The Boredom [a work of fiction]
I discovered her name when I overheard another waitress call out to her. Rachel. I love the name - Rachel. In the Bible, Rachel married Jacob and was “of beautiful form and fair to look upon,” as the story goes. I like that line, and it floated to the top of my mind when I gazed at her. The story goes that Rachel was barren for a long time, so Jacob shacked up with her sister, Leah, instead. How very Jerry Springer of them. Ultimately, though, God did not forsake her: “And God remembered Rachel, and God hearkened to her, and opened her womb.” Sounds painful! But they lived happily ever after or whatever. The point is, despite her sorrow and challenges, she never stopped believing in God, and He did not let her down. Her faith was tested, endured, and rewarded. Nowadays, she could have just opted for adoption, but I guess there were fewer choices back then.
But I digress. By the time I learned Rachel’s name, I had already memorized her face. The first thing I noticed was her nose, turned up ever so slightly, suggesting a hint of naïveté or innocence. When I looked at her, I could not help holding my breath. I saw my entire life, all I have been, all I am, and all I will ever be, enveloped by her presence. The more I looked at her, the more I felt my blood flow through my veins, my pulse growing faster, my breath held uncomfortably in my lungs. What struck me the most, though, were her eyes - deep blue, shrewd, and very narrow. Her lashes were long and dark, which framed her eyes exceptionally well. No fake eyelashes, just beautiful natural ones. There was nothing phony or false about her - the makeup she wore only enhanced her natural beauty, as opposed to attempting to simulate a beauty that just wasn’t there.
She radiated warmth, mixed with a cold unwillingness to deal with people’s bullshit. Her hair was dark blonde and fell delicately over her neck. She wore a dark-gray woolen knit hat, angled slightly above her eyebrows, and allowed a thin lock of hair to fall suggestively over her face and dangle in front of her eyes, as if she were intentionally revealing a sliver of herself that she otherwise tried to hide. The look of her smooth hair, which contained strokes of auburn as it passed through the light, was exhilarating when contrasted against the coarse texture of her hat, and the two colors met elegantly, the charcoal gray against the sunset yellow. If she turned her head to the left, revealing her neck and slim figure at a side angle, I could see the elegant curve of her shoulder, her torso, and her chest, covered by the thin white tank top and black apron. She had a thin infinity symbol tattooed on her left wrist, and the words “I would prefer not to” across her right one. Her slender neck was ornamented by a thin, gold necklace with a tiny gold heart attached to it. Her bare shoulders, thin but muscular, were hidden only behind the small, white tank top. No bra strap. She knew that I watched her; she could sense it. I think she wanted me to look. I think she liked it.
One time - I think it was about six months ago - she turned her head toward me and met my gaze. We locked eyes for a moment, only a single moment, but it felt like an eternity. I sensed her essence at that moment. She became aware of the fact that she was being watched and gave me an impersonal, tentative smile to acknowledge the awkwardness of the moment. I vividly remember all sound, all motion, all time, everything evaporating around me, as if into thin air. Then the moment itself, the eternity we shared, evaporated too. Life, motion, and time finally resumed, but at that moment, that isolated moment, I felt happy…truly happy, as if we belonged to each other. It seemed as real to me then as this chair I am sitting in now.
*****
I went to the bar every Thursday from four until six because I knew she would be there. I brought a book or my computer to get some work done, but I could never concentrate. I thought only of her as I sipped my double bourbon. Each double bourbon lasted me an hour, and I drank two of them - the first one neat and the second one on the rocks. I was always impressed with the ice they used. They were perfect cubes, clear as glass without any hint of cloudiness. It never diluted or flavored the bourbon, only cooled it down.
They knew me there, and when I walked in, the bartender had the bottle of Maker’s Mark ready at hand. I always paid in cash, and tipped generously. They never asked me my name, and I never offered it. But they knew me there, and still do. They know who I am.
She knew. She didn’t know that she knew, but she knew. I know how crazy that sounds, but it is true. You’ve gotta believe me! We understood each other on a level that no one else could. She waited tables in the back area where the pool table was, and I sat at a corner table in the front. I always saw her walking by, carrying beer and burgers, wine and whisky, pretzels and pork-belly sandwiches, words flowing around her like the air she breathed. Her presence was a source of light in this dark, ugly place. I didn’t even like it there. The decor is tacky, with all these black-and-white framed photos of Hollywood stars of the Thirties and Forties to manufacture an atmosphere of class and nostalgia. The food is greasy and overpriced. But I went there because I felt I belonged there, and I belonged there because it was where she was.
