoulder, her copy was gone, and I figured I…, well I didn’t know what to think and still don’t. But I decided to ignore it.

Then she said, “You look so good it would be criminal to cage up the sexiness. Let’s get you out into the world and in front of all those women who need a good man.” I must have had a slightly stunned expression on my face, because she said, “What? Is the prospect of women that daunting to you?” Of course the answer was yes, but I pretended it wasn’t and let her drag me to the bar.

When we got to the bar, I swear I saw little people standing on the shoulders of about a quarter of the people in the bar. In the bar I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but most of the time their appearance preceeded a drink order pretty closely. Either my brain decided to stop playing tricks on me, or they knew I could see them, because every time I would look back again, they would be gone. I would also swear the room was darker and there was an almost tangible shadow covering the ceiling. It was ridiculous, but I’ve never experienced anything like it. I’ve never hallucinated or seen things. Heck, I had trouble seeing images in clouds when I was a kid. I didn’t really see them again, though at times I thought I saw motion out of the corner of my eye, or when I looked up at someone briefly. Sometimes I imagined I saw unusual lumps in the backs of people’s clothes, but they were too small to be the things I had seen, and were almost definitely just folds of fabric.

Of course this meant I was totally distracted and Hannah noticed. She asked me what was wrong and kept insisting that if I didn’t stop looking so afraid, no woman would ever talk to me.

“You weren’t like this last night,” she pointed out, “Why are you acting so weird today?”

“It’s nothing. I just had a weird feeling and it’s shaken me a bit,” that was as close to the truth as I was willing to get.

“Well, let’s get some liquid courage into you, and you’ll calm down.”

She ordered two Long Island’s and started giving me girl advice. Act confident even when you aren’t. Don’t think a long time about decisions or questions, answer quickly and confidently and don’t second guess your self aloud or in your head after you did. Aloud made sense, but I asked what the harm in questioning in my head was. She said that most men weren’t composed enough to keep that thought from flashing across their faces and as tonight had proven, I was like most other men in this regard. An apparently a girl is much more likely to be looking at your face than anything else. She also warned against looking at a girls chest too much. A glance or two, especially from further off is fine, even flattering, but when you’re talking to her, you should be talking to her, not here chest. I can understand that and said so. I also said that if a girl is showing a lot of cleavage, it’s like my eyes are magnetically attracted. She said I was a grown up and I could control myself as she finished her first Long Island and ordered another.

I had basically forgotten my own and tasted it. It actually was pretty good. I’d never had one before, and I knew there was a lot of alcohol in it, but it was surprisingly easy to drink. I stayed away from hard liquor mostly because I didn’t like the taste of the alcohol itself. Before I could stop myself, I asked her “Don’t you like Sex on the Beach?” I was about to stammer and apologized for the unintentional double entendre when I remembered her comment about being confident and decided not to. She gave me a look I think my mother would describe as coy, laughed a bit.

“I actually was thinking how much I’d like some when we were in your apartment,” she must have seen my face do acrobatics to try and stay level, “Hey, if you’re going to make the sexually suggestive comments, you have to handle the aftermath Francis,” she had totally misinterpreted my look and I was glad. If she’d been thinking about ordering Sex on the Beach at a bar in the apartment, then what, was I reading her mind? I’d never been able to do that before. That was of course an understatement. As a human, no one had been able to do that. Oh those “psychics” pretended to, but there is a world of difference between pretending to and being able to. But, it was a more comfortable thought than the two alternatives I had come up with. Either I was starting to have a psychotic break, or I really was seeing little people standing on shoulders and it meant something bad. The psychotic break seemed the most likely, though I highly doubt that people having psychotic breaks think about the fact that they might be having a break. If they did, I don’t see how they would allow themselves to go off the deep end.

But if I was having a psychotic break, then how could I be right about what she was thinking. True I’d seen her order a couple on Thursday, and I know she’s drinking a lot right now, so I might have invented what I—Oh this was a ridiculous line of thought. Little people don’t stand on shoulders and whisper in ears. I refocused on Hannah, who between continuing to talk about do’s and don’ts of meeting girls and ordering a Sex on the Beach to go with her half finished Long Island, didn’t notice my mental absence.

“We’re going to get you some practice,” was the statement that really startled me back into things.

