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YOU owe me ten million dollars and 43 cents... |
by Kirk Deis
I am currently worth negative eight thousand dollars and forty three cents. I understand how I got here. I blame no one but myself and the Taliban. I made some poor choices as a youngling. I never saw System of A Down live in concert. I always thought they'd stay together. I know, I know, naïve. I never really got into Pepsi Blue...I just didn't get it. Blue? Why not the color of pizza? Even the Taliban love pizza. It's because of that, isn't it? Curse them. And then there was that Halo phase I went through. All I'll say is it aged me. And, yes, if you played the game online, I was the one cheating with one head shot kills through led walls. That's just how I roll...Taliban watch out.
I just had my nth interview at Best Buy last week. I'm pretty confident, like bet someone else's grandmas' life on it confident, I didn't get the gig. The interview questions and my answers weren't macking eye to eye. "What kind of animal would you be?" PSH! I wouldn't be an animal. Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that? That's a step backwards in the evolution process. If you answer, "Well...I'd be a liger." Does that mean I have a strong back? Because I played Halo sitting down. In all the interviews I've been to, I've learned I have no clue as to what they're looking for and I'm okay with that. Honestly, who spends time thinking about what kind of animal they would be? Communists, I imagine.
When I was a little kid I wanted to be a Star Man. NOT to be confused with an astronaut. Astronauts are gaylick. They don't do anything even remotely cool. You know what a Star Man does? Anything they bleeping want. This includes fighting aliens, firing lasers into moons, Mars walks, discovering new worlds, etc, etc, etc oh yeah and magic. Unfortunately, I have a small fear of heights and going to space let alone outer-space seems like it could be a conflict of interest. I trust myself too much to test this. There was also the fact I would have to learn trigonometry, physics, and, I suspect, space cooking. And I'm just not a good cook. But if anyone asks, I walked away from it because of the height factor.
College has been good to me. It's allowed me to increase my debt without feeling too guilty. Because, really, who feels bad when your given money to take an art class? Not me. Butttttt, much like a whore, college has contracted some deadly STD that's put a time limit and strain on our beautiful relationship. Which, I don't get. I thought things were going great. I paid the new obnoxious parking sticker cost. I glide on the school campus grass. You know how many people just stomp? I don't even drink from the water fountains. I respect you. How is this love dying? Is it because you're getting old? You're still hot College.
I've ruled out the following methods of attaining money. One: gambling. Go figure...you really don't win at two in the morning playing the poker computer slots. Even at Pechanga, the bologna-half-breed-Vegas imitation. Two: professional street tennis player. I had a good run at this sport. Loved it like it was one of my thirteen known babies. But early this year, I twisted my knee and, with that, my tennis career went up in flames. However, I do like long baths now. For the pain. My last idea was to marry Lindsey Lohan. Now, I know what you're thinking, Kirk...she likes other women. But don't you see, that's perfect for us. Right off the bat, we have stuff in common.
Best Buy, why do you have to be such a bastard from hell? In a year, the man will be after me. I'll have to find a way to pay back all this guilt free money. Unless Best Buy decides to be my liger and offer me a bleeping job already! I don't get why I can't get a job. It doesn't even have to be full-time. I'll settle for part-time. I'm cool with being friends with benefits. I should have been a Star Man. Instead, I'm traveling interview to interview, dreading the next question. Just waiting to be asked what kind of fruit I would be. Out loud, I'll answer grape...I guess. Is that a fruit? Does it mean I'm quick with my hands? I don't know. All I know is I would never want to be a fruit. I eat fruit...I think. That's just weird.
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-Pass the Orange Juice- |
by Kirk Deis
"One day you'll be sorry..." yeah right and one day pigs will have the right to vote and not just be my bacon breakfast. I don't live in one day. I live today. I'm not waiting for tomorrow. Or am I remembering yesterday. All that matters is now. All that has meaning are these next few seconds.
"You're not gonna believe this, I'm taking eight classes this semester."
You should have stayed in San Francisco. At least while you were gone I could imagine terrible things about you. I could pretend everyday we were apart you were day dreaming of when I came to visit. You're such a dork. These wishes filled the silence of "our" summer. Now that you're here, it's gotten so much quieter.
"Well technically, I'm crashing three of them. But you know what...I'm filling a seat and doing the homework. So, I'm in the class. It's eight, if I say it's eight. Okay."
I use to act out the next time I would see you with my cat. She has blue eyes too. She doesn't say much to me either. And she's kind of stuck up and thinks the world is hers to sleep on. Not that you're "anything" like that...Our talks would always be in three acts. First rage. Drama to show you I didn't care anymore. To show you I'm better off without needles in my heart. Next, slutty lies. Lying from what I did yesterday to what I'm doing tonight. Any lie that sounded like I forgot your name was one I tried to perfect. Finally...goodbye. I never could finish this part. I didn't have a why and I waited for my cat to say the right words, but they never came. Funny, she didn't know how, just like you.
"Kirk...are you listening to me?"
I once told myself, one day I would be sorry if I didn't see you and I was right. I've never felt more sorry about anything. All these feelings are so confusing, nothing like sweet, sweet bacon. I want so much to fit in. I mimic rituals. In the mornings, I drink orange juice. But the secret to why is because its smell is so close to yours. Personally, I hate the taste. All the little things bring me back to you. There's no winning at this, is there? Seeing you then is worse then not. Not, is crazier then seeing you again.
What happened to all the things we said we'd do? What happened to the promises of I'll be back. I don't even want you back anymore, I want you never to go. This seems so childish to me. We were best of friends and now we can't even talk to each other without it being about the weather???
"My last week there, I was camping with the gang. We were up all night by the bonfire telling stories to the little kids. God, they're so easy to scare. It was so much fun."
"Yeah. The job sounds cool." Cool. Cold. Isolated. Alone. Forgotten. Is the job is to blame? School brought you back.
"Have you seen Tom around? I was gonna stop by his office later. Show him the footage I got over the summer."
"No..." But I'd love to see what's on that video, because the person in front of me isn't real.
"Oh—Did your band ever manage to make that demo?"
"No. Nothing ever happened with it...I still play though." But you know that already, don't you. What you want me to say is, "why?!" So you can explain. Isn't it? I'm done with being there for you.
"Cool. Well...let me know if you guys play anywhere."
I saw you today. Is it that easy for you to see me too? You gave me a hug, giving me the chance to let go first. You laughed with me. Teasing my every weakness. Everyone thinks I'm crazy, but you're the one insane. I miss that. I keep telling myself all that matters are these next few seconds, but in the back of mind I don't want these feelings to fade. I don't want to feel you say goodbye again.
Kirk Deis's uber writing voice parties in the realm of a confused, yet determined hippie cynic. Sins twitch with nerve driven anticipation and egotistical fears as he jots down tales. He has been educated at California State University, Long Beach majoring in Film and Electronics, with a focus in writing and narrative and has a BA minor in Theatre. This is his first publication, which promises the start of a beautiful thing.
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