The Art of a Perfect Life

I

The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
The lamp said, "Four o’clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory! You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
The last twist of the knife.

–T.S. Eliot "Rhapsody on a Windy Night"

It was one of those mornings. There I was, laying in bed, trying desperately to ignore the blaring alarm clock that had been going off for approximately 15 minutes. It wasn’t just any alarm clock though. It was one of those ones that start off really quiet, and gradually get louder and louder every minute they’re left on, eventually screeching to the point that you think your ear drums are going to explode. Yeah, it was one of those mornings.

I mean, I knew I could have easily reached over to the night stand to throw the stupid contraption against the wall, but I was finding it much warmer and comfier under the blankets. I’d stayed up all night again. I usually did that when I found a really good movie that was on. This time it wasn’t a movie though. I just plain couldn’t sleep. I had been thinking all night about a poem that Ms. Sadburry had assigned us the other day, O Captain! My Captain! ...you know, the one by Walt Whitman. They say that he wrote that poem for Abraham Lincoln after he died. I’ve often wondered whether anyone would do anything like that for me if I were to die. I can’t say that I often thought about death, at least not at first, but I always wanted to know if I’d be remembered. I guess one of my biggest fears would be that I’d be walking home from school, or the library one day, and something would happen to me. For instance, say a driver happened to lose control of their vehicle in the ice and snow, and I just happened to be walking on the side of the road as he was veering over, and I was hit and killed. Would people remember me? Would people care, or even notice? I know the answer now, but I still wonder, if I hadn’t made some of the choices I made in my life, would people know my name?

While I was lying there, still thinking about that poem, all of the sudden, the seemingly endless beeping of the alarm clock stopped, and my little stepsister, Jennifer, tapped me on the shoulder and crawled into my bed with me. I miss that. She’d always come in the morning to wake me up. I guess she just slept in late that day too.

"Hey Kiddo, where’ve you been? I’m gonna be late for first period!"

"Mommy never woke me up, and my Tamagotchi was hungry, so I needed to feed her, so I didn’t come in here on time. Sorry Derrick." She was always playing with that stupid creature. And to think, I’d always thought they went out of style back in the ‘90s. You learn something new every day!

"S̀okay, why don’t we go and get a bowl of Cocoa Crispies?"

"Okie-dokie, I’ll race you!"

This was how most of our mornings went, I’d sleep late, she’d wake me up, we’d go downstairs to eat cereal, and my mom would take us to school. I miss my sister. I miss my brother too.

Sam, my brother, was older than Jennifer and me. When he was a senior in high school, he really hated the fact that I went to the same school as him. I wouldn’t say he was "popular," not like the football players, and other jocks, but he had a lot of friends, and he got invited to a lot of parties.

I was always envious of him, even toward the end. He’d always had friends, as long as I could remember.

He had this girlfriend, they’re probably married by now, unless they postponed the wedding, Cheryl Cobb was her name. I thought she was the biggest bitch in the universe. She was always saying shit behind my back, thinking I didn’t hear. I always did. I remember one time, I heard her say something about the reason I’d never had a girlfriend was because I was queer. I didn’t really know what that meant then, but I knew she was a bitch.

I never told anyone this, but she was the first person I ever fantasized about. It had to have been something about her attitude. I hated her, but at the same time, I thought I needed her. It turns out I really didn’t, and it’s a good thing, because as much as I hate to admit it, she was really good for Sam. She straightened him out.

He was always a bastard to me. I think he felt bad after the "accident," as everyone keeps calling it. Maybe he felt guilty or something. I really hate to say it, but I think I’m glad. I’m not going to say that it was all his fault, I’m going to leave that up to you to think about. All I know is that my brother gave me hell for the 17 years I was alive.

Now, I’m not a scrawny kid in the least bit. I have enough strength to defend myself when the situation arises. It always arose when my brother could get his hands on me. He knew I was weird and didn’t fit in anywhere. I sort of think he knew things about me before I knew them. I think he got jealous when I started to change. He saw me at the parties he was at, saw me with his friends.

I didn’t always have friends. In fact, I didn’t really have any friends until I was nearly 16. Most of my life just consisted of waking up (sometimes on time, sometimes not), going to school, which was horrible, because nobody really knew my name, they just knew I was the brainy kid who knew everything, and hung out at the library. School was horrible, because of my brother. He was always trying to get his friends to help him make fun of me, but they actually had souls, and refused.

I know, I sound like I absolutely hate Sam, I really don’t. I never did. He was just so cruel. Other guys, who were my age, gave me just as much shit as my brother did. I was always getting into fights at school. I was just this sensitive guy, who liked poetry and art. I guess I was an easy target. I just don’t understand those assholes, I mean, they pick a fight with me, they lose, I end up kicking the shit out of them in between them throwing out things that they thought would hurt my feelings.

