“...call you later...”

Honestly, it rang in my head, bouncing off the walls of my empty skull and absent thoughts. My little bro was no longer my little bro. All grown up, and a fully fledge man. He doesn’t need me anymore. At least not like he used to.

I remember the time he used to wet the bed. Try to hide it from me because he thought I would get mad. I used to have to put in extra shifts at the bar just to rack up enough change to pass by Dally’s, a local laundromat.

The thing is, I always acted annoyed, but I never was. I could never blame him for having nightmares. Who doesn’t? I mean, I know I have had a few. The worst part is, mine weren’t when I was asleep. 

I wish they were. Maybe then I could just toss them up to be nothing more than dreams. Ideas and thoughts that are no more real than the boogeyman himself. Maybe that’s why I enjoy a good cartoon. The problems are real, but the characters aren’t. Reality TV just seems too dramatic. Take for example, the new season of Triangle Passion Lake. I’m enjoying my meal, amused by Sarah and Michelle’s infatuation with the same man. Sounds familiar, don’t it?

Any who…

Look, don’t get me wrong, Pablo is very attractive. Washboard abs, nice curly dark brown hair with some not too exaggerated highlights. A chiseled jaw with a well-kept beard and a golden tan. He’s got some questionable tattoos, but by and large he is a solid nine out of ten. With his height and confidence, I am surprised not more women on the show are pining for him. But maybe because they see what I see. 

A boy who got nothing really going for him. Several failed relationships, tossed in with a few shotgun marriages and a kid or two we the viewer aren’t supposed to know. He’s an opener, not a closer. I suppose the point I am getting at is that he’s got no genuine qualities that get you the miles. Carl is a sweet guy. Dedicated, with a good head on his shoulders. And most of all, kind and patient, despite not having much of THAT for me these days. He’s got a girl now. No clue what sort of person she is, but even if she is half the sort I think Carl likes, then who knows? They might be in it for the long haul.

And here I am. Laying on my side, scratching my butt, half done on some egg rolls that I’m fairly certain I would finish another day without question. But today, not so much. I got no job worth having, hence why I've got nothing better to do. It ain’t my fault. It’s just my last boss rubbed me the wrong way. Don’t get me wrong, I did a lot for the position. It paid well. Anything to be free of the expenses that plague my life. 

Loans, rent, medical insurance.

Bills really are nothing but delusional mechanisms to keep us from living from our true potential. But when I think of the potential I have to offer, I can’t help thinking it’s nothing but a curse. 

Have you ever been told that you are exceptional?

Would you believe I was told that? Not by one, but quite a few. Enough to get a free ride to a fancy university. Here’s the thing, though, that they don’t tell you. While new doors open, often times others have to close. I’m not proud of it, but I believe I got one too many voices up in my head. One side says, just do it, while the other side injects a rattling noise. The one that makes you hesitate. Over analyze. Next thing you know, you are asking for advice from a guy who is your professor. You get to talking, and find out that maybe you sort of, kind of, like this person.

Their voice, their thoughts, their words and their smile is all you can think about.

John Brookes. 

People are like ones and zeros. Boring most of the time. Patterns are straightforward, but the problem with them is that they aren’t much when you observe too long.

However, a shy guy who loves to talk for hours on end about how algorithms work. Their frameworks and potential. A guy who can analyze and cleverly discuss the logic behind it. A true nerd. A tool.

Super straightforward.

In retrospect, I think I may have messed that up. He hated the way he looked, but personally, I liked the way his bushy eyebrows sat behind his glasses.

Oh, John Brookes.

Ahhh…

The more I think about him, the more I reminisce about the hours we spent drinking coffee and talking under the stars. 

Sure, he was cute. Not at all someone who could hold his liquor. Two shots of rum and he would crack out of his shell. He put me on sake. Sweet with that peach flavor, and cozy and warm when you need a friend to hold ya. 

John Brookes never held me like that drink could, though. And while I miss the taste, I find myself missing him more. Company never feels all that fun to me until it’s absent. Only ever enjoyed from a distance, from the rearview mirror. 

Sometimes I wonder...

What could have been? Where would I be?

Never good to think about those things for too long.

Maybe I should look into getting another job. Nothing fancy.

Not like a big-time firm is going to hire a small-town girl. Not with my most recent record I've got going on now.

I wonder if that diner will take me back. Worked at this place in town that served some pretty good pancakes and waffles. The coffee was terrible, but still nice.

It was a few years back, however. Made a substantial amount of money off tips alone.

What can I say? Your girl's got it. A smile I could thank Ma for.

Carl never really approved. Although I believe he didn’t like the fact that the boys who paid me a visit were his classmates. While some of them were a few years younger than me, I can admit they looked much older. Never would I take a shot at them though, but that never stopped me from teasing poor Carl as if I would.

Sigh...

I suppose he really doesn’t need me anymore, huh?

He was always the one to tell me I was squandering myself. That I should aim higher. He would say that he was dumb and I was the smart one. 

Well, I don’t know about that.

Here’s the point I realized when I attended that big ol’ fancy schooling.

It ain’t for everyone.

The cost don’t measure up to its weight for the hassle of being in a large white cage with stark walls, and forty-odd other young adults listening to the words of an old man speaking about how the universe is a finely crafted woven blanket that bends, shrinks, expands to its own will. If I need to hear how one’s existence is so small in this ever-expanding black hole, then I would read Socrates. Or even Plato. Teaching yourself shouldn’t cost a dime, and questioning your worth shouldn’t be a judgment left for the masses.

Shit, if it comes down to it, just read the paper. Listen to the news. Nothing pretty ever goes on in this world, does it?

Raids at malls. Government spreading misinformation. Police brutality. Tech billionaires and movie stars look younger than they ever had because of some conspiracy that they are eating children and bathing in their blood. The list goes on.

Truth, horror and fantasy are interchangeable and tied up in an enormous ball of yarn. Knots ever present everywhere. Just plenty of them and not a courtesy one in sight to untie them. 

I bet John Brookes could have done it. Then again, I suppose he can’t. Not any more.

There I go, thinking about him. About what had happened. What should and shouldn’t have.

Maybe it’s time to take those thoughts—the voices that dance around in my head with a jig — and show them a good time. For every successful feast needs a bountiful amount of drinks served.

What’s better than wine and whisky for a single woman looking to unwind?