I was drawn to her. I felt the space within me, the empty space that fills me up. The Boredom. I tried to confront it, like rubbing your biting the inside of your mouth and constantly rubbing your tongue over it, even though it hurts every time you do it. I felt the pain, and even liked the pain - it let me know that I was alive, that I was there. The pain reminded me of my thereness. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you guys, but that is the best way I can explain it. Sometimes words fail to communicate the essence of our existence - one of the great deficits of our species, I suppose.
Weirdly, I needed that pain - it is so much better than The Boredom, which only fools me, tricks me into believing that something is waiting for me at The End. I think about that a lot, that all that is made to live must die. It is the only truth we know. That is why I needed the pain, why I needed her. To make me forget The Boredom. Or maybe to feel it, I am not sure which. It doesn’t matter much, does it?
But, as I said, I finally felt like I found a place where I belonged. I liked the bourbon, my “double-double.” They ought to name that drink after me. Hour one: a double Maker’s, neat. Hour two: a double Maker’s, rocks. They should have named it after me, but they don’t know my name. And I won’t tell.
*****
She moved across the room with the grace of a ballet dancer, never in a hurry or showing any discontent with her surroundings. White tank top, covered with a black apron. Tight leggings, “activewear” they call it. Wearing it makes you look active, I guess. It gripped her legs tightly, putting her figure on display. If I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of her as she walked away, even for a microsecond, then my heart skipped a beat. I hope those leggings made her comfortable. That is important, people always forget that - you need to look both active and comfortable at the same time. Maybe that is like a formula or something: active + comfortable = desirable. But I tell you, her face, her body, her aura, was perfect. Thin figure, thin legs, round butt, the whole nine yards. Looking at her was irresistible.
I couldn’t look away, but I made myself because I didn’t want to look at her…like that. Do you know what I mean? She became sexual, an object I wanted. It made her human, all too human. I needed her to be pure, free of sin, a complex contradiction that only I understood. But still…I wanted her, wanted to touch her, smell her hair, feel her skin. That’s why I had to turn away from her; there were so many impulses that I had to bury away until they bubbled up to the surface like boiling water. Do you know that term they used to use in old Russian novels to describe the onset of insanity? “Brain fever.” For some reason, at least one character in every Russian novel gets it; Russians are so intense! No one uses that term anymore, but I think it describes what I experienced perfectly. I had the ol’ brain fever.
It’s funny - I never did get along with people. I was picked on a lot as a kid, always the loner. I love animals, though. Animals are simple. They have no concept of sin or shame at their nakedness. They just exist, completely naturally, responding to their environment in whatever way makes the most sense. Humans are different. We make laws, we form rules, we set boundaries. Then we break them…we enjoy breaking them. It has been that way ever since Eve was tempted by the serpent and ate the apple. The serpent is supposed to be a metaphor for a penis, right? It’s sort of ironic, if you think about it. Eve was doing just fine until she was tempted by a big old phallusy snake, and for the rest of eternity, women are considered sinful for being seductive. I always felt like God set up Adam and Eve for failure, like a rigged game. He made humans have to resist their most naturally occurring impulses, which really screwed us up. The point is, people are so damned mean and unreasonable. They make me sad, really sad - so sad that I could die.
*****
After a while, we began having little conversations here and there. Some days would be kind of slow at the bar, and she would have time to idle around, so I worked up the nerve to begin chatting with her. Our conversations started with mundane small talk, like the weather or whichever sports team managed to get whatever ball into whatever receptacle enough times to defeat their opponent. Never anything personal. This quickly developed, however, into slightly deeper topics. I found out that she is Jewish, which I had suspected from her name. I told her that although my dad was Catholic and my mother was Jewish, I was not raised in any particular tradition, aside from always feeling guilty about something. I am more of a blank slate, I suppose, free to look on all religious institutions with equal disdain. I think she found this both interesting and funny.
