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Phone Call to Jerry

Written by Rogue Aristocrat

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Sometimes College Park is alive, fervent, luscious. Other times there isn't anything but Route One and its threadbare streets, construction a perfunctory impulse of the city. Today it is the latter. The sun bore down on my covered head, unnoticeable in the face of gusty January winds that did nothing but serve to dehydrate all carbon based life forms and freeze the living hell out of them. Trudging along the sidewalk would be an understatement for the medium of mobility I was partaking in. It was more of an abject crawl, only my hands were deemed useless by my brain, instructively, due to the blustery, frigid air.
Seasonal Affective Disorder was a definite possibility. I tried to recall how I felt during the warmer seasons but it was impossible. All memories of affective states were made obsolete by such a negative current one, exponentially so due to copious marijuana use, used in order to abate the onslaught of winter blues. To say it was a vicious cycle wouldn't be an understatement, it would completely whiff at the magnitude of depravity as a whole.
Thelonious is all I can bear right now. Anything else would be an obvious attempt at contacting emotions that were impossible to feel. And nothing is worse than when something you aspire for is shoved right in front of your face while your hands are tied behind your back. Epistrophy is perfect though. It is both melodious and melancholy, the only alliteration I could stomach while I crossed the walkway at the entrance to campus. Like the best of them you could tell Thelonious felt both happy and sad all the time. Nothing breeds creation like contrast.
Damn the Global Forecasting System. Damn it to hell. If it weren't so dry fifty-four hours out I wouldn't much care that I was about to get kicked to the curb by a pre-schooler. That is where I was headed. About a mile walk in the freezing cold just to hear a discursive, a manipulation of language that could parsimoniously be summed up in less than three or four sentences when you really boil it down. I knew it by the way she had asked me to lunch. Not once in the past three months has she asked me to get any fucking lunch. It was pretty obvious that this relationship was going towards the shitter at some point, regardless of its actual duration. I was in it for the fornication, fornication that I had never received on a regular basis up until this point, while she was in it for the cheap thrill of dating a boy older and smarter than her. Once that

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faded I was nothing but an inadequate dick who bored the living shit out of her. Her face was absolutely riddled with lassitude by the time we were through spending time with each other, especially if we had just had sex.
That's why the GFS is all I had at this point. I mean come on, let's be honest, the Canadian is out to lunch half the time and the NAM is perpetually wetter than Diane Lane when she got fucked near the stairwell in that horrible flick a decade or so back. I swear, if the process required in order to gain sex from women were that dependant on garish suave and how French you were I would just off myself right now, because at that point I would have literally nothing going for me. Intelligence has been out of style since the beginning of civilized humanity so all I have in this life is a quickly fading six pack and shady connections to pretty much whatever mind altering substance you desire. I guess that's why Mary Jane stayed around as long as she did. Thinking back on it I do see a correlation between time spent together and inquisitions made for painkillers. Now I just felt like an enabler.
Just as April in Paris came to its marvelous ending I came upon Pot Bellies.
I didn't want to. In fact, I absolutely did everything in my power not to, but I could not for the power vested in me keep my eyes down as I put my hand on the door handle. I looked into the shop and of course she was waiting for my look. I hate how this made it so much easier for her. Immediately she could now see the preparations I had made for dejection and despair, dispositional states which made her job that much more auspicious. If I hadn't put together the pieces and seen this coming than maybe I could have squeaked out a few more nights of horrible sex, all in the name of restricting dissonance over self actualization.
Wrapping my iPod up with its corresponding earphones I sat down across from her, eyes now kept down at the table, the reverse order of how I wanted things to go. Despite the awkwardness and the desire to not do what I was doing, my eyes stayed glued to the streaked wooden table.
"Don't you want to get something to eat?"
"I'm not really hungry," I said, finally looking up at her with the gaze of a wounded deer. "Ok yeah I'll get something." Inside my medium build is a dormant fat-ass, an obese soul who just wants to shove food down his throat at extremely dense and rapid rates.
We didn't say much to each other in line. I kind of

