OTLRN 2 (BEGINNINGS)

I don't remember much about my childhood. Starting in my teenaged years, I was perpetually instructed to "live in the moment." I heeded this advice quite strongly, enough at least that a major portion of my past has simply vanished into the disarray that is my present. I'd love to be able to revisit my youth, to picture my parents happy with their son, to recall my first friends, to revel in the innocence that has so harshly been drained from my world. Alas, I am eluded by any experience of mine before my 14th birthday. While much else about my life at that time is muddied along with the rest of it, I remember that day quite vividly. Karaoke. Not real karaoke, even, more like a singalong of all my favorite songs. My dear mother tried her best, but money was never good, and I hadn't done much to be proud of so she certainly wasn't going to break the bank. It was incredible, though. My friends from school were all there, watching, as I belted Tom Petty lyrics into a wooden spoon while the cassette played along through our old, shitty speakers. 

That was the first time I felt it. It kept me up that night. I hadn't sung well—I still can't—but I'd been heard. More than that, more than anything, I'd been seen. I wasn't a remarkable kid. I couldn't do much of anything by way of putting myself out there. But for this one moment, people were watching me. Me. I had their full attention, and soon I couldn't bear to be without it. I had no marketable skills, an unremarkable intelligence, and a work ethic undeserving of stardom. But I had a dream to be seen by the world, and what I considered at the time to be the greatest luck of anyone dead or living.

My best friend in high school was this short, tubby kid, who was likeable, but not special (I'll call him Jake). I regret my friendship with Jake more than anything else I've ever done. I've done worse, far worse, but I take choosing Jake as my partner-in-crime to be my cruelest act. The truth is, I wanted to be friends with Jake from the moment I laid eyes on him. He had nothing to offer me, but rather was one of the few people who could make me, an unremarkable, look good by comparison. I know, it's awful. Despicable, really. My life has been a succession of horrendous decisions, yet this was not simply poor judgment. This was greed. In that moment, I embraced apathy, and the consequences of all my actions thereafter, even those taken in good faith, are irrevocably tied to my fateful decision: I would make myself stand out by befriending the ugliest motherfucker I could find. 

In the end, I believe we became true friends. Sadly, the joy I found in Jake paled in comparison to the joy I found in the eyes of those who gave us a second look as they passed by. It was a rush. And so it was that when I (fittingly) signed my life away to become a man beyond pity, I abandoned Jake, and with him, any chance I had at seeing heaven. I never got the chance to tell him how sorry I was, because I didn’t feel it. I was irredeemable. I say “I’m sorry” to you now, Jake, but I understand those words mean nothing. 

While Jake's is just the first of many apologies I plan on making over the course of my story, it is the most important. Jake was my hope. Before my bath had run dry, Jake was my plug. He let me soak in my world of peace, and when I’d had my fill, I pulled him out, never to be clean again.

FIN Pt. 2