Monday, January 25, 2016

Microstory 241: Perspective Sixteen

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Perspective Fifteen

There he is; the guy I have a crush on. I feel like I’ve been staring at him through the diner window for hours. I can’t see very well through the glass, but people inside can see me clear as day. And they’re all talking about me. I need to make a decision to either go inside or move on. He’s approaching the son of one of our coworkers who he can relate to because he has a low level of maturity. And that’s what makes me feel so bad. He told me that he was diagnosed with borderline intellectual something. I can’t remember the full term, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bigoted, or anything. I just don’t know if I’m allowed to be attracted to someone like that. He’ll always have that learning disability, and I would always be explaining things to him, just like I already do. But is it fair to be in a relationship with someone who’s not smart enough to fully grasp what that relationship means? Or does he understand it, and I’m just being ignorant. Is it bigoted to not be in a relationship with him because of his condition? Oh man, I feel like such a bad person for these thoughts, but I can’t help it. It is my curse to overthink things. I actually have a medical condition of my own, which is probably what attracted me to him. Most people really focus on the compulsive part of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but those compulsions are not the underlying problem. People have stray thoughts all the time, but I have them all the time. In every situation I encounter, I think about every possible outcome, and every choice I could make. This sounds like science fiction, but it’s all about consolidation. I don’t literally think through each potential future. I just consider the possibilities and what kind of choices I would have to make for those to occur. The problem with that is most of the possibilities are extremely remote. The person I’m talking to is probably not going to turn into a vampire, and there probably won’t be a meteorite that will give me superpowers, but these kind of possibilities just consume me, and I have to work extremely hard to ignore them. I realized my condition when I was pretty young, and I developed coping mechanisms to help me function in the world. I’ve gotten pretty good at acting like a normal person, but I still stand out. That brings us back around to my crush. He doesn’t judge me or question me, and I could really use more of that in my life. But not right now. If I go in now, I’ll likely slip on the floor and break my back. I’ll talk to him tomorrow at work.

