A brief story of tragedy
The cold light of the waiting room was piercing. I fumbled with my keys in my pocket. It had been hours. There was a line at the door. I was awaiting news. It only took something simple like this to get worked up.
I had about $100 left to my name. I’d spent the rest of my money just to get to this point, to stand here waiting in line. Now I didn’t know what the outcome would be when I got what I wanted. The blue lights became harsher the longer I stood in line.
Being a very masculine man is difficult. I’m a very, very tough guy who remains emotionally unavailable to the women in my life. The way I treat women is reflected in my favorite books, in which tough guys don’t give anything to the women who give them everything. Have you read “A Farewell To Arms?” I don’t give a shit.
Finally, I find myself at the front of the line. I hand the last money to my name to the cashier. He takes it, unaffected by my visibly exhausted and sweaty face. I take my receipt and my book. I cradle it in my arms as I exit the building.
Before I’m out the door, I read the cover of the book. It reads: “Metaphysics, Version One.” The impassive blue book becomes white hot, as it suddenly occurs to me that I needed version two. I check my person for my receipt. It is missing. I walk to a garbage bin. I set the blue book inside and zip up my jacket. I pause for only a minute, and walk into the cold, rainy night. Before long, my figure has blended into the crowd.
Written by: Aaron Levins — adlevins@ucdavis.edu
(This article is humor and/or satire, and its content is purely fictional. The story and the names of “sources” are fictionalized.)
