The next few days went by with no further incident. It almost seemed like that day shift I worked at was just going to be another series of memories that would stick around in my brain for me to occasionally think back to them. However, that was not the case. If anything, it would seem that I triggered something akin to the butterfly effect wherein working that day shift caused a grand change in the world. At least for me.
*BZZT*
I’ve been jolted out of my sleep by the loud sound of my doorbell. Looking at my phone, I see that it’s 8 in the morning. I have no idea who the hell would be trying to see me this early. Maybe the landlord? Could it be that he’s here to finally fix the heater? I groggily force myself out of bed and head to the front door. My grogginess is wiped away as soon as I open the door.
“Hello Gray.”
…It’s not the landlord. It’s Blanche in her nurse uniform. How the hell did she get my home address?
“I made sure to keep my promise to see you again. It’s nice that your apartment’s close to the clinic.”
I stare at her, unable to properly think of a response. Blanche keeps blathering away.
“I came back to the store, and talked to Mildred for a bit and she was kind enough to give me your address. Now I’ve come up with a plan to help with your poor eating habits. Since your home isn’t too far from mine, I figure I can make you a little something to help get you the proper nutrients during the day before heading to work.”
She pulls out a pen and paper from her purse.
“I’d appreciate it if you could inform me of your personal food preferences, any allergies you may have, if you’re taking any medication, and if you are, what that medication is.”
…She really is serious with this, isn’t she? I have some strong words for Mildred next time I see her. For now, I need to deal with the nuisance standing in front of me.
“…It’s too early for this shit. I’m going back to bed.”
I try to close the door on her, but Blanche desperately puts herself in the way.
“You’re not going to brush me off that easily.”
I’m trying to push her away, but I’m not a strong man, so I’m having no success.
“That’s…That’s nice and all, but I, nggh, I don’t need nor want your attention.”
The two of us struggle for about a minute. But alas, Blanche’s sheer tenacity wins against my lack of physical strength, and she’s able to push herself into my apartment. I believe this sort of thing was referred to as “trespassing” back in the old world and was considered a crime. Blanche sighs with an irritated tone as if she’s the one being inconvenienced.
“…I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone this resistant towards the idea of getting free food. And you’re seriously trying to claim you don’t have an eating disorder!?”
“Anyone would be resistant to being woken up by someone barging in on their home!”
“I only barged in because you tried to slam the door on me!”
“I slammed the door on you because you won’t stop trying to barge in on my life!”
I don’t understand why she can’t seem to get this. I don’t care if her reasoning is “noble”, the fact that she’s trying to force herself in my life makes me want to punch a wall.
“You’re acting like we’re strangers!”
She keeps pressing me. I’m reaching my limit with her. I sigh loudly.
“…Okay, look, if you wanna be my replacement mother, then could you try and find replacements for the rest of my family?”
She gives me a confused look. Okay, this is good. Now I can dominate in this conversation. I keep talking.
“Yeah, my family was pretty shitty. I’m not gonna demand a replacement for every cousin and uncle twice removed, but if you’re gonna be my new mom, get me a new dad, brother, and sister too and I’ll accept it.”
Her face becomes more expressionless. As if she has no idea how to respond to what I’m saying.
“…Oh, and get me a new boyfriend too. My ex left me in a rather cruel way.”
The tale of my ex was a simple tale of high school sweethearts that ended poorly. We were together for about five years, and then one day I walked in on him in bed with someone else. To his credit, he didn’t try to pull that “It’s not what it looks like” bullshit you see in movies. He told it like it was, and by the end of the week he moved out of the apartment, and it’s been that way for about three years now. However, there’s a more pertinent reason I brought up the term “boyfriend”.
“…B-Boyfriend!?”
Blanche is now flustered. Yes, being born and raised in HOME means that Blanche isn’t used to people who have “abnormal” preferences like me. Along with her also being a prude, I can use this to my advantage to disgust her so much that she leaves my apartment. It’s admittedly a low-brow plan, but I’ve never prided myself on being a classy guy so it’s fine.
