Arrogant Jerk

I am angry. I am frustrated. I am my own downfall. I want to throw things. I want to scream at the smiling faces around me. The kids head banging to the shitty “rock” music they feel the need to listen to. A group of children on stage. Screaming of their losses. Of their parents giving them shit. Their friends their saviors. Why do these stupid children sing of this? This is not music. I am desperate. I am dark and hidden. I smile and laugh with them like I understand. Like I feel what they feel. Like I know. Taking drags of my cigarette. I do not smoke because I like to. I don’t do it to fit in with the other fast food rejects around me. I smoke so I have something to occupy my hands. Nothing more embarrassing then sitting there messing with your fingers. With napkins. With your hair. When there’s a cigarette there. You don’t need to touch anyone or anything. You are alone with your cigarette. I take another drag. To assure myself it’s still there. The music stops. Silence. This had to happen eventually. Such silence from so many people. Humans are not quiet beings. Then applause. I knew it couldn’t last. Someone touches my shoulder. Warm breathe against the nape of my neck. “Your up” How great. How magical. My turn to bond with these children. My turn to wail of my losses. Of my dead parents. Of my mother’s abuse. “Mommy never loved me. Daddy never loved me.” I am pathetic. But it’s okay. Because so are the children sobbing at my feet. The children throwing their bodies wildly around the room. Crashing into one another. Not thinking of the physical pain. Not even thinking of their inner pain. Not thinking at all. This isn’t about thinking. It’s about the feeling. Your inner animal like need to destroy.

My throat hurts, This is a bad night. I’m not feeling it. I simply am doing. Just going through the motions. They don’t know though. To drunk off of the emotions they think they feel. These foolish children rejecting the lives they know they’ll eventually end up with. They don’t know I don’t want to be here. They don’t care. They want their fix. It’s about them getting off. My needs don’t matter. I am simply a music prostitute. Up here selling myself. Selling my soul. Giving them the release they so desperately crave. Then it’s over. I don’t hear the cheers and hollers as I leave the stage. I do not hear my band mates shouts of joy. They think they have glory. They think this is the life. This is not life. I do not know those children. Nor do they know me. If I was a beggar on the corner talking of my problems. They would dismiss me. I would be a foolish old man. But because I dress the way they do. Because I stand on a stage. Because there is music behind my words. They listen. Not to me. To themselves. I am them. I am what they could be. What they think they could be. When they hear my words they do not think of me. They do not pity me. They pity themselves. Woe is them. It’s better that way. I sit back down. Not knowing where I am. Not caring. I lift my hand to my lips. No cigarette. How embarrassing. I search my pockets. My endless supply of cigarettes is gone. I curse the word endless. I have an end. We have an end. Everything ends. Who made up the word endless? Such a dumb word. Such a dumb person. There is no endless. Endless is like forever. Humans do not understand these words. They say them without knowing. Without understanding. We are a dumb creature. I feel hands on me. Exploring my body. Touching me. I ignore them. Just another person wanting to use me to glorify their name. I do not believe in glory. They shouldn’t either. Yet here is another glory hungry girl. Thinking if she can arouse me. I can help her succeed. She is stupid. Her hands rub my skin. They tug my clothes. I stand. She thinks she has me. I’m hers. My glory is now hers. I push past her. Her fingers grip my clothing. Stupid girl. Finally realizing I am not coming back she releases me. And with that I drift away. Floating between people. Our beings never making