Perspective Seventeen

Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 5, 2059

The Cleanser had been right about “the next Reaver” coming. Mateo just didn’t think he meant so soon. Though, to be fair, it was technically a year later. And it could have been even longer from any other salmon’s perspective. He woke to find himself in the middle of the woods with Leona and Prince Darko. It was the dawn and their phones were nowhere to be found.
“What’s going on?” Leona demanded.
“Why are you looking at me?” Prince Darko asked, astonished. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Oh yeah, right,” Leona scoffed. It was becoming a bad habit.
“Leona, you can’t accuse him with no evidence.”
“He shows up and now we’ve been transported outside of our pattern.”
“That doesn’t mean that I’m the one who brought us here. I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to do such a thing.”
“Puh-lease.”
“Leona, stop. We have to work together to figure this out.”
“Oh, you would take his side.”
“There are no sides. There’s only survival. There’s bears in these woods,” Prince Darko said ominously.
“Bears can be dealt with,” Leona said. “They don’t attack humans as much as you would think.”
“I’m not talking about animal bears,” Prince Darko clarified. “I’m talking about bears that eat salmon. Everything is a danger.”
“Oh, ha!” Leona laughed sarcastically. “Good one.”
“I’m serious,” Prince Darko complained.
“We need to find some help,” Mateo jumped in, trying to defuse the situation with logic. “Or maybe not. Don’t they say if you’re lost in the forest, you’re supposed to stay put and wait for rescue?”
“That’s for when people know you’re there. We don’t even know where we are,” Leona nearly yelled.
“Hey, he’s just trying to get through this!” Prince Darko yelled back.
“Both of you shut up. I hear something.” Mateo didn’t really hear anything. He just wanted a few seconds of silence. But then they actually did hear something. It was a zipping sound that flew past their heads and landed in a tree. An arrow.
“Oh my God,” Prince Darko grumbled, “we teleported into a horror movie.”
Mateo was determined to fix the problem. It was probably just a hunter who didn’t realize that they weren’t deer. “It’s probably just a hunter who can’t see us very well.” Mateo stood up straight and started waving his arms.
“Mateo,” Leona whispered urgently, “please get down.”
“Hey! Don’t shoot!” Mateo pleaded. “We’re human!” He could see the hunter up ahead, and he was definitely close enough to hear Mateo’s cries, unless he was wearing headphones or something. Mateo realized his folly far too late. Another zip came and forced itself into Mateo’s heart. They were the ones being hunted. It wasn’t clear whether the hunter was actually intending to kill them specifically, or if they just happened to be the ones he found while on his hunt. Mateo was able to eke out one word as he was falling towards his back. “Run.”
Everything froze. Mateo stood from the side, staring at his own body, hanging in midair. Leona appeared to be on her way to catching him. Prince Darko was eyeing the hunter with violent rage in his eyes. But no one was moving; neither were the leaves or the wind or dark clouds in the early morning sky. Time was standing still.
“Mister Matic,” came a voice from behind Mateo’s temporary figure. It wasn’t the Cleanser.
“And you are?”
“They call me The Rogue.”
“What is it with you people and nicknames?”
The Rogue laughed. “I dunno. But they call me this because I don’t follow their rules. I’ve gone off on my own.”
“I’m pretty sure that position has been filled.”
“Yes,” the stranger nodded his head in understanding. “The Cleanser and I are very much alike. But his intention is to wipe us all out. Mine is to have fun.”
“From what I’ve been told, that’s exactly what it means to be a choosing one.”
“That’s true,” the Rogue admitted. “However, they are trying to shape the timeline according to their liking. I don’t care about the timeline. I just like to watch the struggle.”
“You’re trying to create a bad timeline,” Mateo posited. “Leona would actually probably call it the darkest timeline.”
“That’s right,” the Rogue said. “From your perspective, at least.”
Mateo massaged his temples. “I am so tired. I haven’t been doing this for very long, but I don’t wanna go any further. If I agree to let you do what you want, will you cancel mine and Leona’s pattern?”
“What about your brother?”
“What about him?” Mateo felt himself not caring. Prince Darko was obviously trying to strain his and Leona’s relationship. He should have been taking the moral high ground and tried to save them all, but he couldn’t help but just not care anymore. “You leave my family alone, and Leona’s, and I’ll let you go.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll have to defeat you, just like I did Horace Reaver.”
The Rogue thought about this for a long time. Or rather, for literally no time at all. “Interesting proposition. You didn’t seem like the kind of person who would forgo the world, just for your family.”
“Before all this, I wasn’t.”
“That’s fair, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Mateo knew he would do this. There was no way a guy with the power to stop time would agree to end his game so quickly. He was obviously a psychopath, and needed to be stopped. But Mateo couldn’t do that if he was acting like himself. These people knew everything about him. There was even evidence that they could read his mind. He had to remain as unpredictable as possible. He had to keep them guessing; rule number eleven.
“So, what are your plans for us?”
“To make your lives hell. One day at a time.”
Mateo apathetically turned his head to look at his real body, still hanging in the air, on the verge of death. “You don’t have much time.”
The Rogue laughed again. “Tis but a flesh wound.”
“I feel myself dying.”
“You want me to correct this? You want me to give you a pass?”
“Just this once.”
“Very well, but there will be more tribulations. Wanna see something cool?”
Yes, definitely. “Not really.”
“Pull the arrow out of your chest.”
“Doctors will tell you not to do that.”
“Just trust me. Make sure you take it out in reverse.”
Mateo had no choice, and he was curious to see what was going to happen. He took hold of the back of the arrow and begin to pull on it. The arrow didn’t move right away, but his own body did. Once he was back upright, the arrow began to slide out of his chest. He looked over and could see Leona crawling backwards and Prince Darko turning his head away from the distant hunter. Mateo pushed the arrow back in and watch the scene play out in slow motion. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. The faster he moved, the faster the scene moved. He was manipulating the passage of time with his hands. That was cool.
“All right, you’ve had your fun. Pull the arrow all the way out, and then you can adjust its path so that it avoids you altogether. All you have to do is think about changing time, rather than reversing it.”
Mateo had a better idea. “I have a better idea.” After the arrow was all the way out, and his wound had magically sealed back up as if it had never happened, he moved his own arm up. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the arrow and clasped it tightly.
“Leona and Prince Darko are gonna know something’s up if you catch a freaking arrow in midair.”
Mateo shrugged. “Somehow I don’t think that will bother me.”
The Rogue shook his head like he was watching his dog chew on a shoe. “I can’t reverse or slow velocity once we step back into real time, so you’re going to have to match it with an equal opposing force. Leona would understand this better,” he added with a sigh.
Mateo thought about it for a second then reversed the arrow a few more inches back to give himself more time to slow it down. “There.”
“There,” the Rogue agreed. He snapped his fingers and restarted time, placing Mateo back into his real body.
The arrow tried to keep moving, just as the Rogue had said, but Mateo was able to hold onto it before the tip could pierce his skin. He had succeeded in making it look like he had superhuman reflexes. He looked over at Leona and Prince Darko who were shocked by this.
“Buffy,” Leona whispered.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Overwritten: Train Train Go Away (Part IV)

