For You To Notice Me
Brian Look
It had been three days since his twenty-second birthday. Half empty bottles of
Coronas were still haphazardly scattered throughout the room, and the lime wedges
inside of them were beginning to go rancid. He sat on his couch--which reeked of
Febreeze-- his eyes fixated on the walls of his empty apartment.
Where am I? What happened here? What day is it? The questions flashed through
his mind as he tried to regain a sliver of composure.
Still hangover afflicted, his attempts to pull himself up off of the leather cushions
proved difficult, but he finally managed to escape his prison. He sluggishly trudged to
the kitchenette counter to retrieve his messages.
“You have seventeen new messages,” the automated voiced droned.
“Message one. “
“Hey, where were you today?”
“Message two.”
“Hello? Why aren’t you picking up? This was the tenth day in a row that you’ve
missed work.”
The messages continued. Most of them had recorded the click of the phone on the
other line hanging up. The rest were all from the same woman, her genteel voice trying to
find his whereabouts.
“Message fifteen.”
“Where were you today?”
He played the messages over and over again; hearing her voice always managed to
pique his interest. He shifted his attention to the nearby refrigerator door. The small sheet
of glossy paper tacked onto the refrigerator portraying a woman with silky brown hair
that shone in the light. It was hardly a substitute, but he couldn’t turn away.
He slowly stumbled to his bedroom. Everything was a mess; sheets lay twisted and
furrowed near the foot of the bed. Clothes were thrown all over the carpet. He threw on a
wrinkled gray shirt, brushed his dirty blonde hair with his fingers, and put on his pair of
thick-framed black glasses.
“Should I even bother going in to work today? God, it’s not like it matters
anymore,” he told himself.
On the way out, he tripped on the pile of dusty psychology textbooks that he had
carelessly left near the door. The books served as a constant reminder of his decision
never to return to class again.
“Stupid fuck books,” he mumbled as he slammed the door of his apartment and
walked towards the elevator.
*
*
*
“Do you have any idea of how many days you’ve missed in the past month? Do you
still want to work here or not?” the annoyed brunette asked me.
He sat there with a blank look on his face twiddling his thumbs. His mind was
obviously somewhere else. His response was an apathetic “I don’t know”.
“Damn it! I don’t know why I even tried to give you another chance! You’re so
useless.” she said.
He sighed. “No, I guess I don’t want to work here anymore.”
“Bye, I’ll mi” He choked his words back as he realized that she had started to walk
away.
Removing the forest green apron provided temporary comfort and created the
illusion of direction in his life. He took one last glance as he pushed the glass door that
opened a path that led away from the life he detested so much.
*
*
*
“And after young adulthood, humans will emerge with either a sense of intimacy
or isolation entering Erikson’s seventh stage of life,” the professor said.
He sat there diligently taking notes of everything from the teacher’s lecture. He
was proud of the A he was earning in the class. Psychology sparked his mind because it
helped solve his own problems. A month after quitting his job, his utilities were shut off
in his apartment. He sold his car and everything else in the apartment of any worth. The
psychology textbooks were the only thing he had left. With nothing but a half-empty
bottle of raspberry flavored vodka and his dusty pile of textbooks, he found himself
reading the books from cover to cover. The vodka soon ran out, but his interest in
psychology remained bountiful.
Walking back to his apartment, he entertained the thought of the future he wanted.
Life had finally managed to regain some meaning, but there was still one thing that he
longed for.
“Maybe now I stand a chance of being with her again Hopefully,” he muttered.
With that, he turned around and headed towards the coffee shop he had never
intended to frequent again. His heartbeat increased and his hands began shaking like a
bartender preparing a martini. Soon those agitated hands were pulling open the glass
door.
The evening shift was almost over. He saw her there with her long brown hair and
just stared for a moment. Just as he had finally mustered up the courage to go and speak
to her, he noticed a man with shaggy, unkempt, black hair leaning in to kiss her. Their
lips together told him that he had been caught up in his idealistic future. He stepped up to
the counter as the man moved off to the side.
“Can I get a tall Mocha Frappuccino?”