contact. It’s as if I’m not there. These people live with my ghost. Fingers grip my arm. Tight. This is not a groupie. Nor is it a fan. it’s a fellow being. “Hey buddy. Where are you heading off to” Glen’s smiling face stares at me. His eyes glazed from the booze he’s been guzzling all day. I am not surprised. I not shocked. “I’m heading out.” I grumble. I am barely here. “Man, The fun is just beginning. There are sexy girls, booze, fans, and girls!!” He bumps me. As if this contact will convince me. He is a different person now. He is not the sweet smiling guitar player he is when he’s sober. Fans think they know him. They know his middle name. His age. His height. Therefore they know him. They understand him. They don’t know shit. Here he stands before me. A completely different person. I turn away. Not even bothering to respond. I am the depressed singer. I am the brooding one. The one the girls want to change. They want to help me. They know my middle name. They know my age. My weight. They know me. I am the same all around me. I used to try to be a big rock star. I used to be like Glen. Drinking and hanging onto the pretty girls. Clutching them like they were my saviors. At the time I believed they were. You believe a lot of dumb things when you’re young. Now here I am. Leaving everything I fought so hard to achieve. It’s like I’m not even trying anymore. I leave through a conveniently placed backdoor. Must be for unwilling people like me. The door slams behind me. Sealing me out. Sealing them in. I am no longer a part of them. I am my own little being. It’s better this way. I am my own center. The air is chilled. Wind blowing. There are children outside the gates. They see me. God. They see me. My name is yelled from a hundred different directions. Why? Why are they still here? I sigh. I am them. This is part of what I wanted. I put on a fake smile. I laugh. Little clouds of air burst from my mouth. They’re girls. Most of them. They’re young. “You came out here just for me?” I yell to them as if they were old friends. The crowd nods as one. How marvelous. They all think they’re so unique. They all think I’m going to notice them. I am too old for them Yet they hope and pray I’m going to notice them and fall in love with them. I grab hands. I scoot close to them wrapping my arms around them as they’re friends snap a picture. They are no better than the groupies. They huddle out here to achieve glory. It has to be at least 1am. Where are the parents? Where are the people taking care of them? I sign endless papers and posters. Even a few tits. A few stomachs. Arms. I am sick of seeing my name. My own signature now repulses me. I pull away. I begin to depart. My name is yelled by the few I did not reach. The ones who have pictures of me signing things for others. Who are not them. One’s who did not achieve the glory. I am a disappointment. I am 6 foot 5 inches. Of failed dreams. How mesmerizing. How engaging. I crave to be short. To be a mere 5 foot 6. Humans crave what we do not have. My gangly body sways in the wind. I feel like a leaf. Clinging to the tree. I love metaphors. They’re only point is so you will understand what I’m feeling. I could easily say I feel sick inside. Is that a metaphor too? I’m not sure. I was never good at English. I am a musician. Therefore. I am a high school dropout. There’s your lesson children. If you want to be famous. Drop out of school. The teachers are full of bullshit. How nice. Another rock star who hated school. I am every cliché. I am every written book and spoken word. I am a recycled singer from the sixties. How thrilling. I am Toby Wheeler. I am your friendly everyday troubled singer. I am a punk rock star. I am pathetic. These labels that flash throughout the magazines you children cling to these days. They make me what I am. I am only what you see me as. They call me an arrogant jerk. You start hearing my words of how pathetic you lot are. What is your first thought? What an arrogant jerk! How embarrassing.

