The godfather of my children is dead. Time to start over.
Sorry for being so cold
But I have nothing to say to strangers about how it makes me feel. Its rough when the people affected most are the ones who others look to for strength.
The Mission
“It was a good fight, I was a man,” my brother says as he fidgets with the bandages around his hands and wrists. He continues to describe the scrap in detail. “I hit him pretty hard on the forehead, and I knew I hurt him because he pretended to ignore it. I tried to give him a swift kick to the crotch, but he raised his leg, and my knee connected with his shin. I was still recovering from the pain, when he hit me in the jaw. I hate it when people fight dirty. Stupid fuck.”
My brother was never a fighter, so I find this story very surprising. He was only in one fight in his life, and apparently that was before I was born. What did this guy do? What could possibly provoke Suaiguh to violence?
“So he hit me in the jaw, and I lost my balance and hit my head or something, there’s no way that pansy knocked me out. I woke up with a circle of heads above me and-”
“Hey, whats your name?” a guy sitting behind us says.
“George Patterson,” Suaiguh responds.
“Hey, George Patterson, shut the fuck up. If you want to chitchat, go to Starbucks. Actually, I don’t give a fuck where you go, but if you want to talk, get the fuck out of this lecture hall.”
“I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again, it’s just that my little brother is-”
“Shut the fuck up. Now.”
“Sorry.”
My brother turns back forward, and looked at me sternly. We sit through the lecture in silence. His notes are empty, except for:
“Today 4:30 science building. Find her don’t be a pussy.”
What does that mean? Who is this girl?
“See, that’s what I get for bringing my kid brother to college. You can’t go a single class without getting me in trouble huh?” he says as we leave.
I look down at the ground. I got my brother in trouble. I feel so bad.
“Whatever, don’t worry about it. It’s partly my fault too.” He leans against a wall and watches people pass by.
I ask, “What was that thing in your notes, Suaiguh?”
He frowns. “Don’t call me that, you’re such a kid.”
He used to demand that I called him that. It meant something like Mr. Suave in Chinese or something. He used to be so proud that he thought up that nickname. He’s changed so much.
“What happens at 4:30? Who is the girl?” I ask again.
He unfastens the clip on his bandages and unwraps his hand.
“Let’s go” he says, and starts walking. I struggle to keep up. I watch him reposition the bandage, and start wrapping again. I don’t know why he wore them around his knuckles and wrists, it looked like all the cuts were on his palms. He finishes, and clips the bandages tight.
“That’s Brian,” he says, pointing. “He’s one of my best friends. He’s such a party animal; he practically goes to every party on campus. Hey Brian! Brian!”
Brian is the one texting on his phone. He has bad eyesight; you can tell. That’s why he has to focus so hard on reading his phone, and also why he didn’t recognize my brother when he looked up.
“Hey,” my brother says, and grabs Brian’s arm.
“Oh… hey George,” he says and smiles. Except it wasn’t a happy smile; it was more like a conveyance of teeth than of happiness. “Who is your friend?”
“This is my kid brother. He’s 11. My mom has to go on a trip, so I have to babysit.” My brother is lying, but he doesn’t know it. Mom doesn’t have a trip. She just thinks that if I’m around, he will stay out of trouble for a couple days.
“Oh, cool. Listen I gotta run to class,” Brian says.
“Nah, you’ve got a few minutes before you have to go,” my brother says. He asks about upcoming parties, of which Brian knows none. I stand silently.
“Remember at that one party where I was standing on that table? And it broke? How funny was that?” my brother says.
Brian pauses for a moment, and responds “Dude, that wasn’t cool. Why do you always have to be like that?”
Suaiguh stares at his hands and rubs the bandages with his fingers.
“What was going through your mind yesterday? Why did you start that fight?” Brian asks.
Suaiguh still says nothing.
“What were you trying to prove?”
Nothing.
“Well it was nice talking to you.” Brian says and turns to leave.
“Call me if some party comes up!” My brother waved. Brian didn’t answer.
We walk again, this time, faster. Suaiguh checks his digital watch and presses the alarm key a few times. The display flashes between the current time and 4:30.
“What happens at 4:30?” I ask.
“I have to find Valerie.” He responds.
“What happens when you find her?”
“I’m going to solve my life.”
I know he won’t explain, so I don’t bother. Now when we walk, Suaiguh is in front and I follow. Every time I try to catch up, he walks faster. I follow him into a building, into a classroom, and into a seat.
It’s a psychology or social or behavior or something. The teaching assistant passes out questionnaires to everyone. She smiles at me and hands me one too. I smile back. The questions were interesting: “What is important to you? How would you describe yourself? What’s your favorite trait? Proudest achievement?” This is so much fun. I write about my fifth place finish in the chess tournament, and my storytelling ability, and my friends, and my family, and my brother. I really hope they will read it to the class. The assistant collects them, and this time I smile first.
I look to my brother’s desk, and the worksheet is untouched. He is holding his jaw on his hands, elbows on the table. The assistant walks up to his desk and waits for him to hand it in.