“…Yes Blanche, a boyfriend. I’m gay. A homosexual, a faggot, a queer. Feel free to use whichever term you like. I want a handsome, loving man with a decently sized dick that’s neither too big nor too small. Being in a relationship with my right hand and random AI chatbots isn’t too bad, but there’s a part of me that misses the human touch. Sure I could go to a prostitute, but it’s just not the same thi-“
“What on Earth is wrong with you!? I don’t need to know any of this! I’m leaving!”
And with that she angrily stomps out of my apartment and slams the door shut. Well, that was easy. Almost too easy. Good thing too. Because if that wasn’t the case, I probably would’ve ended up either revealing information that’s far too private and personal, or I’d have to start making up wild sexual tales that never actually happened to me. Truth be told, outside of the whole “gay” thing, I’m actually pretty vanilla, sexuality speaking. Furthermore, I’ve never been with anyone else besides my ex. I go to lock the front door. Dammit, there’s no way in hell I can go back to bed after all that. I decide to go make myself a cup of coffee. While waiting for the coffee maker, I go and throw on a random DVD. It’s some action movie about tough guys shooting and punching each other. According to one of the bonus features, no blanks were used in the making of the film and the filmmakers even proudly boast that while some injuries were acquired on set, no one died. Well, that’s good.
I spend the rest of the day watching more random DVDs from my collection, until it’s time for me to get ready for work. As I arrive at the store I notice a white motorbike locked down near the front. So, Mildred’s back from her expedition. Which means I’m probably going to spend most of, if not all of my shift helping her get the new stuff sorted out. There’s also probably more stuff that’ll get sent to the store over the next few days as well. I can only hope it’s not anything too heavy, or I’m going to spend the next day or two with sore arms.
I head inside the store and switch places with the girl at the front counter. A few minutes later, someone enters from the backroom. An elderly woman with greying red hair, bright blue eyes hidden under glasses, and breasts the size of volley balls. It’s Mildred. Despite her age, she has a lively personality and doesn’t seem to suffer from too many old people health problems. We also have an oddly close relationship for a boss and employee. Shortly after my breakup with my ex, she invited me for a drink after closing time. The alcohol caused me to have a rather embarrassing crying fit, and from that moment on, she always felt the need to check in on my mental status. This has led to us having rather personal conversations during the slower hours of my shifts.
She’s a strange person to say the least. One particularly strange aspect of hers is that beneath the outer shell of a lively older lady, lies a bitter and cynical misanthrope. She was there when the old world ended, and the split occurred. She spent a good amount of her 20s living under the cruel regime of LOVE, and it’s clear that it’s left severe mental scars that haven’t healed with age. She’s told me before that I’m a rare person that she “gets a good feeling from”. I don’t know why that is. I’m really nothing special. Part of me wonders if she just has a thing for pale twinks. Regardless, you could say she’s the only real friend I have as of late.
“Good evening, Gray, nice of you to show up on time.”
She comes to greet me.
“I’m always on time.”
“True, but that could change…Oh, could you come to the backroom with me?”
Normally being invited to the backroom, especially on days after Mildred’s expeditions, wouldn’t really be something I take note of. However, she’s making what I can only refer to as “the look”. It’s this passive aggressive smile she makes when she’s mad at me about something, but also feels the need to keep her composure. I can’t say I’m looking forward to whatever she wants to lecture me about. I have a bad feeling that it’s about Blanche. Blanche did tell me this morning that she got my address from Mildred after all. She’s also told me that she’s apparently one of Mildred’s favorite customers. As much as I’m dreading it, I follow Mildred into the backroom. Inside lay several boxes, both opened and unopened. After gently shutting the door, “the look” on Mildred’s face turns to one of a parent annoyed at their kid.
“…You know Gray, Blanche came to the store around noon to talk to me.”
God dammit it is about Blanche. No, you know what, fuck it. I’m not going to take whatever angry lecture she has for me lying down. Mildred needs to address some things too.
“Yeah, I take it she told you that I had no interest in her barging in on my personal life? Because I don’t. Seriously, what the hell were you thinking when you just decided to give her my address out of nowhere?”