I stumble to the bus. My feet dragging through the muddy ground. My new shoes now filthy. What a shame. I throw myself against the bus. As if this will change me. As if dislocating my shoulder will cure my arrogance. And then it does. I take a few steps back and hurl myself harder against the bus. Slamming my head against the sides as hard as I can. My vision blurs. Lights flash. I am an arrogant jerk. I take another step back. My body swaying dramatically back and forth. I can barely see. I can barely hear. I take a few more steps back. The bus just a blur. Maybe just one more step. I steady myself. Staring intently at the bus. “I am an arrogant jerk.” I say it out loud. As if confirming it. I feel the wind run through my hair. I must look a mess. I thought as I ran headfirst toward the bus. I didn’t brace myself. I did not close my eyes. My frail body slammed hard into the metal sides. I heard my shoulder crack. I felt my bone shatter. Blood ran down my forehead. “I am…” I couldn’t even finish. My head pounded. I dropped to the muddy ground. A loud splattering noise broke the air as I dropped pathetically into a puddle. My body ached. I was no longer arrogant. I was nothing. I was complete. This was true love. I wiped the blood from my head. When people are scared, cold, or injured they automatically curl up. I was none of those. I am not injured. I am not broken. I am complete. I laid flat on my back. Spreading my limbs. I felt my body relaxing. This is the perfection people spend their whole lives looking for. I hear footsteps. No not footsteps. Splashes. The puddles around me are conversing. They’re telling of how I cured my arrogance. I start to giggle. I am a legend. This is glory. I stole my own glory. Giggling turns to laughter. Soft at first then more hysterical. “What the hell? Toby!? Toby are you okay?” I want to say. I’m fine. I am perfect. What an arrogant thing to say I whisper in my head. Then I stop laughing. I don’t smile. My shoulder throbs and I curl up. I did not cure arrogance. And I am injured. I am broken. I am not perfect. I began to weep. I feel hands grip me. Lift me. Hold me. I wince. Freedom has its cost. I had freedom. I lost freedom. Here I am being hoisted from a mud puddle by a man I used to love. I call him J. Nothing else seems to fit. Not even his real name. I don’t even remember his real name. I stare at him. His soft features contorted as he strained to lift me. I am not heavy. I am like a bird. My bones are hollow. But I’m heavy when I try to be. I stand. He thinks he’s won. They always think they’ve won when I stand. I was arrogant. I was stubborn. The second his hands let go of me. I drop again. Not out of weakness. I wanted him to see me fall. I wanted him to see me without him. I wanted him to lift me up again. So I could wrap my arms around him. Tell him I love him. I want him back. But he did not lift me. He did not touch me. He sighed and walked away. He knew this game. He did not want to play. I wasn’t sure if I did either. I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. The only good thing about being that close to another human being is being able to reach in their pockets. To explore them. Find the things they think are important enough to have attached to their bodies. I am a headache. I am that nagging pressure you feel in your stomach when you need to empty your bladder. There is only one cigarette in the pack. What a waste. I pull a lighter from my pocket and light the lone cigarette. I wish I could be outside my body. I wish I could stand a few feet from me and see the orange dot glowing in the dark. I wish I could walk by me and shake my head. Whisper things to the person beside me. Feel sorry for me. I lay there. With my cigarette. This was perfect. I slowly stand up. My bones cracking. Screaming at me. The blood rushing to my head causing it to throb. My own body attacking me. My own body cursing me. I slowly inhaled the nicotine into my lungs. The flame growing brighter then dying out a little. I barely opened my mouth. The smoke seeping out. Poisoning the world around me. I was the smoke. I was the harsh leftover that hurt the people around me. My hands felt cold. My body felt warm. It was like a small civil war. I pondered who would win. Then silently decided it would be my hands. My body was not strong enough to defeat anything. I could see the outlines of people walking ahead of me. These people. These ghosts. They knew me? I knew them? Life’s not that simple. I spin in a circle. Maybe they’ll forgive me. Maybe they all will. Maybe he will. I sigh as I get closer to the shadows. I know them. I do know these shadows. Percy smiles at me. But its fake. We humans smile on impulse. I stare at him. He stops smiling. This is different. We know it is. I sigh throwing my used cigarette to the ground.

“Hey man. You got a smoke?” He nods. Not bothering to look at me. He pulls out a pack. “These things’ll kill you.” I laugh. I laugh a truly sincere laugh. Because I think what he said is funny. He laughs softly. He doesn’t understand but lord knows he wants to. I light the cigarette. “Not the worst way to die.” He nods. I’m not sure if he really understands. I’m not sure if I care. J stood next to Percy. His hair blowing in the wind. I look at him for a quick second. He’s watching me. My stomach does flips. I run my fingers through my hair and look around. When I pull my hand back its covered in blood. I completely forgot. I run my hands through my hair over and over. Its sticky with blood. Percy takes a step back. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to you?” Percy is scared. His face a clear picture of his fright. J’s face is completely blank. He’s used to this. He’s used to me covered in my own blood. This is a re run. He’s seen this all before. I shake my head. “I fell” I bend down rinsing my hands in a puddle. I run my fingers through my hair a few more times trying to get the blood off but it doesn’t help. More blood gushes from my head. I can feel myself getting dizzy. Growing weak. But I stand. The world is spinning. I take another drag from my cigarette. Its flame growing. I stumble backwards a few feet.

