Johnny Wraith Stories

He reclined. She curled her hair behind an ear, straightened her glasses, and listened.

“You know, I can see the end of my life now. It isn’t like it was before. I mean TIME – it used to all be ahead of me, and now – now so much of it has passed. NOW, I remember more years of my life than I think I have left in the future.”

“You feel like you’re getting old?”

“I AM getting old.”

“42 isn’t so old. You’re in good health, have a great job…”

“I know, I know… but it isn’t how much longer I’ll live that’s important. I might have 40 more years left, health-wise, but they won’t be GOOD years. The GOOD years have passed. That’s what I mean.”

“And what are GOOD years?”

“Let me start by telling you what BAD years are. BAD years are the years I’m living now. I have a house with a mortgage, live in a nice neighborhood, have money in the bank, a wife, kids, dog, cat, a fish tank, two cars. But all this is death, stagnation, nothingness. I’m not ALIVE anymore. That’s why these years are my BAD years. The GOOD ones are gone.”

“Give me an example?”

“Alright. Alright. Right now. The thing that worries me most is my next dentist visit. Will I have a good review or a bad one? This occupies me. So, each morning I wake up and floss my teeth twice, then I brush for ten minutes, making sure I massage the gum-line, then I rinse, spit, repeat, rinse. I do the same thing at night too, and at midday, and after any snacks. I don’t eat any sugar or drink pop. In the back of my mind, I’m always thinking: will I have any pockets in my gums next checkup? Will I have any cavities? What age will I be when I finally need dentures? Will I live that long?”

“You’re going to have to help me understand. What, exactly, does your obsession with your dental hygiene have to do with these years being BAD years?”

“That’s just it. If my greatest obsession is my daily flossing and brushing, what do I have? NOTHING. I just wish I had something else in my life. Something meaningful.”

“Your job and your family? Your wife? Family trips? The things you just listed. How can all of this be NOTHING? For instance, last time you were here, you told me that you did a lot of important things at work that really affected the bottom line. That is meaningful.”

“It isn’t meaningful. Work is just a place to be every morning to evening on weekdays. My wife and I haven’t slept in the same bed for years. All she does is nag me when I drink. And the kids… All I am to them is a chauffer and a petty cash dispenser. I’d rather be at work than home. And what I do at work really isn’t important to me.”

“It is common for men your age, with families in the suburbs, to feel the way you do. Many of these men are my clients. They usually become workaholics as a means of coping. But this isn’t your answer. Why not?”

“It isn’t an adventure. It doesn’t give me hope to sit at a desk, shoving papers back and forth, writing emails, talking on the telephone, wearing a tie, taking a lunch break day after day… It never changes. I don’t really matter. I’m just part of a big, spinning and turning machine. It sucks me dry. It makes me NOTHING. It gives me nothing – NOTHING but a paycheck, every two weeks. It feeds me, but that’s it. I can afford to eat, keep a house with a mortgage, support several ungrateful dependents, save a few dollars… But in the end, work really only gives me enough to keep on working, to keep on working and NOTHING else. I have NOTHING for me.”

“I think I’m starting to understand what you are saying. You have had enough of the RAT RACE and feel you can’t escape it.”

“That sure is an easy way to say it.”

“Let’s see. These are BAD YEARS because these are the RAT RACE YEARS. When you were younger, and weren’t part of the RAT RACE, you were living the GOOD YEARS.”

“You can say that.”

“What was it about the GOOD YEARS that made them so worthwhile?”

He stopped to think and stared at the ceiling for a while. Hands laced across his chest, he twiddled his thumbs.

“I still had hope,” he whispered.

She leaned forward. “Hope? Hope for what?”

He unlocked his hands and opened them up, as if in supplication. “Something greater. Something profound. Something big waiting for me. Something that I would become.”

“Self-Actualization?”

“Shit. You make it all so mundane, so simple.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But now I see that Self-Actualization isn’t something you reach. It’s the getting-there part that matters. When I was young, I always knew it was coming – there was sometime in the future I’d find when I got there – so living day to day just happened with ease. I was on a journey to SOMEWHERE. I was happy. Now I’ve made it to my true destination: NOWHERE.”

“Are you saying that by living an illusion of greater-things-to-come, you once maintained your happiness?”

“Something like that. It was easy to believe my own lies when I was young. Now I’m old and the illusion – the hope – the falsehood is dispelled by the truth of my impending old age. Now I feel like I’ve arrived at the end, or close enough to it, so I just have to wait for the rest of my boring, meaningless life to play itself out, like a skipping record.”

“Don’t you have any hobbies?”

“I play computer games. My wife hates that.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really. Just work, driving the brats around, listening to my wife nag, going to family get-togethers that are a drag, to say the least. Crack a beer in front of the TV and all hell breaks loose, but that’s a story for some other time.”

“Don’t you have any friends?”