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stood there looking around, acting like I was interested in things that I wouldn't have noticed even if I had dropped two hits. When it was my turn to order I overstayed my welcome to the point where the sandwich artist decided it was in her best interests to no longer force an affable performance.
"What did you do last night?" I decided to make it hard on her.
"Not too much. We all watched a movie."
"When Harry Met Sally?"
"No, Jessica was at home for the weekend."
"What a bitch."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. This meatball sub is phenomenal."
"Are you smacked?"
"No. Why?"
"I can never tell with you."
"Right," I took a prodigious bite into my sub. This was reeking a noxious odor of breakup. The fact that she invited me to my favorite place on Route One seals it now that I thought about it. She never gave two shits about my interests and predilections while we were dating. Not that Pot Bellies is really the pinnacle of any dining experience, but for College Park it was at least aesthetically charming. I guess it's kind of like being the tallest midget in the gnome factory.
"Hey look, I wanted to talk to you about something. It's kind of hard to talk about."
"What? Is your sub no good?" I said, muffled through chunks of meatball.
"No, it's not that, it's-"
"Excuse me! Excuse me - yeah. Her sub is not up to par."
"Bryan stop it. My sub is fine."
"Well you've barely touched it," I looked down at her sub, indicating my deep investment in the well being of her appetite.
"I'm not very hungry. Look-"
"Well if you don't want it I'll have it. Good food shouldn't go to waste," I reached down at her tray and went for the sub. Mary Jane stopped me before I could get it.
"No. Bryan, I'll eat it later. What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm just hungry."
"I thought you said you weren't - ok never mind. I want to talk to you about something. I think it would be-"
"Jeff! Yo Jeff! Hey man. What's going on?" I was waving frantically across towards the entrance...at Jeff.
"Rabitowitz. What's up dude?" A lanky man trotted over to the table. He was always running or jogging or trotting somewhere. Some Type A deal.
"Nothing much my man. Hangin' with my girl here. Have you met?" Mary Jane's face went pale, paler than it already was. Her smooth skin went into a stricture while her cold, unaware eyes went into a panic.
"I don't believe so. Jeff."
"Mary Jane," her hand went out for a limp, pathetic shake.
"Nice

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to meet you. Yo Rabitowitz, you started up on the revisions yet?"
"Nah man. We got 'till like March, right?"
"Yeah but if your results contained too many confounding variables you have to redo the experiment to get accurate data."
Despite the obvious distress I was causing Mary Jane all of this small talk was starting to wear down on me, even just the incipience of it.
"Eh, I'll figure it out."
"Ha ha ha. Ok man well take it easy. See you in class."
"Right on," I went back to my sandwich, completely oblivious to the implications made towards a serious conversation not but a minute ago.
A few moments went by. I thought I had won. Not that I necessarily wanted to stay in this relationship, but more that I didn't want it to end.
"Bryan, I'm breaking up with you."
"I know," I said through a mouthful of meatballs.
"What do you mean you know?"
"I mean I fucking know. What else would I mean by saying 'I know?' That I don't know? Why would anyone say 'I know' if they don't fucking know. That was rhetorical by the way," I said after a large bite.
"Ok, calm down. I'm sorry, but obviously you saw this coming then."
"No, I didn't see this coming. I saw this coming when you invited me to Pot Bellies for fucking sandwiches at noon on a Monday when normally you would avoid me in public during daylight hours."
"You're being really weird."
All I could see was plastic where there should have been a face, gray stones where there should have been eyes, and dry straw where there should have been hair. With three tons of blood flowing to my dick these dormant features weren't transformed, I realized, but more eradicated by the shadow of a raging hard on.
"Thee who unveils himself is deemed uncanny."
"Is that a joke?" She furrowed her brow.
"Am I laughing?"
"You know I wasn't going to say anything but since you're being such an asshole...I'm seeing someone else."
I cocked my head a bit to the side, "So you're cheating on me."
"No, I just started seeing someone."
"Have you had sex with him?"
"No," she said coldly.
"Have you kissed him?"
"Yes."
"Then you fucking cheated on me," I threw down my sub. Meatball sauce splattered in a twelve inch radius around the sub, barely avoiding both Mary Jane and I.
"Could you please stop cursing so loudly?" she hissed, peering about nervously.
"If I had realized you were so puritanical than I probably would have never shoved my penis inside of you. Oh wait,