Percy grabs my arm. “Youuu neeedd toooo gooo tooo aaaa ddooccctorrr mannn.” His voice is slurred. He talks too slow. Like a tape slowed down. Why was he talking that way? I wearily shake my head. “No!” I pull my arm from him. He grabs me again. Holding me tighter. Only it’s not him. it’s a shadow. it’s the shadows that were in the hospital. I yell. My body shakes as I try to get away from it. It pulls me into it. I feel the cold darkness wrapping around me. This wet icy feeling envelopes my body. I want to yell out. I want to scream and cry. The tears freeze my eyes shut though. I can’t see. I only feel. This is perfection. We all need to spend a day blind. I feel a slight warmth and I remember my cigarette. I grab it firmly. The flame burning my hand. But I like it. I grip it tighter. My skin sizzles. But its warmth. All around me my body freezes. My hand clings to the little bit of warmth I can feel. But soon that fades. I can feel the shadows cold hands grip my arm. I feel it poke and prod my shoulder. It rips my clothes off. I am a huddled mass of skin and bones. I am scared. It’s fingers run up my face. Running its fingers along my lips. I would bite him if I had the strength. He touches my nose. My cheekbones. My eyes. Then the top of my head. He caresses the gash in my head where ice cold blood is continuing to spurt. I wince as he runs his fingers along it. Then I finally scream out as he begins driving his finger into it. One at first then another and another. My body convulses. There is no pain like this. His fingers go deeper into my head. The I feel him hit my brain. He wiggles his fingers around. I try to pull my eyes apart. I try to move. I try to get away but I can’t. The he rips his fingers free. I gasp as my body goes numb. The ice has taken over. The civil war is over. The cold won. My body is too weak to fight back. He pulls my naked chest against him. His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “Wake up.”

I awake in a bright room. I am enraged. I am confused. I toss and turn but I am stiff. I do not move. A nurse walks in. She is smiling. Nurses and Flight attendances are paid to smile. I would pay them not to smile. There insistent happiness was no good. No one is happy. We may experience brief bursts of euphoria but never happiness. This was a false thought imbedded into our minds by the greeting card companies. By the cable movies and after school specials. We all have the right to the pursuit of happiness. Pursuit. We can chase it all we want but its like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Its not there. It’s something to keep us believing. Something to push us to do better. I don’t like being a pushed. The nurse walks over to me. “Why hello Mr. Wheeler. I see you’re finally up.” She looks at the machines around me. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She is the robot for the hospital. The mouthpiece. She’s supposed to make me feel better. But she does not know what she’s doing. I sigh. I have nothing to say to her. She looks expectantly at me. There is a bitter awkwardness hanging in the air and despite the smile on her face I know she feels it. Her eyes glaze over as she realizes I do not like her. Her name tag reads “June”. Such a generic name. I didn’t even know her yet she disgusted me. She was a façade. Her blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Her pink nails told me that she wanted people to think she was twenty but the haggardness in her face screamed thirty-five. Her wide hips and pudgy stomach told of at least two children. No older than ten. Maybe thirteen. She wore no wedding ring so she must’ve been divorced. I couldn’t help but smirk. People can dress however they want. They can wear as much makeup as possible but if you focus you can see their true age. She was pathetic. She tried to hide so much but I had her figured out in the few seconds I had been awake. She turned away from me and pushed a few buttons on a large machine that was beeping. “Mr. Wheeler do you understand where you are and why you’re here.” I debated on whether or not I wanted to respond. Never a spoken response. People like her did not deserve a spoken response. I simply shook my head. “Well?” She turned quickly. I was annoying her. She knew I knew what she really was. The smile on her face was gone. She glared at me. I