I never had to take the blame for the fights I was in. They always just considered it self-defence. What they didn’t know is that if I had it in me, I would have killed those guys.

One time when I got into a fight, I tried to avoid it. The guy, one of Sam’s friends, came up to me and started pushing me around. I pretended like he just accidentally bumped into me, and said excuse me to him. That got him even more pissed off, and he bumped into me a little bit. I started to lose my cool by then.

"I’m sorry, do you have a problem walking? I’m sure we could find somebody to steer you in the right direction of your class."

"Are you serious, fag? You got a death wish or something?"

"Nah, do you?"

"Do you guys hear this? This fag wants to die today!"

The next thing the guy knew he was lying on the ground outside of the cafeteria, with Sam standing over him.

My brother couldn’t help but laugh at him.

"Dude, you let my little brother kick the shit out of you... you feelin’ okay man?"

"I’m fine. He’ll pay."

I never did pay though. In fact, I think he got expelled or something, because after the next week I never saw him again. Maybe he was just too afraid of me. Like I said, I was a pretty strong kid.

After school, I would come home, go straight to my room, and sit. Usually I’d have something to read, or some type of music to listen to. I never really enjoyed TV, it always gave me a headache that never seemed to want to go away. Sometimes I would paint. My mom always liked to watch me paint, but my step-dad said it was a waste of my time. He never said it to my face, I just overheard him say it a few times to my mom, or Sam. I didn’t care though, it was something I was good at, something I enjoyed.

After that, if I was feeling up to it, I’d go downstairs and eat dinner with the family: Mom, her husband Jeff, who actually isn’t that bad, Jennifer, and Sam. Dinner usually consisted of everyone talking about their day. Mine was always the same, always boring. You could tell that everyone was always so concerned about my social life. Mom would always ask "So, honey, did you do anything today? Did you go anywhere with any friends?" She always knew the reply, but I suppose she figured it was worth a try anyway.

My mom was in general a good mom, I guess. I can't really complain too much. She was always there for me when I needed her. I hate that now she wonders if there were things she did wrong. I wish she would just let it rest, and move on.

I knew that when her and dad got a divorce, she still loved him. I think it broke her heart when she made the decision to move to Hawthorne. I'm pretty sure that the only reason they got a divorce was because mom couldn't stand being alone. I mean, dad had his band, and he was never home.

When dad found out mom had found a new boyfriend, Jeff, I think he got a little jealous, even though they'd been divorced for years.

I don't actually think she loves Jeff. I'm sure she likes him alright, but he's probably just there for some sort of security. Sometimes I wonder if he knows that. Sometimes I wonder if it even matters.

Mom met Jeff when she was working at a daycare. Jennifer used to go there, so she would see Jeff just about everyday. I think he was still married to his first wife, Jennifer's mom, at that time though. They had been fighting for a while, so they were probably separated.

Eventually they started dating, and things started to really get going between them. Before I knew it, he was moving in with us, and they got married soon after. I never actually went to the wedding, I went to an art show instead. Jeff hated that. He didn't like my art. I just brushed it aside and didn't let it bother me, on the outside at least.

After dinner, I’d usually finish up my math homework, if by some chance I didn’t do it all during the day, or I’d go back to my room to read or paint. Then Jennifer would come in to tell me good night. She was having a hard time, too. It hadn’t been very long since Mom married Jeff. She and Dad had been divorced for a while, Dad moved to Fernley, about 35 minutes from Reno, and two hours from Hawthorne, our little shit-hole town. Jennifer’s mom moved all the way to Indiana, so she never got to see her. I guess that’s why she always came to me. She never really had anyone, even before my mom and her dad got married.

She never meant to go in my room that day...she had just been wondering where I was, and how I was doing. She’d overheard a conversation with Chad the night before, right before I left, saying I loved her, no matter what happened to me. She didn’t understand then. But when she went into my bedroom that day, she finally understood everything. And she was afraid. Afraid to tell her dad, and afraid for what was to come. I know this, because she still talks to me, even though she knows I’m gone.

Dad always tried to be there for Sam and me. He lives two hours away, so I guess it was really hard for him. He was always "working," as he likes to call it. My dad doesn’t have a "real" job, he’s in this band, Slick Lithium is what I think they’re called. He plays drums for them. I’ve never heard him play, but I’ve heard from Sam that he’s good. He’s always on tour, hardly ever at home. He has this tendency to forget birthdays and important stuff like that. When Mom called him that night after the Accident, he wasn’t around. I think he may have been out drinking at The Roaming Bull . . . that’s where he usually was when he wasn’t with the band. I don’t think he found out about it for at least three days. I can’t really tell whether he was surprised, or relieved. Looking back, I guess I did cause a lot of problems for him. I never meant to barge into his perfect life for those couple of blissful weeks. I just needed to get away from everyone at home. I needed to be near Joey. I had to get away.