As I’m waiting to board the train, I can hear the woman who sells tickets get into it with a guy who is trying to purchase one at the last minute. As she’s giving him a hard time about his identification, I realize that I recognize him. His name is Mateo Matic. He first disappeared mysteriously in 2014, and then again in 2015, almost exactly one year later. Ever since then, I’ve spotted him hanging with Reaver’s alternate timeline wife, Leona Delaney, but only once a year. I was watching her before Reaver was paying me for it. He must be some kind of time traveler as well. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but Reaver probably has dastardly plans for him. They might could be friends, but I highly doubt it. If he feels threatened by Mateo when it comes to his theoretical love, then only death will follow. Are my plans failing? Is Reaver falling into the same pattern as before? What am I going to do now?
I board the train, cautiously sit behind Mateo, and flip on the tablet that Micro gave me. She never told me exactly where they want the train to be, or when they want it to be there. I’m just supposed to let the program she wrote run and do absolutely nothing else. But I am going to do something else. I’m going to monitor Mateo and get a better sense of who he is. If I fear that his death is imminent then I’ll pull the plug on the whole operation. I’ll only be able to do this once, though. After I make that move, Reaver will no longer trust me. He doesn’t go on his killing spree in the alternate timeline for the better part of two decades. Anything could happen. Man, I really hope I don’t have to burn this bridge.
Mateo does nothing of note throughout most of the trip, but then someone gets on the intercom and claims that all the frequent stops are just as annoying to them because they have to be there too. Yikes. I adjust my body into a defensive position, worried that they’ll find out that I’m the one causing this. Micro assured me that no one would know, that these kind of scheduling issues used to happen all the time, but I’m still worried. Maybe I should have gone ahead and taken that stage combat class. A man on the other side of the aisle reacts to the announcement, “the difference between us and the crew, is that we are paying for the misery, while they are being paid.”
“So true,” Mateo answers.
“What’s your final destination?” the man asks. Who is this guy? Is he another time traveler? Another investigator? A threat? An ally? Does he know something, or is he just a stranger on a train?
Mateo takes a long time to answer. Either that or he’s ignoring him. I don’t have a great vantage point. I should have sat behind this dude’s seat so that I could secretly see Mateo from there. Rookie mistake.
“I didn’t know it was a trick question,” the man says with a laugh.
“No, sorry. It’s Grand Junction, Colorado.”
“Business or pleasure.”
I see Mateo take a deep breath. “New life,” he says with conviction.
“Ah, interesting. Running from, or just running to?”
Mateo tilts his head and pauses again. He must just be a thoughtful character, not wanting to answer inaccurately or rashly. “Both.” Nice answer; short and sweet.
“Well, I’m rooting for you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks,” Mateo says, but it doesn’t sound genuine. The train lurches and begins to move again. “What do you do for a living?” He doesn’t sound all that interested.
“I’m a physicist. The name’s Duke Andrews. I assume you don’t have a career at the moment. What’s your name?”
“Mateo. I don’t have a last name anymore, though.”
“Full commitment,” Duke says back. “I respect that.” He really does sound like he respects the decision, if that really is what Mateo is going for. If Mateo’s struggle to buy the train ticket is any indication, his last name is no longer relevant. To perhaps his family and friends, he’s been missing. To the world, and particularly the government, he would no longer exist. Once you’re gone for long enough, they’ll just decide you’re dead. Mateo probably hasn’t reached that point yet, but he will relatively soon.
After another delay, I look at my watch and see that we’re about nine hours behind schedule. I wonder if that means we’re on schedule. I can hear Mateo open a paper map. A paper map. Paper. Guy still uses paper; what a weirdo. Eventually, he stops moving. I have this strange thought that the program I’ve been running does more than just manipulate train movements. Or maybe it doesn’t do that at all. Maybe it’s been sending out a magic signal that’s programmed to rupture Mateo’s brain stem, or some crazy science fiction like that. I stand up and head towards the front of the train so I can get a look while I’m heading for the lavatory. Crap. The lav is behind us. What will my excuse be then? I’m overthinking it, and no one is watching me. Yes, they are. Duke eyes me with suspicion. Or maybe it’s curiosity. I just need to leave. I could have business in another car. What does he know? He doesn’t know. Screw him! I’m going to another car, and he can’t do anything about it. Is the food car up ahead, or is it behind us? No, it doesn’t matter. Just keep walking. My only threat is Duke Andrews, and he can go to hell!
