“One two three four five, switch, one two three four five, switch” repeated Benjamin in his head as he methodically switched this exceptional piece of wintergreen Trident gum he had picked up from the gas station from molar to molar. Gas stations always had three shelves of different types of gum. Ben might have been slightly OCD, maybe not, but what he knew was that gum solved problems that other people just could not understand. Ben did not like people and he did not like unnecessary noise. He did not like New York City, but New York loved Ben. Ben worked as a lawyer for Goldman Sacs; he saw a variety of people every day that just barked at his ear about things his company had done wrong. Ben had a solution to this tedious problem; every time he needed to focus and shut out the world, he popped a piece of gum in his mouth. Each deliberate chew burst a channel of flowing focus that set his mind into gear and his heart beating faster; pumping just as fast as he chewed. Finally when he had broken down the gum into a moist state, he was ready to take on his opponent. Ben was undefeated and he knew it too. There was no better way to make his argument than shutting out the world around him. His gum cut out anything he did not want to hear; he picked and chose different pieces of reality to let into his mind. But Ben never lost an argument, and as long as he had his gum, this would never change.
Ben was flawless in every way possible, he was polished from his black, donut glazed Gucci shoes up to his slicked back, greased hair that looked as though he had just walked out of an Aveda commercial. But what Ben was not flawless at was love. Ben was 45 years old and he did not have love. He had a world that he filtered by gum. Ben made his life as perfect as he wanted it to be, and when that life was not perfect, he just popped a sweet new chewable emotion that blocked out what he did not want to hear. He had many attempts at love; high school proms, middle school dances, his only escape from life was the sound and feeling he got when he shut his problems out of the world. But Ben had a secret love, her name was April and she was sweeter than any bubblegum that he had tasted. Her hair was long, thick but delicate like Trident Vanilla gum. She strolled along Manhattan’s streets with her dark sunglasses that were a few seasons too old, and her hefty German shepherd that looked out of place in New York. To be frank, the dog scared Ben more than most lawyers he had dealt with. Ben admired her from a distance; he waited along the corners of Times Square with his favorite orange spice gum to wait and see her confidently walk by. Her life was in the clouds. Ben loved her for her ease in taking on the world and especially taking on New York. He wanted to be able to let go, to listen to the world just like April did. April ignored all the comments made by the crazy homeless man in front of the Natural History Museum telling her that New York is the base for a nuclear bomb, or the endless sales people in front of M&M world trying to coax her into buying their “world famous chocolate.” She was an inspiration to him, the only concrete thing that he had in his life that would not cause him to pop in another piece of that addictive spearmint gum, but instead maybe open up his mind to loud and obnoxious taxi drivers because he might have been able to see the world beautifully and for what it was. Ben did not believe in New York, but maybe with her he could.
After a long day of chewing, talking and not listening, April caught his eye while she was walking home. Her florescent summer blouse kept Ben fixated on her. Before he knew it, he was swiftly behind her, taking increasingly larger steps and more passionate breaths as he fought to walk next to her. He contemplated for a second how he would start the conversation, but only for a second before he said, “Beautiful day for a walk in New York, eh?” No response. No response? All you get in New York is a loud and uncalled for response, but April just nonchalantly moved by without even taking a look back at Ben. After only about 7 precise steps more, and 3 pieces of gum later, Ben watched April ascend the steps into a building named “Another Perspective to Life.” It was a community center for the blind and deaf in New York.

5 years later, Ben died at the young age of 50. He had jaw cancer and was loveless. He still hated New York.