She sighs and looks at me frustrated.
“You’re making it sound like I just gave your address to a creepy stalker or something like that. I gave it to a friend of yours because she’s worried about you.”
“Me and Blanche talked for a few months while Marisa was dying, that’s hardly friendship. Besides, why are you pushing her so hard on me anyways? Don’t tell me that Blanche is one of those rare people that you just ‘have a good feeling’ about?”
I think the only other people Mildred’s told me she’s gotten a “good feeling” about are Bernie and Liam…Well, I also know she’s married with kids and grandkids. So, I’d like to think she has a “good feeling” about her husband and kids at the very least.
“Yes, she is. Blanche has been making regular visits to the store lately, so I’ve had a few opportunities to talk with her. I can tell that she has a good heart, and is also a victim of this cruel existence that we call ‘life’.”
I have no idea what her standards for “getting a good feeling” from people is. I can’t really say it’s random, because it’s not like I’ve ever heard her say that for thugs and hooligan scumbags. So perhaps there is something to it beyond whether or not she just likes how someone looks. But I still haven’t got a clue. Mildred keeps lecturing me.
“Gray, do you really think that Blanche is the kind of person who would just hassle random people on her health?”
Yes.
“Because if so, then you’re wrong. During those few months when you talked with her, you left an impression on her. She wants to be friends with you. She’s not pestering you because she’s an overly obsessed nurse. She’s doing it because she cares about you and your wellbeing. And so do I. So please Gray, accept her offer.”
…I’m frustrated. There are few things I hate more than giving in and letting an opposing side “win”. However, I realistically don’t have anything in my arsenal to fight back with. I have no choice but to give in.
“…Ugh, fine. I’ll do it.”
I cross my arms and express my agreement in the most negative way I can muster. Mildred doesn’t care about how much I hate this though. She’s back to all smiles.
“Good boy. I know I can always rely on you. Now let’s get to unloading my new findings.”
And so, began a shift consisting mostly of me helping Mildred sort out her new findings in between attending the occasional customer. From what she’s told me, Mildred’s expeditions involve her riding her motorbike to random small stores, dumps, and other such places to find things relevant to what she wants to sell. She’ll then box the new items, send them to a storage place she has (she’s never told me where it’s located), make more trips to get more items, and then when she feels she has enough new stuff to add to the store, she makes multiple trips to the storage place to take the boxes back to the store. Apparently, she’s been doing this for more than thirty years now. Longer than I’ve been alive.
I wonder what I’ll be like when I’m Mildred’s age. Hell, I wonder if I’ll even live to be Mildred’s age. I’m only 24 and I already feel exhausted by life. There’s no way in hell little kid me could’ve ever foreseen the pathetic adult I’ve become. When I was a child, I was shy and nervous around people, and thus was an obedient “good kid” because the idea of other people being mad at me was distressing. Didn’t really work though, at least not with my brother and sister. They hated my mere existence and made sure to let me know at any opportunity they could. I presume this is because I was the “favorite” of my parents. As for why I was the “favorite”? Perhaps it was because I was the youngest, maybe it’s because I was the most subservient, or perhaps it was because I’m gay and my parents liked having a “gay son” to show off to their fellow Outside LOVER friends. The reason doesn’t matter though, it’s not like I wanted to be the “favorite” and take attention away from my siblings.
But my siblings would never believe me if I told them that, and I frequently became victim to their torment as a child. Something that I find interesting about my siblings is how they seemed to embody the worst traits associated with their sex. My brother was a loud, obnoxious, lump of mass who had more muscles than brain cells, and as such would frequently threaten me with violence. Most commonly, he would shove me to the ground and punch the ground right next to me while yelling at me. He never actually hurt me though, I think because even he was smart enough to know that he’d be in serious trouble if my parents learned of him leaving any marks on me. Not that his threats weren’t more than enough to leave me in tears. I was quite the crybaby as a kid.