“Huh?”

“You are going to go up to a girl and buy her a drink and talk to her for at least 5 minutes if she agrees,” she was too sober to be talked out of it, so I looked glum as she picked out a girl. “Her, her friend is off with another guy, she’s low on her drink, “ she pointed to an average looking girl I had noticed at the bar chain smoking Marlboro Reds.

“She’s a smoker, you know I won’t go out with a smoker,” I protested this rather more strongly than I had intended.

“You’re not dating her, you’re practicing chatting her up. You’ll be less nervous because you don’t care if you screw up. I mean, you’ll be nervous anyhow because I’m making you do something you’ve probably never done before, so adding in a girl you are actually interested in, well that’s too much right now.”

She had a point and as I knew she wasn’t going to be dissuaded, I thought I’d just go over and do my thing and return after five minutes of awkward conversation. I walked over to her, and as I got closer, I heard a my voice in my ear say

“You’ve got to be kidding me, she’s going to laugh at you. No girl in their right mind is interested in you,” there was a sneer to the voice and I whipped my head to the left to see who it was talking in my ear as my chest started to quiver with nervousness, and I felt the sweat beginning to form on my palms and scalp. I swear I saw a little copy of me, as well as I could see from that close a distance and out of the edge of my normal vision, and he looked as shocked to see me staring at him, as I’m sure I looked upon seeing him. But he was gone pretty quickly, almost like he was sucked down my collar and I was left wondering if I’d really seen him or imagined him, and by the time I got to the girl at the bar, I was sure I’d imagined it.

“Can I buy you a refill?’ I asked, all of a sudden realizing that my “On Hannah” trip to the bar was going to end up costing me anyhow. The girl, who I quickly learned was Jen, took a pause from her cigarette, looked me up and down and nodded. I asked what she was having, flagged a barkeep and ordered her a second. In a moment of spiteful inspiration, I asked the keeper to put it on the tab for my table. He nodded and walked away. We talked for a couple of minutes. Apparently she was recently out of a relationship with someone who sounded frighteningly like Matt and was just here because her friend Ashley hadn’t wanted to go out alone, but she was damned if she was going to spend the whole evening at her shoulder if Ashley wanted to spend all her time fawning of every guy she met, hoping one wouldn’t mind that she had a three year old son from a previous boyfriend. I was about to make my excuses, when there was a slight lull in the conversation and I swear I heard her voice speaking softly.

“He’s cute enough, you could really use some fun in the sack tonight. If you grab his dick now, he’s not going to walk away, and you can lead him by his dick all the way home and he’ll screw your brains out. It beats sitting here waiting for Ashley to get lucky while you just get drunk and lonely and go home to your empty bed. Besides, he looks like he might be a pretty good lay.”

Before anything could happen, I excused myself quickly, thanked her for the conversation and headed back to Hannah, ten minutes having passed. As I left, I swear I heard “You’re just too slow. If you want to have some fun tonight, you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands. You’re not that attractive, and you smoke like a chimney, so no guy is going to ask you home himself, but if you take the lead, guys will do anything for an easy lay,” but the bar noise was picking up as I walked back across the room, and by the time I reached the table, I was convinced it was my imagination spazzing out or something.

As I didn’t really want to do that again, even though it had gone fairly well, and I needed to go the kind of bathroom I prefer to do at home, I told Hannah I really wasn’t feeling that well all of a sudden, and that I was going to head home. I apologized, and she tried to get me to stay, but eventually said she should probably go home too. She was probably not quite sober, but I just wanted to get out of there bad enough that I didn’t bother with telling her to wait and sober up, or to offer to drive her home again. So I came home, read a couple of chapters of the fourth Harry Potter and sat in front of the TV, not really watching anything for an hour. I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a T-Shirt as soon as I got home and started feeling better right away. It almost felt like a weight fell off my shoulders when I undressed and I started feeling better. I tossed all the new clothes in my hamper. Even though I’d only worn the shirt and pants for a couple of hours, they had been bar hours and they reeked of smoke. The belt I hung up on the nail in my closest I used for that purpose and noticed that it seemed to stand out a little more than the other belts. Like it was more 3-dimensional. Like those weird 3D posters at the mall look more 3D than the rest of the world because you’re seeing real depth in something 2D. But almost as soon as I had finished, I shook off that feeling and moved into a stupor that only happens in front of the television when there is nothing you care about on. After an hour or so of various History Channel and Discovery Channel segments, I brushed my teeth and went to bed.