But he’s not the only potential threat to my life as a train schedule hacker. With each subsequent car, the chances that the food car is up ahead decreases. Soon, I realize that it can’t be, and I’m walking forward for no reason. There are other people here, and they are all watching me. They’re all cops, and judges, and time travelers, and “Reaver Enterprises” spies. That’s right, this entire train is full of people who work for Reaver. This is all a big test, and I’m failing. Shit, I have to get back to my seat. But how’s a man gonna turn around? If I just stop in the middle of one of the cars and start heading in the opposite direction, people will be like, dafuq is that guy doing? Because, like I said, they all work for Reaver, so they’re all watching me. Doesn’t matter. If I’ve failed, then I’ve failed. All I can do is go back and keep my head down from now on. Sure, I might be headed towards my death, but I knew that from the start. This train may very well be on a collision course. It could have been designed to kill Mateo, or to kill me. But that would be ridiculous because all the other people on the train work for Reaver too. Surely he wouldn’t kill so many of his own employees. No, stop thinking like that. That’s called paranoia. They don’t all work for him. Maybe half. No, shut up! Nobody works for Horace Reaver. Well, except for me, of course. And maybe someone else. And probably one more for good measure.
I sit back down in my seat and take my anxiety medicine. After a while, I can hear Mateo moving around again. He’s alive. For now.
Duke shuffles his newspaper. He uses paper too. “Welcome back.”
“Where are we?” Mateo asks. He sounds panicked.
“Don’t worry. You’ve not missed Grand Junction yet,” Duke answers in a very comforting voice. It even makes me feel better about possibly sitting in a death tube. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up.”
“No, I made a mistake. I meant Glenwood Springs. I’m supposed to go to Glenwood Springs!” His voice seems to wake other people in the car. A baby starts crying. Such a terrible mother bringing a baby to a death tube. Oh that’s right. This is not necessarily a death tube, and she does not necessarily—I mean, probably does not—work for Horace Reaver.
“Oh, well you’ve missed that. But it’s okay. You’re starting a new life. Does it matter where? You won’t be that far off course either way.”
“What time is it?” Mateo gets up and desperately looks at his watch. “Oh my God. It’s almost midnight.”
“No, it’s eleven o’clock.”
“I mean a different midnight!” He’s right. It’s almost midnight central time. Maybe this is everything the train schedule manipulation has been leading to. Are we where Reaver wants us to be? Am I okay with that? If we’re not, will he blame me? I can handle myself. What I’m really worried about is him blaming his hacker, Micro. She has no clue what kind of guy Reaver is. She doesn’t know he’s a murderer. I need to get back to Kansas quickly, just in case. Or maybe I’ll call Brian and burn his cover. No, it’s too early. I have to stay in the shadows, but ya know, in a visible way.
The tablet Micro gave me beeps and the train comes to an abrupt a halt. That is definitely not a coincidence. We are where we need to be, which means we probably shouldn’t be here.
“We apologize once more,” says a different the voice on the intercom. “We’re not sure why the train stopped this time, but we are looking into the matter and will have you back on track in no time.”
“I have to get off!” Mateo screams. Yeah, we’re here. He’s scared of this place, wherever it is.
“You won’t be able to,” Duke says. “We’re on a bridge over the Colorado River.” That makes sense. Bridges are dangerous places for trains. Just ask any action movie. This is it. It’s time time to die. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.
“I’m still on the upper level!” Mateo jumps up and tries to pull his bag from under the seat, but is unable to. He gives up on it and runs for the door, but doesn’t make it. At exactly midnight central, he disappears from sight. Some of the crowd screams while others shudder while others didn’t seem to be looking at him at that moment. Yeah, Mateo is most def a time traveler. I look over to Duke who clearly didn’t know that was going to happen, but isn’t all that shocked by it. He did say that he was a scientist of some kind.
Mateo’s bag. There might be incriminating evidence on it. I can’t let the authorities get there hands on it, but I don’t want Reaver to see it either. I can protect Mateo, even if I don’t really know why. I can keep this secret, if I decide to trust the only other person on this train with any interest in what happens. I sneak over while everyone’s freaked out about a man disappearing in thin air. I take my time and release the bag from its grip on the seat’s frame. I sidestep over to Duke and hand it to him. “This is his. Keep it safe.” My God, I sound like a spy on a park bench. “Tell no one about me.”
“Who are you?” Duke asks.
“Nobody.”

