Carpe Diem

A/N: Hey, this chapter's longer. . . kind of. A little. I know these updates seem pretty quick, but if I don't update, I'll go ADD and lose interest in the story. That would be bad. Anyway. Thank you so much, pel. Your review made me so happy. I had already thought of doing that, and I went ahead and changed chapter two. Also, I apologize in advance for the dinner conversation, but I figured a literary discussion would be better than a calculus or physics one.



A Lesson in Telephony



He picked up the phone, dialed the number.



—Hey, Mr. Johnson? It's me, Jim. I'm not feeling too well today and I was wondering if I could get the day off? No. . . you don't need to do that. I'll be fine. I should be better by tomorrow. Okay, thank you. Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. . . fine. I'll call you if I get worse. Bye.



And with that, he hung up. Well, that was taken care of. He left the kitchenette and headed for the cramped bathroom. Everything looked to be in perfect order. Not a single hair out of place; James Nathaniel Poe was nothing if not immaculate. But, then, he was getting ahead of himself. There was still the one other piece of business to attend to. Now where did he put that phone?



“Hello, is this Patrick Gallahan? Hey. This is Jim, the guy from the bookstore. . .”

---

The people on the street hustled and bustled about their business around him as he stared up at the apartment complex before him. Everything was going according to plan. He remembered that he had left tickets to an upcoming concert in the book as a bookmark. And of course Patrick was very adamant that Jim come over immediately and reclaim his misplaced property. And here he was, in front of the man's home, waiting for him. Ah, there he was.



“Hey,” he said, “Sorry to keep you waiting. Ready to go?”



“Yes,” Jim replied in perhaps too rushed a manner. Was he actually becoming nervous?



“Thank you for inviting me to dinner with your friends,” he said.



“It was nothing. Especially for a lover of such fine literature,” Jim said as they began to meander towards the restaurant. “Have you gotten very far in the book?”



“Yeah, maybe about a third of the way. I had to practically force myself away from it last night to go to bed.”



“Yeah, it'll do that to you.”



They continued to discuss the book as they walked, Jim very sure to not give away any plot details and ruin Patrick's reading experience. For which Patrick was, of course, grateful, as he hated spoilers of any sort. And so the conversation veered towards a discussion of whether one should read for plot or for meaning, only, before they were able to appropriately begin said discussion, they had arrived at the restaurant.



“My friends'll probably be late,” Jim explained as the hostess seated them.



“That's okay.”



The waitress came by and asked would the two gentlemen like anything to drink? Just water would be fine, thank you very much.



“Now,” Jim began, “Where were we?”



“I believe I was saying that some books were meant to be read for pleasure, and thus plot, but other, more literary works were meant to be read for their meaning.”



“And I agree wholeheartedly,” Jim said, “And what other books have you read lately?”



“Well, there was The Catcher in the Rye. . . and Bonfire of the Vanities. . . and. . . there are too many to name, really.”



“I know what you mean.”



The waitress came by again, to take their orders. They would both have the fish. Grilled, please. Their orders would be ready shortly.



The restaurant was not yet busy, it still being relatively early for the dinner rush. But Jim and Patrick both thought it was nice to be able to eat in quiet and near solitude. Most of the tables around where they sat were empty, save one seating a young lady who appeared to be growing impatient of waiting for her date to show up. There was the slight din of the kitchen in the distance, cooks being ordered about, grills hard at work to serve up orders expediently.



“Have you ever read Lord of the Flies?” Jim asked.



“Yes, I have.”



“I always end up arguing with my friends about it. They all see it as good versus evil. But I don't see it that way.”



“Go on.”



“I see it as being more morality versus amorality.”



“I never thought about it that way.”



“The way I see it,” Jim continued, “Jack and his tribe represent an amoral society. One based on the 'if it feels good, do it' mantra. The thing is, that's not necessarily evil, per se.”



“It just leads to a more chaotic society,” Patrick continued.



Around them, a crowd appeared out of nowhere. The roar from the kitchen was slowly drowned out by the chatter of the others, but they didn't seem to notice. The waitress appeared with their food. They hardly noticed their meals' presence, instead focusing on their conversation. The food was picked at sparingly, but both agreed that it was delicious and that they should very much like to come back.



“So, even though Ralph is presented as the protagonist, the good guy, he still gets caught up in the amorality, the anarchy of the island,” Patrick said between bites, “And the 'democratic' tribe, the one most people call the good side, does some things that are evil.”



“Finally,” Jim said, "Someone gets it.”



The check was brought, and Jim had to fight Patrick off to pay it. He had invited Patrick, he said, so he should be the one to pay. Patrick had grudgingly relented.



“So,” Patrick began as the walked out of the restaurant, “What happened to your friends?”



The truth of the matter was that they had never been invited in the first place. Cliché, he knew, but it worked.



“I don't know. I guess they were just busy or something.”



“Well,” Patrick said with some amount of nervousness, hesitance, “I'm kind of glad they didn't show up, to tell the truth.”



“Yeah,” Jim said, and he felt the blood rising into his cheeks, “Me, too.”



They arrived at Patrick's apartment building. The sun had already set, and the streets were beginning to clear. The sidewalks seemed deserted as well.



“Do you uh,” Patrick began, “Wanna come up or something?”



“Sure.”



The two entered the building. It was much nicer than what Jim was used to. They rode the elevator up the several floors to Patrick's. They were at the door. Patrick searched through his pocket for the key and, upon unlocking it, opened the door for Jim.