My Mundane Life

My name is Francis and I work in a light industrial building three blocks from my apartment. I’ve been continually surprised to find out that the important people in history kept journals of their lives, so I decided to keep one myself. Not that I, in any way, believe myself to be important. On the contrary, I lead a normal, highly regular and enormously boring life. But perhaps if I’m force to put it down on paper every night, I will start changing it. Besides, in an odd sort of way, I believe that keeping a journal means I’m already more likely to be important, because I am keeping a journal. This will be the last time I refer to anything other than the events that have occurred since the last time I wrote. This is not my “Dear Diary”, it is a journal, and as such will henceforth contain just recollections of what I’ve seen, heard, and felt. As it is a journal, it needs to be read, but I hope I am not around when that happens.

Tuesday November 1, 2005

It was chilly today when I left for work. Not terribly so, but enough that I wore my hoodie. I actually prefer the cold to the heat, and so was rather happy that the weather was finally getting cold enough for a sweatshirt. Maybe I can start sleeping with the comforter soon. I always think I sleep better in the winter when I can actually cocoon into my bed for the night. Anyhow, I got to work at ten past nine and went to my desk in the lab. The lab is a large open space with raised flooring for the cables and water to run under and more fluorescent lights than you ever wanted to see. Tables run in 100 foot rows down the lab with production and test equipment breaking up groups of tables. I have four computers on my desk and nearby, but use one primarily. I checked my mail on my laptop and found nothing of interest. It’s Friday, so I entered my timecard.

Then I started working, and that’s what I did for most of the day. Henry had some stories about his kids and wouldn’t stop telling them, even when I clearly wanted to stop listening and go to work. Kim sits across from me and I could tell she was getting annoyed as well. To dislodge him, I had to tell him I needed to use the restroom. I did, so it wasn’t a lie.

The restroom is a standard restroom in a large building. Four stalls, four urinals, and there are three more like it, one on every corner of the lab. I used my normal one for taking a leak. When I came in, there was one person at the left end urinal. A normal guy might think that either the rightmost urinal or the one next to it would be an appropriate choice, but I had thought this through. If you take the one that is second from the right, if another man comes in, they MUST use one next to you. (Assuming they want to use the urinal, and assuming they won’t use the stall instead given no urinal with an appropriate split.) But if you take the end urinal, there is a 50% chance the the person who comes in next will not be standing next to you. If the person comes in directly after you, that chance is higher as they will stand next to the person who has the best likelihood of finishing first (the person who was already there when you came in) There is no situation in which the end urinal can result in a worse split that the one next to it, and so I always take that one. The only unfortunate thing is that the right end urinal is much more exposed to the room than the left, but such is life.

My boss called me into his office an hour or so later to discuss my workload and give me another task for my list. It doesn’t seem particularly hard, but isn’t very interesting as a result. It’s another couple of buttons on another dialog to do something that some customer decided they wanted. I estimated it was a week of work and promised to get on it after my next two tasks were completed. Then I returned to my desk and started checking in the files for my last task which I had managed to finish testing in the last hour. This one was interesting and had taken me the better part of two months and about twenty five files. I set the check-in to auto run and decided to put off assembling the review package until later. I also didn’t feel particularly like starting my next task as I was going to head home in an hour and a half and that’s not really enough time even to start to understand what the approach should be. And if I do that today, I’ll most likely just have to do it again in the morning. So I decided to go online and find a few new items of clothes. My mother had informed me that Penny’s was having a sale, and I could really use some new work clothes, and maybe something to wear if I ever leave the apartment.