simply smiled and shook my head. She sighed walking towards the door. “The doctor will be with you shor..” The door slammed behind her. She didn’t even try to finish her sentence. I laughed to myself. I was an arrogant jerk. I looked around the room finally trying to comprehend where I was. Obviously a hospital. There were rows and rows of flowers along the window. I wanted to get up and throw them. I want to smash the vases and run at June with the broken pieces. I wanted to snap her out of the fantasy world she tried so hard to live in. I peered out of the large window behind the flowers. The sky was gray. I wondered if it was night or day. Not that it mattered. I rubbed my eyes. I could see again. I sighed laughing hysterically. It was a dream. I then grabbed my head. I immediately felt intense pain. I am every dumb sports team that thinks they can pull through in the end and win the game. I am the false hope the crowd feels. I am filled with this false hope. I tug on the bandages. I rip them off my head. I look at my arms. Cords run from every vein. Blood drips from me. I begin to feel intense anger. I loathe whoever did this to me. I do not need my blood stolen. I need my blood. I start to rip the IV’s from my arms. J walks in. His face completely calm. He has seen this before. “What am I doing here?” I say quietly looking down. I know the answer. He knows I know the answer. We know the things we do not want to say. “Why do you do this?” His voice sounded hoarse. “Why do you hurt me? I love you so much but I can’t handle it!” I am the contrition I never wanted to feel. J is yelling now. His voice bounces from the room walls. Pelting me with all the pain I’ve caused him. His words blend together as he starts to sob. I only feel sadness from him. I used to think it was him. I used to blame him. You believe a lot of selfish things when you’re young, His face is red. His eyes are red. His blood is red. He blends in with the roses behind him. I can’t help but smile. He looks like a tomato. His face changes. Blank. I’ve seen this look before. It’s emotionless but it says so much. I disgust him. He resents me. He wants nothing to do with me. I can see it. I can feel it. I start to run my fingers through my hair but its gone. There is nothing there. I feel the short stubbles of my shaved head. I scream over and over. It’s J’s turn to smile. “They had to shave your head around the wound.” I begin to cry hysterically. J disgusts me. He let this happen. I jump out of bed. My legs collapse beneath me and I fall to the floor sobbing. My arms bleeding. J stares down at me. I can hear his voice but I don’t know what he’s saying. I don’t care what he’s saying. Several nurses run in and push him out of the way. I can feel his ego deflate. They lift me from the floor and tell him to leave. They tell him it’s best if he doesn’t come back. I hear his last words. No one else does but I do. He has said them before but I know now he is sincere. I know this is real. And I begin to weep. As I start fighting the nurses around me. I start slamming my head into them. A few let go of me in horror as I grab their hair and pull it out. I scratch, spit, and bite anyone and everyone I can. A few veteran nurses keep a tight grip on me. I see J look back at me. Our eyes meet and for that brief second I think he’s going to stay. I think he still loves me. I didn’t completely fuck everything up. Then he closes his eyes and shakes his head as he leaves. I quit fighting. All hope drains from my body. They place me back in bed. They bandage my head back up. They hook me back up to the machines. I am my own shattered heart. I am my own feeling of rejection. This numb feeling that everyone experiences. I feel so generic right now. I am feeling the same things millions of other people. I am just another pathetic life form inhabiting this doomed planet. I am not special. I am not unique. I can feel myself crumbling. Yet this wretched body holds me together.

We are each assigned one soul mate. The person that truly completes us. Not that dumb teen movie shit either. Our true soul mates. We are given one lifetime to find them. When you find them you fight for them. I did it wrong. I fought him. J was my soul mate. I know he is. He knows he is. I don’t deserve him. I remember our meeting. It all started with a simple cigarette run.