We discussed philosophy, politics, history, science…pretty much everything. We found that we had much in common, very similar points of view on a number of topics. It was amazing how we could get so deeply into a subject, pause when she had to go deal with a customer, and pick up exactly where we left off. We related well to each other because we are both very observant, and have the ability to notice minute details and deduce conclusions easily.
For example, this room you are holding me in is very bare, but the wall I am staring at right now has a tiny pattern within the concrete but it is smooth in just one area to the far left. Something must have been there, attached to the wall at one point, and then removed and filled in. I wonder what it was…maybe a picture frame or a mirror used to hang there, but was taken down. I bet no one else who comes in here notices it, or if they did, wouldn’t think twice about it. But I do. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m right, aren’t I? It was some sort of picture that hung there? Maybe one of those “Know your rights” posters? I bet you had to take it down for safety reasons - like it could have been used as a weapon. Maybe someone tried to use it as a weapon, huh? Like they tried to break the glass and cut you guys with it. Or maybe themselves - I bet that was it! So, you took it down, removed the hook, filled in the hole, and gave the room a fresh coat of paint. Is that what happened?
I know, I know - you are the ones asking the questions, not me. But still, I betcha I am right. I betcha a million bucks!
Anyway, her ability was a bit more psychological. She was able to read people very well. I guess you have to do that as a waitress, to get along with a wide variety of personalities. She could tell exactly what people wanted, what attracted them the most, and become that thing for them, ready to serve and please. No matter who she was talking to, she had a lot in common with them - from the brofessionals and tech geeks to the millennial singles or middle aged suburban parents who left their two kids at home with a babysitter to come to some shitty bar to pretend they are young millennial singles. She could be flirty without being threatening, friendly without being phony, and amicable without being nosy. Hell, she could even get along with a misanthrope like me!
*****
I was thinking that I might kill myself, but I suppose you fellows won’t let me do that, huh? It really wouldn’t matter if I did kill myself, no one would miss me. But I guess staying alive is part of my punishment. That is pretty messed up if you think about it, though - robbing a person of his right to die. It is almost as bad as robbing a person of her right to live. Maybe worse. Crime is just a robbery, if you think about it. Taking something that is not yours to take - a wallet, an identity, a life. Maybe justice means that someone else gets to take the same thing from you. I guess that seems fair, but it is a bit of a paradox, isn’t it? The punisher becomes the robber, and on and on it goes. Where does it end? And who was going to punish her for what she robbed from me? It had to be me; God wasn’t going to.
I used to talk to Rachel a lot about God. I think that if there is a God, He won’t stop me from killing myself. So - I guess we shall see. But, to be honest, I don’t think there is - it's just an illusion. Or maybe delusion is the better word. The way I see it, Man created God in his own image, not the other way around. As soon as Man gave a name to God, He became a concept, a human construction, like money or reality TV. That is what I think, anyway, but like I said - we shall see.
Rachel told me that she agreed with me, that she saw things in a similar light, but that she was still comforted by the idea that there may be a God, and some sort of higher meaning to life. I think that may be what God is all about - a comforting thought to help us find some sort of purpose to our life. But life is really just a burden more than anything if you think about it. I personally don’t really see the point. I eat, I shit, I repeat. I eat so that I can shit. Or do I shit so that I can eat? It doesn’t matter, chicken/egg, blah blah blah. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and just eat shit, hahaha!
It's just a joke, lighten up! I guess you guys don’t appreciate my sense of humor. I think I am a regular riot, though, as Ralph Kramden used to say on the Honeymooners. Bang, zoom, to the moon, Alice!
I told Rachel about a sort of sci-fi fantasy I have that one day they, whoever “they” are, will invent a new technology that gets embedded in our brains and shows us the time of day in our vision, no matter where we look. It would be like wearing glasses with a clock in them, only it is embedded within our eye or something. I’m not sure how it would work exactly. But everyone will always know what time it is, you can’t escape it. It will even auto-update for Daylight Savings - convenient, huh? Maybe it even gets so advanced that the little clock in your vision that is always there is actually a countdown clock. From the moment you are born, your clock will calculate the precise moment of your death, and your countdown clock will update continuously based upon your actions, and hit zero right at the precise moment you breathe your last breath. I wonder what life would be like - would we value our time more, or less?