“I have one friend. He and I go to bars and get drunk a few times a month, on Saturdays. That really goes well at home, but it really is my only outlet. The only escape from the office and home. That, and seeing you for appointments. That’s important to me too.”

“Are you lonely?”

“Only for the days of old…”

“The GOOD DAYS?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about the GOOD DAYS. Tell me about one GOOD DAY.”

“Which one?”

“How would I know? You have to tell me.”

“True. But what day should I think of?”

“Just tell me about something that happened in your life, back in the GOOD DAYS. Tell me a story about a time in your life when you were happy. Any event that pops into your head. A good one.”

“Just anything?”

“Yes, just anything. Let your mind wander. Say whatever comes to mind.”

“You must have taken a course in Psychology,” he chuckled.

“More than one,” she winked, then waited.

“Okay then.” He pondered. Stared at the ceiling some more.

“I remember a time back in college when I woke up with a really bad hangover.”

“Go on.”

“Well, this girl named Peg came knocking on my bedroom door – my roommates must have let her in. It was about 1:30pm.

‘Your room stinks,’ she said. ‘I think it’s coming from the bathroom.’

‘That’s because I’m sick from the tequila. I have diarrhea, and my head hurts. I’ve been throwing up too,’ I told her.

‘Serves you well. You puked out the window of my mom’s caravan! You were just puking and puking all the way back. I thought your head was going to freeze. It was 20 degrees outside. For at least an hour, you just hung your head out the window, puking and puking.’

‘Do you think it took the enamel off my teeth?’

‘Probably.’

I felt my teeth with my tongue. Was my enamel damaged?

Peg sat on the bed and patted me on the bare chest. ‘I’m just glad you’re ok. But, I have to tell you that you are going to be paying for what you did.’

‘What did I do?’

‘Your puke took the paint off the side of my car!’

‘What!’

‘You drank a lot of tequila. I’m surprised you lived.’

‘I didn’t mean to drink it. Gary just handed me a clear plastic cup – with what looked like beer in it – and challenged me to a drinking match. He had a cup too. I thought it was beer. He told me it was beer!’

Peg laughed. ‘Didn’t you smell it?’

‘No. I just chugged it without thinking.’

We both laughed.

‘Hey, we didn’t finish what we started last night.’

‘What was that?’

‘Don’t be silly. You can’t remember?’

‘I…’

So she kicked off her shoes, peeled off her jeans and got in bed with me. I took off my underwear and she climbed on top. She’d been sucking peppermint Certs. She always had one in her mouth. I knew Peg was on the pill. It was the first time I ever came inside a girl. I can still remember how she rocked her hips back and forth, how the ends of her long hair tickled my chest. The smell of peppermint will never leave me.”

“Did you see more of her after that?”

“Yes, but we were just friends and stayed friends for many years. She had a boyfriend and ended up marrying him a few months later. He was away that weekend. We never told anyone what happened.”

“I see. But how did that experience equal a GOOD DAY?”

“Well. I was in the right place at the time. I felt good about life. I still remember just lying there, like I am now. Peg got out of bed, went to the bathroom, came back and pulled on her jeans. She kissed me on the forehead, giggled, and left me in my room, alone. I just remember how I felt all of life was still ahead of me, awaiting the right time to offer me laurels. And the smell of a girl was in my room. I had warm, soft blankets pulled up to my neck, and a throbbing headache.”

“And that was that? What did you do the rest of the day?”

“I was really sick, had diarrhea, and worried a lot.”

“Worried? About what?”

“About what Peg had said about the enamel on my teeth. I was worried about what throwing up the tequila had done to my teeth.”

“I thought you brought up the enamel?”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“So what did you do? Just worried the rest of the day?”

“That, and I brushed and I flossed about 10 times.”

“It sounds like your life hasn’t really changed. You’re just going to work now, instead of school.”

He inhaled, exhaled, latched his hands back together and stared up at the ceiling again. “Shit, you always have a way of seeing things… …I guess I’m just complaining.”

“I’m always willing to listen,” she said, looking over her glasses.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Things aren’t so bad.”

She took off her glasses and put them on the nightstand.

“Your time is almost up. Should we finish off with a bang?”

“That sounds good to me.”

“The usual?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. But I have a surprise,” she said. “It wasn’t planned, but it sure seems like it. Serendipity has its ways.”

She reached into her purse at the side of the bed. Out came a pack of peppermint Certs. She popped one in her mouth, then his. She tore open a condom and put it on him with her mouth. When he was hard, she mounted and rocked tightly and slowly. Long hair draped and tickled his chest with its ends. She didn’t kiss him once, but as he climaxed the smell of peppermint filled his nostrils.

They dressed. He opened his wallet, pulled out 10 crisp 20 dollar bills, and placed them in her open palm.

“Next week, same time?” she asked.

“See you then,” he said with a wink.

On the way home, he stopped at the grocer and bought a fifth of tequila, a new toothbrush, 100 yards of floss, and a package of peppermint Certs.