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that's right. You're an adulterer. That makes you a hypocrite then."
"You are being repulsive."
"I bask in the glory of flagrancy," I pumped my fist in the air. I was being absurd and enjoying every single millisecond of it. "So when did you meet this asshole?" I drifted back towards indifference and began eating my sub again.
"Like a month ago," she said with forced disdain.
I picked up her sandwich and took a large bite, "Where?"
"At your New Year's party."
I stopped chewing for a moment and furrowed my brow as I met her apprehensive gaze, "So you're telling me that you met the guy that you cheated on me with at my party? You had the audacity to hook up with some dude the same night that you ended up sleeping in my bed? Let's put it out in the open. I am a horrible lover. But by no means does that give you the right to whore yourself around right under my big Jewish nose. Who is it?"
"Why do you care? It's not like you have many constructive things to say about the current situation."
"Who is it?"
"Alex."
"What do I look like, a rolodex? Who is Alex?"
"Martin's friend. Alex."
My eyes widened and I swear my pupils dilated three times their current diameter. Alex? What a sleaze. Alex was the type of guy who could eat his way out of a forty-foot deep cheese enclave. Not to mention he didn't know what the word reticent meant, much less the execution of such. He could talk your ear off for a decade and you still wouldn't have taken anything remotely worthwhile from the conversation. And that smile, that big, stupid smile that he wore like an amulet plastered across his chubby face. I swear, I'm all about good intentions, but this guy is beyond the continuum of such. He's a pest through and through.
"Alex? That's a joke right?" You're leaving me for Alex?"
"Bryan don't-"
"No, no. I've heard enough."
I picked up my tray and walked out without saying good-bye. What a load of garbage. I could have hooked up with Ashley Bradford that night. She was all over me in my room, practically grinding her ass on my lap. Of course I made some incoherent excuse about having to attend to my guests at the party, when really I was only serving to unknowingly hassle the progression of Mary Jane and Alex's sprouting relationship.
Yet in spite of the now even colder air moving in across College Park, I felt better than I had in weeks, months even. My step was lively, as if I had to be someplace. Electricity ran through my veins,

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and once I located its source I began to make pontifications as to the cause of such vibrance.
It was visceral. I was visceral, more like it.
That's when it hit me. That's when the idea spawned, an idea that would manifest itself as the most turbulent, frightening, spectral, euphoric two days of my life. I flipped my cell phone open as I jogged back towards my apartment.
"Hello?" I heard his high, smooth voice out of the receiver.
"Jerry?"
"Yeah, what's up man?" He sounded a little jittery.
"My soul is officially emptied."
"I hate to hear it brother but I'm in a bad way right now. They got me counting I suspect."
"Come stay with me. I need your help."
"Sure. What's the situation?"
"I need to go on a quest and you need to be my leader. I need to become visceral."
"Like get in touch with your Id?"
"Exactly!"
"Sounds like you're chasing the American Dream."
"No, no. That was all nonsense, an excuse for hedonistic binging. What do I look like, Hunter S. Thompson? This is real. I want expressive abilities, real ones, not concocted or filtered to stay congruent with my past. My past is all shit. It's all formulaic."
"Hell yeah brother. Let's find your paint stroke and make a Mona Lisa."
"Or a Red Tower or something. I'm probably more of a surrealist."
"Whatever man. When can I come over? I'm in a bad way."
"Now. Come over right now," I hung up the phone.


Keywords: Phone, Call, Jeeey, visceral, Bryan

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Feedback (1)

Hello good day, i will like to meet you in
person, am miss Anna, am from France and am
leaving in London, please contact me on my email
id at (annh1brown@hotmail.com), for more
information about me. because i have some
important thing i will like to discuss with you
privately. Hope to hear from you soon. Anna,
thanks