My sister was a confusing person to say the least. She was cunning, manipulative, and extremely passive aggressive. She would frequently switch between a fake “nice” persona and her real “mean” side around me. When people were around, she was the kindest and most loving sister anyone could ask for. But as soon as we were alone together, that’s when the real her came out and so did the insults and criticisms of me. The words that she used to describe me the most were “disgusting”, “annoying”, “stupid”, and “freak”. It seemed to be that no matter what I did, whether it be hanging out in the living room, greeting her, or even so much as just eating a snack, she would find something about what I was doing to be distasteful. It was as if she couldn’t even see me as a human being.
One would think that at least because I was the “favorite” of my parents, that I would at least have gotten along well with them. But that’s really not the case. I grew up in a family of Outside LOVERS and the thing about the LOVER ideology is that LOVERS and Outside LOVERS don’t view people as people, even if those people are their own flesh and blood. To the LOVER ideology, people are nothing more than either tools for your political ideology or opponents to such. I wasn’t really aware of this as a child, but as I grew older, I couldn’t help but notice how…”fake” my parents’ so called “affection” felt. Especially when disagreements came about.
I distinctly remember one day when I told my parents I wasn’t interested in joining in on an Outside LOVER social event, and for the next month, the “love” they had always showered me with came to a stop. My mother kept guilting me to go, and my father threw mocking remarks and insults at me. It was at that moment when I realized that my parents never actually loved me. They loved the image of me they had in their heads. It was with this realization, mixed with the hormones brought on by puberty, that I started to harbor both a massive resentment towards my entire family and a deep desire to escape it all. This led to me hanging out with drug users as a teenager. Drugs provided the perfect escape from my life and negative feelings. Now the drug users were separated into three groups. You had the upper kids, the downer kids, and the hallucination kids. The hallucination kids were where I felt at home. Substances such as LSD, ecstasy, ketamine, and DMT became my best friends. The hallucination kids were also how I met my ex. It was during these times of tripping out with others that I could truly feel okay with life. I found myself getting into arguments with my family at this time too. I hated how spineless I was, and I wanted to stand up for myself against them. Not like it ever worked though. Talking back would only lead to worse treatment from my siblings. I even managed to piss my brother off so much at one point that he no longer cared about avoiding actually physically hurting me and he punched me in the stomach. My parents didn’t even punish him that much, showing just how fake that “love” for me from them really was.
You know, if there’s one thing from the old world that I’m glad isn’t really a thing in modern times is higher education. If college were still a thing, then there’s a good chance that even after reaching adulthood, I would still be stuck with my family. But since I didn’t need to worry about that, I could focus on an escape plan. Even though “laws” aren’t a thing in the territories, business still have their own rules to follow. For instance, most landlords and homeowners only give offers to people age 18 and up. So, me and my ex spent the last year of high school doing odd jobs for people in order to earn enough money that we could live on our own after graduation. It was a plan that went smoothly; however, I probably should’ve seen that as a warning sign. Once the two of us got a lease at the apartment, I basically told my family to go fuck themselves and haven’t been on speaking terms with them since. You’d think that after that moment, my life would’ve been nothing but perfection after that. At least if it was a fictional story, it would’ve. But of course, that’s not the way things went. I mean, I guess things were okay for the next year or so, but then the whole thing with my ex cheating on me and us breaking up (I guess I should be grateful he left and I didn’t get kicked out), and then I met Marisa only to have to deal with her baggage.
I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life or why I continue to keep living. All I’m doing at this point is just engaging in the monotony of going to work, and then spending time at home watching DVDs, browsing the internet, and occasionally playing video games that my low spec computer can run. I guess I could go back to doing drugs, but honestly doing drugs only made me okay in the current moment I was using them. I’d rather just be able to feel okay all of the time. I was so lost in my thoughts of the past, that my shift was over in what felt like an instant. They say time passes by when you’re having fun, but thoughts of the past are never fun for me.
Author’s Note: Going back to these old chapters of mine, it’s interesting to see what I like/dislike about them and what I feel the need to change. I do find it interesting that so far, my writing is mostly exposition and dialogue. Indeed, if you don’t like slice of life and long tangents, then you probably won’t like the rest of what I have planned.