Friday, January 22, 2016

Microstory 240: Perspective Fifteen

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Perspective Fourteen

I’m not the brightest tool in the shed. This has made my life real hard. I wasn’t good at sports, and I don’t do crime, so I’m stuck feeling like a loser, and money is hard to come by. Unlike the jocks, I’m not dumb just because I’m too busy with other things. I’m legit not smart, and things people say don’t make sense. My parents took me in to get tested, see if I’m tarded, but I’m not. At least that’s not what I gleamed from the meeting. They never said I was tarded, she called me borderline intellectual functioning. And what that means is that I don’t understand what people say very well, and sometimes I say things multiple times because I can’t remember if I said it before. But then after saying it again, I’ll remember that I said it before, and I’ll be upset with myself about it, and then I’ll start to stammer and ramble because I’m just trying to figure out how to finish my thought without sounding like I don’t know what I’m talking about. And that’s funny because the stammering and the rambling end up making me sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s hard to explain to people what my thing is, because the thing is that when they think of people with mental disabilities, they think of someone, like, drooling over themselves and, ya know, like, swinging their arms around and stuff. That’s not what it is. That’s not me. That’s not what I do. Like I said, I’m not tarded. I just have trouble learning and remembering things. I want people to know that I do have a job and they gave me the job after I talked to people at this special center, but I got the job. I did get the job, and I earned it, and I’m very good at it. I actually found out about it from this kid I went to high school with. He was always really helpful and patient with me. His girlfriend had a kid when they were still in high school. He’s had a really hard life, and I feel really bad about it because I boned his girlfriend when we were in high school, and I never told him about it. Nobody else knows because she died later on and I don’t think she told anyone about it. I feel bad about it because he got me this job at this small business that sells custom clothes and other stuff. I get to fold the clothes and put the things we sell in boxes for customers around the world. The guy’s son sometimes sits in with us and he reads his school books to me because I don’t like to read myself and I’m not good at it. We’re a lot alike. We both like video games and he actually looks a lot like me. I’ve just walked into the diner where the other place his father works. He’s there working on his homework. I’m going to see if he wants to talk, though.

Perspective Sixteen

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Microstory 239: Perspective Fourteen

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Perspective Thirteen

I think I’m in love. No, that’s not right; I definitely am in love. My father’s friend comes into his diner all the time, and I get to watch her from afar as I pretend to do my homework. She’s absolutely stunning and perfect. My heart skips every beat when I see her. The way she looks at the menu every single day, even though she always gets the same thing. Country fried steak and eggs with a side of hash browns, and extra browns in place of the short stack of pancakes. And a coffee she takes black, like a badass. What an angel. My friends think I’m idiot for going after an older girl when there are plenty of girls my age who’ll go out with me. But those are all basic bitches. I need a woman who’s been there. I need a woman who has that experience. I need a woman who knows what’s up. Sure, she’s twice my age right now, and I get that she doesn’t have eyes for a fourteen year old, but it won’t be like that forever. Ain’t nobody gonna be complaining when I’m sixty, and she’s seventy-six. She’s just come into the diner like she normally does, but something is different. She’s dressed up more than usual, and she’s wearing a ton of makeup. I’m not into that. A woman is beautiful as she is, in her birthday suit. There must be some reason? Is she into my father? Is she trying to impress him? Gag. No, that can’t be it; she’s being just as dismissively polite to him as she always is. He’s so clueless. I love the guy, but he’s a dummy. I redirect my attention back to her and realize what’s happening. Another woman has just come in and they’re hugging. It’s like they haven’t seen each other for years, and their tight embrace lasts just a second too long. Great, now I actually have some competition. Who is this woman? She can’t give her what I can. I haven’t ever seen her before, so she must not be important. But still, she has to go.

Perspective Fifteen

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Microstory 238: Perspective Thirteen

