I Am Not.

February 10, 2010
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There is a time in America when beauty abounds, life subdues death, and light thrusts herself into the darkest places giving light to the most unappreciative beings. This season is a motivation for many; it inspires the filthiest people to rid their homes of all their superfluities that make life difficult. It will draw the ogre from its cave and the troll from its bridge for the mere sake of enjoying the aromas which impregnate the air. Spring is the best time of the year is it not? For many the answer is yes, but as for me, I hate it. The sun is relentless in its pursuit of my fleeting senses. The songs of the birds are without yield, and regardless of what I do, I cannot quiet their screams. The stench of tulips and the fetor of the rose molest my nostrils to tears. I shudder at the sun, but I cannot stand the rain.
I spend the majority of my days sauntering through town searching for something I do not know. I am a beast without a home, but it is not because I am ugly. In fact, I’m rather alluring. My eyes are a dark blue and I stand at about seven feet. My hair is as waving wheat, and my smile is as beautiful as pearls. I was once invited into a young man’s home to stay until a storm passed. His name was Oscar; he was a single man of a rather portly stature. His skin was dark, as if burned by the sun. I believe he was of Asian assent, but he had been so Americanized that by that time any trace of an accent had vanished. Oscar was most easily recognized by the size of his nose. His nose was no smaller than the beak of a Caribbean toucan. Oscar’s home was small but he went to great pains in decorating the interior. As soon I was entered his abode I was quick to take a seat in hope of some sort of relief, but what I found was just the opposite. The chair was made out of cheap would which was quick to splinter your skin, and the cushion was cheap leather which was quick to chill my worn-out thighs; only causing them to cramp more viciously. Quickly and painfully I sprung to my feet resting my weight solely on my right side, as my left leg suffered from a painful kink. Soon thereafter I demanded a different chair and Oscar hastened to fetch me a chair but returned empty handed. I did not stay with Oscar for long due to the fact that nothing he had was as great as it could have been. My mattress was flat, my blanket thin, the shower cold, and my drinks were warm.
Oscar’s was not the only place that I ever laid my tired head. I spent many nights awake, as I could find no comfortable place to sleep. The park bench was too round, but the ground was unduly wet especially during that season which some call “spring”.
I haven’t a friend in the world, but this is not due to any fault of mine. Any person I meet is undeserving of a friendship as strong as mine. This is not to say that I have not tried to make friends, for I have, but I have quickly terminated them all. One such friendship was with a young lady that went by the name of Lusee. She had beautiful brown hair, but she never took the time to take care of it so it gradually got worse and worse until it assumed the shape of a brown squiggle on a piece of paper. On one occasion I went with her to attain some sustenance for my hunger. As she walked into the café she sheepishly took a seat near the bar, which was lined with men whom smelled of cheap cigarettes and sour alcohol. While sitting she spoke in an excited and unclear voice and uttered some obscure words which I deciphered to mean “I am thinking about moving out of my apartment and buying a house of my own.”
This was a big step for Lusee as she had never owned a house of her own and she didn’t have a steady job. So, being a good friend I was quick to bring up all of the disadvantages. “if you live in your own house you will have to pay the utilities. What’s the point of buying a house if you live by yourself anyways? I don’t see why you would want to do that. Most houses have a lawn, which means you would have to either start mowing your own lawn or pay somebody to do it. Buying a new house come with oodles of unexpected expenses that aren’t worth the product.”
“I have already made my decision” Lusee furiously refuted “and you can’t change my mind. I have dreamt of my own house since I was but an adolescent and I am not about to relinquish my dreams because you think they are useless”
“I think they are useless because you are doing fine in an apartment. You are being extremely impractical”
Lusee didn’t take to kindly to my constructive criticism and quickly stormed out of the smoky café. I haven’t talked to her since that heated encounter, but honestly I do not really miss her. Lusee was an Idealist who would never go anywhere in life. She was a dreamer that would always be a dreamer. I don’t need friends who are dreamers, I need friends that real. Realism is the constant that sets the world on course. Many people, like Lusee, understood me as cynical or pessimistic, but I am not. I am a realist.
My friendship with Lusee was not the only friendship that ended with me “crushing their hopes and dreams.” Lusee, Jeff, Andrew, Windy, and Ashley were all dreamers who despised me for my realistic outlook on life. They all called me cynical and negative, but they were ignorant of reality and their words were futile.
However, unlike most of my shallow friends I do have one friend who truly understands my outlooks on life. He, like me, will not get himself caught up in the fantasy that most Americans today live in. On many occasions he and I have sat in rough chairs discussing the shortcomings of society and the flaws of past friends.
“People don’t understand us because we are realist”
“The rest of the world is too busy hiding behind masks of joy to understand what is actually happening in this world”
“Did I tell you about that Lusee girl who fantasized about buying a house when she could barely afford the meager expenses of an apartment?”
“Yeah, you told me about her. What a fool”
“What about Jeff, did I tell you about him”
“No, I don’t think you did” he said.
I continued “ He was a fat simpleton who believed that nothing would ever hurt him because he had faith. After, all tragedies he simply shrugged them off as divinely foreseen.”
“He sounds like an idiot”
My friend and I passed many evenings like this in his dusky dining hall until one night when we ran out of past friends to examine. Upon noticing this tragedy we quickly set upon thinking of a new task to keep us occupied so that we may forget the true order of our pathetically happy world. At that moment, there was a quick and easy knock on the front door. I slowly made my way across the course shag carpet and opened the door to see an old friend of mine who out of hope to make me happy was there to invite me to a party.
Just realizing that we had to do something I quickly grabbed my old worn out coat and hollered at my friend to come. This former relation of mine lead me down the damp brick road, across the grassy pasture and into a house on the other side of the square. Upon entering I noticed the happy faces of a few people that I had known but the majority of these faces were strangers to my eyes. Suddenly, while scanning the area, something caught my eye. I saw a man, looking straight into my eyes. Or was this a man? This creature was of a massive stature, probably seven feet. His eyes were a dreadful blue which seemed to scream atrocities. Upon seeing such a being I immediately took a seat, as did he. I stood as he stood. I waved as he waved, and blinked as he blinked. What was this that I had set my eyes upon? Turning to my friend I pointed to the beast and inquired of its origin. Slowly and solemnly he spoke words which as long as I live I will never forget. “that’s you” he said “you’re looking into a mirror”
Awe stricken by this strange happening I slowly stood to my feet and repeated the words that I had heard so many times. “I am a cynic.”





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