Rachel seemed a bit disturbed by the idea. I’d like to think that knowing when I will die would encourage me to live a happier life, and make more out of my time. I asked her what she would think, seeing the numbers ticking down, preparing herself for the very last seconds of their life? Would she be scared? Would her life flash before her eyes? She didn’t even like to think about it - she rushed away to go check on some tables, and we never talked about it again.
I always thought that we were on the same wavelength, but I guess we weren’t. She even told me she believed in Heaven and Hell. What a load of bullshit that is! You get rewarded for “good behavior” - sounds more like a prison sentence to me. And who judges what is “good” - God? Give me a break! His hands aren’t exactly super clean. He asked Abraham to kill his son, just to prove his loyalty. And at the last moment, He told him, “Nevermind!” Pretty gangster. How messed up is that? Who is He to judge me? That, of course, is assuming the story is true. If it isn’t true, then the Bible is just a big old book of lies and mythological allegories, written by people to manipulate other people. So on one hand, God is kind of a dick, or on the other hand, it's just make believe. Either way, I think I’ll pass. And if I am wrong, if God is up there in the clouds looking down on all of us, may He strike me down right now.
See? Nothing! It was worth a try, though.
Religion, doctrine, lies, and myths - it's all the same. We look back at the ancient Greeks and Egyptians and talk about what they believed thousands of years ago as if they were just a bunch of silly stories told by people who didn’t understand that the Earth was round and revolved around the sun. Why are we any different? What will people four thousand years from now think of us, with our temples and churches, our altars and burning crosses? We believe that some virgin woodworker arose from the dead to save our souls from eternal damnation. I know that lots of people believe that - I bet you guys do, too - but it just feels a little far-fetched to me. There are even people who believe that Noah took dinosaurs with him on the Arc, which I guess makes total sense if you have no understanding of science, history, or reality. It makes me wonder what kind of God they will invent four thousand years from now.
*****
OK, I admit it, I admit it. Sometimes, I have a temper. Not all the time, just when I am under a lot of stress. I can get angry. Like, really, really angry. So angry that I don’t even know where I am, or what I am doing, like an out-of-body experience. But, when she…that night, when she… Yeah - it made me angry. I don’t even know if “angry” is the right word. I felt rage, white-hot seething hate. It…transformed me.
I don’t know what made me stay so late that day, until the bar closed, on that dark and empty street in the damp aftermath of the rain. Maybe, after listening to the customers and their stupid, petty conversations about Real Housewives and binge-watching YouTube videos, I felt that my life had to have some greater purpose than sitting passively any longer. But I didn’t know it would go down like that. I bore my soul to her, told her I loved her, and what did she do? The worst thing she could have possibly done, goddammit. She laughed at me.
Not a friendly chuckle, like one to alleviate the awkwardness of an uncomfortable moment. Not even a casual giggle, as if she thought what I said was a joke. It was a cackle, one of vindictiveness. And at that moment, I could feel it all melting away, everything I felt about her, everything I knew to be true. It was all false. This whole time, she had been lying to me; or maybe I had just been lying to myself - I cannot tell which is real anymore. All I know is that her face changed, she turned ugly. Her nose flared open in surprised amusement. Her eyes grew narrow and I could no longer see the color inside them. Her eyebrows raised with her condescending laughter. Her long, slender fingers covered her mouth as if to hide the bitter snicker that I so obviously caused. Her neck convulsed as her gold chain bobbed up and down against her chest with amusement. She became…evil.
It only took a moment, this devastating response to what I said to her, but I felt my entire life unravel. As she turned to walk away, looking back and shooting me a glance that made me feel microscopic, I felt it all escape my body. The humiliation. The rage. The Boredom. It all came out of me like a wave, and as that wave broke in a violent orgasm of pure hate, that was when it happened. She never saw it coming. But she’ll be alright, won’t she?
…won’t she?
Well, that’s too bad. I didn’t mean to do that. But please, try to understand, I needed her. I needed her to be different, not like everybody else. When all is said and done, I will miss her. I will miss her eyes, her nose, her mouth. The way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she smelled. The way I saw her, how only I saw her, the way she appeared to be before that awful moment. The way she was as I sat, sipped my double-double and contemplated the meaning of life. I own that now, and even you guys cannot take it away from me. That will help me to endure The Boredom. For now, at least. For now.