“George?” she says. He does not move. She inches her hand closer to the paper, and starts to pick it up, but hesitates. His eyes stare off into space without acknowledging her presence. She slowly slides the paper off of the desk. Suaiguh still sits unsmiling.
They don’t read them out loud. Instead they talk about some kai test and the different values of P square or something. I sleep.
Suaiguh is standing above me. “Class is over.”
On his face, a cut on his right cheek links his cheekbone and ear. It’s surrounded by a bruise, and the stitches are fresh.
“Does your face still hurt?” I ask. He never answers me. It’s not worth trying to figure out anything in his life.
His watch starts beeping.
4:30
“Fuck, lets go,” he grunts, and darts out of the room.
I’m sprinting to keep up. I’ve lost him. I’m scared. What do I do? I keep running.
Four blocks down, I see him. He’s walking towards a group of girls. I can’t miss this. I obscure myself behind a trash can.
“Excuse me, Valerie?” he says. One of the girls turns around; her posse follows suit.
“I have something to tell you,” he continues. One of her eyebrows fires upwards. “This guy said he fucked you.” Her other eyebrow follows suit.
“And I knew that you would never do such a thing, that you’re a good girl.” She opens her mouth to speak, but Suaiguh cut her off.
“So I told him to take it back.” She tries to utter a syllable, but was cut off again. “Just hear me out. He didn’t, so I punched him in the face.” Valerie’s eyebrows furl downwards, and her lips tighten up. “And we got in this fight and-”
“Are you talking about my boyfriend?” This time Valerie is the interjector. She is staring him in disbelief, waiting for a response. My brother gives none. Moments pass. Valerie’s hands are on her hips, her neck cocked forward. George kneaded the palm of his hand with his thumb. Neither of them knew what to do next.
“We have to go,” Valerie says, signaling her friends to leave.
I walk out from behind my sanctuary, and up to my brother. He’s still rubbing his hands. He pants uneasily, as though each breath requires concentration.
He unfastens the clip on his bandages, then on the other hand. His hands fall to his sides. The cloth refused to ceremoniously fall to the floor, so he tries violently to tear them off. They did not rip, so he messily unravels them, and leaves them on the floor. I follow him home without a word.
I don’t speak to him for the rest of the day. I sleep early.
At some point, he checks to make sure I’m asleep, and I pretend.
I sneak out and see him in the living room. He’s sobbing, and petting his dog, but he smiles through the tears.
“Today I talked to my girlfriend Valerie. She was really happy to see me. Its her birthday soon, she said she wanted daisies. I can’t wait to buy her daisies.”
Authentic
undergoing extensive drafting.
Deadly
I was walking down Comm Ave the other day, and i walked past this girl. She epitomizes the differences between conventional beauty and what Craig thinks is beauty. She had the standard jet black hair, black eyes and paleness that we all know I love so much, but she was also very exotic looking.
Anyways, I walk past her and I think to myself, “Wow this girl is quite well put-together. When I’m 3 feet from her, she notices me looking, and glances up at me with her fierce black eyes, and exhales a cloud of smoke.
I’m going to marry this woman someday. Just you watch.
Sorry, but
Many people have accosted me on some odd morning or afternoon. “HEY CRAIG, WHATS UP?”
I don’t remember you. “Hey… where do I know you from?”
“That party! You were the guy talking about the limits of structure in music!”
I often do explain the limits of structure in music, so I’m sure she has the right person.
I lie. “Sorry, I must have been drunk or something.”
Sometimes they respond, “Haha Craig! you’re such a partier.” Other times, they get offended like I’m a bad person. Sometimes they say, “Its rude not to remember people’s names, you need to work on that.” Sometimes they smile. Usually they don’t.
I practice my telepathic powers, straining to send a fax to their mind. “Its rude to expect people to remember you when you aren’t that interesting. You’re a carbon copy of every other ditzbag that I forget at parties.”
I smile, and say “Yeah, I’ll work on it. Whats you’re name?”
I’ve become pretty adept at feigning sincerity.
Pyramids
A pharaohs life’s work was to design what he would be buried in. He spent his whole life ordering slaves and architects to create a tomb.
I guess I’m very similar. However, I hope that when people remember me for my life’s work, they don’t remember something as petty and superficial as when they remember the pharaohs.
happy
the last few posts are incredibly dark. i just thought they would be fun to write.
as for the poem, i dont think that way about that person. and yes, there is that person. she’s pretty wonderful nonetheless.
i’ve never killed a man before? so i guess that explains the short story
i’m happy dont worry. i’m writing this just for fun.
A Maxim, Revisited
I’m interest, not invested, but if I get interest on my investment, then its going to be compounded. continually. or something.
The last part is kinda awkward. I think its just because I’m doing IRR and discount rate calculations in Management.
Realization
Going to college has shown me how little i care about my “close” friends, and how much i care about my random acquaintances.
