On Top of the World
Twitching. Nervous. Is he coming through, I thought. I had everything ready; my BBQ covered chicken fingers and side of onion rings from Jim’s, a bottle of Arizona Green Tea with Ginseng and Honey, a can of Red Bull, a bag of Chex Mix Bold, a five pack of Slim Jims, a pack of Dutch Master Corona Deluxe, a pack of Marlboro Menthols. I took one out, lit it, inhaled and let it out. Nervous as fuck, hoping he’d come through. I beeped him five minutes ago. Is he coming through? I tried to focus on my computer and went on checking all my sites for the zillionth time today; nothing new to take my mind off what I needed. I didn’t touch any of my food. I was hoping he’d come through.This was my life. Waiting for a phone call in order to move ahead with my life. What life is this? I secretly wanted to get away, to not be dependent on this phone call to ensure my happiness. I felt like a slave, no, I felt worse. I felt like a bullied child giving up his money because he couldn’t stand up for himself. I was a good customer, I was a rube and he was the carny. He’d call back. I knew it. He needed me. I was needed by someone. We had chats. He was my friend. I gave him money, but he was my friend. He’d come over. It would pick me up, get me out of this funk. I was in a funk. My mom said I was in a funk. Looked at every photo of me over the last two years. I was not happy. I had so little. I was dependent on so many things. I was a child. I hated myself. I hope he calls back. I hope he comes through.
The phone rang. I closed my eyes and felt the rush. I knew it was him. Let it ring once more to let me know that it’s real.
The phone rang again, and I picked up the cordless receiver.
“Hello?”
“Yoooo, what’s up dude?”
“Not much, Shaft, what’s good?”
“Nuttin’ . You want me to come through?”
“Yep.”
“Aight, dude. 40?”
“Yep.”
“Aight. Yo, you’re gonna be happy.”
“I already am.”
“Aha. Yo, you got a Dutch?”
“Yes, sir. You gonna chill?”
“No doubt, dude.”
“Aight.”
“Aight, I’ll see you in like, twenty minutes?”
“Aight.”
“Aight, peace.”
I hung up.
I got out of my papasan chair and started to clean up, picking up random crapI had strewn about the apartment in my last haze. I got out the ash trays, then sat on the futon, took out the pack of Dutch Masters, opened the pack, took out a wrapped cigar, unwrapped it, and began to lick the cigar up and down.
Ah, this is the life.