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Perspective Twelve

I’m a single father. My girlfriend and I were still in high school when we found out that she was pregnant. I asked her several times who the real father was, but she refused to tell me. But then this angel was born, and in an instant, I had no interest in knowing who the father was. In fact, I told her that we needed to keep quiet about it. Everyone already assumed the child to be mine, and that’s exactly how I wanted it. I was a few years into parenthood before it really struck me how much I was taking away from the biological father who may or may have no clue. Life for us was a struggle, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. My son is the best guy I know, and I hate it that I’m depriving someone else of that, but what am I supposed to do? My girlfriend fell into the wrong crowd who gave her the wrong ideas, and after about a year, she left us. What if the father is one of them? If, hypothetically, he tried to take custody, he would most certainly win. I would be devastated, and worse, my son could be living in a crack den or something. After about another year, I learned that my ex-girlfriend had died of a drug overdose, and that was it. She had no chance for redemption, and the father’s identity died with her. As sick as it was to wish ill on someone, I was secretly relieved. She could have revealed the truth at any time and taken my boy from me. I couldn’t have that. My parents agreed to help me out by babysitting, but said they wouldn’t support me financially. They were not doing this to be mean; they just wanted me to live with the consequences of my actions. Though times were tough, I understand where they’re coming from, and I never faulted them for their position. I work two jobs, but fortunately, both of them let me bring my kid in after school when I need to. He’s taken to an old friend of mine from high school who is a regular customer, and I consider what it would be like for him to have a real mother. I’m not interested in her romantically, and she’s not into men anyway, but she’s just absolutely great with him. She’s come into the diner today to have lunch with a woman she used to be in love with. I think she may want to start something with her, which would be great for them, but it interferes with my fantasy life and that’s all I can think about. I need some professional help. Would it be a conflict of interest if I use the same therapist as my friend?

Perspective Fourteen

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Microstory 237: Perspective Twelve

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Perspective Eleven

I was extremely protective of my best friend as we were growing up. It was only when we were a little older that I realized I had romantic feelings for her. Our neck of the woods was actually pretty progressive, so I probably would have been okay coming out, but it wasn’t really anything people talked about. I kept my feelings to myself, but we both knew the truth; she possibly before I did. Our relationship was waning even before she moved out to the fancy schmancy west coast, and I always blamed myself. Subconsciously, I think I would act to sabotage all her relationships with men so that I could have her all to myself, and she ended up resenting me for it. We gradually grew apart and stopped talking to each other. She went far out of state to attend college, and just never came back. Fortunately, they invented that powerful social media site back in oh-four, and we were able to reconnect. We had both grown up by then and our thoughts and perspectives as little baby children babies seemed silly. But then something strange happened. On that social media site, I saw that she changed her status to “in a relationship”. And it was with a woman. I felt slighted. I felt angry. All those times she patiently rejected my weak advances were just because of me, not my genitals. Suddenly all those times I thought like she was talking behind my back, or when she’d blow me off for her boyfriend, became incredibly insulting. It was a pattern of behavior that I let go because of my unrequited love for her. We continued to “not talk about it” during our online conversations, but the hints she dropped about needing to “find herself” eventually mitigated my concerns. My therapist tells me that I need to encourage the side of me that has moved on from her. I’ve dated plenty of women since then, and just amicably ended a long-term relationship. I resolve to follow her advice, but then my friend messages me to say she has to fly back home to deal with her sick father. And she wants to have lunch. Great. What is this gonna do to my self-esteem?

Perspective Thirteen

Monday, January 18, 2016

Microstory 236: Perspective Eleven

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Perspective Ten

A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with angle closure glaucoma. As the doctor was prescribing medication, she apparently claimed that he would be better off treating his condition with marijuana. That’s great and all, except that this is a lie. It was relatively recently officially determined that cannabis is no more a productive treatment for his condition than other medications. Unfortunately, my father has a bit of tunnel vision; no pun intended. When you tell him something that he wants to hear, he latches onto it and blocks everything out, even if he’s interpreting the opposite of your intention. I can’t be sure exactly what happened during his conversation with the doctor, but I doubt she legitimately suggested he go this route. Before getting my Master of Business Administration, I earned a bachelor’s degree in biology. The pharmaceutical company I work for has particularly high standards when it comes to hiring their sales representatives. They aren’t just looking for a pretty face willing to seduce a client with ever-imminent promises to make a sale. We are required to actually know what we’re talking about, and to spend a great deal of business hours studying and understanding the products we’re selling. My superiors genuinely believe in our medical treatments, and are interested in making the world a better place, rather than just getting over that bottom line. I’m not saying that they’re saints, but we pride ourselves in selling drugs that work to a certain degree, and have a limited number of side effects. I’ve tried explaining the truth about my father’s condition to him, but he won’t hear it. As far as I know, he’s never wanted to do recreational drugs before, but I get the feeling he just worried about getting in trouble. A lot of people will follow the rules just because they’re the rules, whether they’re likely to be caught or not. When they find a way around it, they take it. I’m not getting anywhere with him over the phone, so I’m flying clear across the country to have a talk with him back home. But first, lunch with an old friend.

Perspective Twelve