I asked Hannah what clothes she thought I should get, and she came over to help me out. Hannah is one of four women in my department and is extremely cute. She’s recently divorced and about six years older than me, but I can enjoy hanging out with her can’t I? She leaned over my shoulder with her hand on the desk to see what I was looking at, her eyes intently looking at my selections. She sighed loudly and told me to move. I refused at first, but she insisted, and I got out of my chair and let her take the helm. She removed the jeans from my order and selected a much more expensive, non-sale pair of carpenter jeans instead, added a brown leather belt and two long sleeved button down shirts. She also added two pairs of on-sale cargo pants in khaki and sand, (I refused the olive point blank) as well as one pair of chinos to my shopping cart. It was about twice what I had been planning to spend, but as a single guy in a one bedroom apartment, I wasn’t really hurting for money, and it was probably better than spending it on some DVD I would never really watch. I thanked her and placed the order. She said that any time I wanted to take her shopping with me, she’d be glad to help. Then she made some comment about me needing a girlfriend to which Kim, immediately voiced her assent. Bemused I turned to her and asked her if she had a candidate, at which point she and Hannah started talking rapidly.

“She’s got to be smart,” Hannah started,

“I’m sure Francis would appreciate pretty”

“Or cute,” I added hastily.

“Cute, pretty, same thing,” Kim dismissed my comment.

“No they aren’t,” I insisted, warming to my subject. Something I’d spent enough time talking to my friends about that they were sick of hearing it. “Pretty is a more statuesque, prepared beauty, cute is freckles and looks as good in makeup as out of it. Hannah here is classic cute.” Kim was classed pretty, but as a thirty-eight year old mother of two, I felt uncomfortable making that point and searched for a more comfortable example. “Charisma Carpenter is hot,” was what I finally settled on.

“He needs a girlfriend bad,” Kim said and my interjection was forgotten.

“So, attractive, smart, probably funny, maybe livelier than he is, so he’ll be pulled out of his shell?” Hannah paused for a second to consider candidates.

“She can’t be too lively, or he’ll be boring,” Kim was ever the one to make me feel good about myself.
“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean, don’t pretend to get all upset. Anything we missed Francis?”

There was definitely something they’d missed. I still have the old fashioned belief she should be Christian, even though I am a rather pathetic Christian myself. But I’d never made any kind of deal of my religion at work previously, and I really didn’t think that now was the time to start. So I said “I’d like her to be fairly conservative.” They knew I was a conservative and it was what I really wanted. I don’t really mind if she isn’t Christian as long as she won’t be trying to have sex with me. I really kind of want to wait, and I don’t think I could if I was dating someone who wanted to have sex. I only have so much willpower.

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it,” Kim looked like she was now thinking too.

“Have to figure out who you wouldn’t mind losing as a friend by sicking me on them?”

“You have got to stop thinking like that now,” Hannah seemed mildly upset by what I had said, but I’m not sure why. “Women like confident men, and we wouldn’t be talking about getting you a girlfriend if we didn’t think you were good material. Notice we don’t try and hook up Matt.”

“But Matt doesn’t have trouble getting women,” I countered.

“But I never volunteer my friends or my services. He’s kind of a jerk. I mean, I’ve met much worse guys, but he’s a bit selfish when it comes to relationships, and I don’t think that makes him good material. I’d think he just needed to mature a bit, but he’s thirty-four, and you are much more mature at twenty-four,” Hannah’s compliment made me blush a bit, and I decided it was time to finish up for the day.

“Well, let me know if you find anyone,” I said, thinking this would basically end things, “and I’ll get this code review out. You mind moderating Kim?” She groaned, but nodded her head, and I turned to my laptop to schedule the meeting for the next week. I decided not to bother with the packets until the next morning. I was ready to leave anyhow, and I only had another fifteen minutes. Matt asked me to happy hour, but I begged off and headed home.

On the way, I stopped off at a local burger joint and got a bacon burger and fries to go. In this way I finished my day, eating my burger and fries, watching the SciFi channel reruns of Stargate which I’d seen three times each and then playing around on my computer until it was time for bed. I really didn’t accomplish a single interesting thing the whole day. There was the conversation about the “girlfriend” which I’m sure was more to make me feel good about myself than anything else, but that was it. Sure I got work done, but basically I finished my interesting task so that I can now do my two boring tasks and get assigned more of them in the days to come. If something doesn’t change soon, I may just have to leave everything behind and move. I’m getting pretty lonely in my apartment alone night after night, thinking about and categorizing women that I will never ask out or date. If I had a girlfriend, I think I’d be okay. I could hold her close and feel better about the world. Just having a warm body next to mine that I could hold in an affectionate way would make my life so much more worth living. I don’t know exactly what I would refuse at this point.