I am a chain smoker. I smoke pack after pack. My lungs are blacker then the deepest hole in the earth. It was late. Too late to be morning but too early to be night. I was out of smokes. I trashed the bus. Throwing blankets. Throwing trash and cans of beer. Ripping mattresses from bunks. My brain craved more nicotine. Finally the guys ordered the driver to stop. I jumped from the bus and ran to the pathetic convenience store. Who builds a store in the middle of nowhere. These people must have been desperate. I ran in bursting through the door barely opening it. There was J. With his frumpy black hair. His gentle caring eyes. And his sweet sincere smile. I stopped the second I entered. He was different. He wasn’t a person I could evaluate. He smiled as if he was happy to see me as if he knew me and had been expecting me. and for the first and only time in my entire adult life. I smiled back. He blushed as I walked toward him. “I need 4 boxes of those” I said smiling as I pointed at a red box with white letters. He stared at me for a few seconds then shook his head. “Ooh,…y..yeah sure.” He blushed intensely as he reached for the boxes. I could see him bobbing his head as he rehearsed a proper conversation . I usually found it annoying when people did that but with him it was cute. He turned. His face filled with determination. I could crack him. I thought to myself as I played with one of the key chains sold near the register. He bagged the boxes as I set a key chain in the shape of a heart on the counter. He rang it up and I paid him. Then I pulled a pen and wrote my number on the keychain. He stared at me. Obviously wondering what I was doing. His hair fell into his face several times as he tried to keep it back. I grabbed the boxes. “Think fast.” I said throwing the key chain at him. His face filled with surprise as he tried desperately to catch it but it slipped through his fingers causing him to groan. “Nice one.” I said walking out. I tried my best to keep up my cocky attitude but he made it hard. I wanted to giggle around him. I wanted to be a normal 21 year old. But things were different. Times were different. Nothing would come of this. I told myself. He won’t call. He doesn’t have the guts. I climbed back onto the bus already ripping open one of the boxes. I had just lit a cigarette when my cell phone went off. I did not know the number. I didn’t want to answer it. Something compelled me to. I felt this itching in my fingers. This creepy crawling feeling. Against my personal judgment I opened my phone. I pressed accept. Too late now. No turning back. I was dramatic like that. Everything was a mission. I was the center of this universe. What would the people do without me? I am and always have been an arrogant jerk. “Hello?” I asked. In my best asshole voice. How dare this person I don’t know call me. I could be busy. They could be making me miss something important. “Umm…h..hello?” the voice asked. The person was so afraid. I smirked. “Who is this?” I could feel the person shaking on the other line. I could feel the sweat running down his forehead. I couldn’t help but laugh. This person was so ridiculous. I was so much better than this person. “Umm…I’m the guy from the store…” I smirked. That stuttering loser had more guts than I had assumed. I grinned. “Hey! Yeah, How’s it going?” His nervousness seemed to drain. He wasn’t afraid anymore. I couldn’t have that. “So why are you calling?” I tried to sound firm without sounding angry or annoyed. This confuses them. And they’re so much more fun when they’re confused. He stammered a few minutes. “Well I thought you wanted me to.” I tried to hide the amusement in my voice. “What’s your name?” There was a few seconds of silence before he finally answered. “J! my name is J!” Of course he didn’t say his name was J. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what he said his name was. Jason. James. It probably started with a J. “Well J. I am very glad you called me. I’m just a little busy right now.” I stifled a smile as if he might see it. “I’ll make sure to call you later.” I was about to hang up when he called out, “Hey! What’s your name?” I debated on whether I should tell him my name or just pretend I didn’t hear him. I decided to go ahead and tell him. “Toby….Toby Wheeler.” There was a gasp from the other end as he realized who I was. “The singer?!” I am an arrogant jerk. I love being me. Its fun. I sigh as if I’m a normal guy. When in reality I am a god. I am the image of perfection. I am everything everyone wants to be. “Yeah.” He is in complete awe of me. Toby Wheeler is actually interested in him.

That was at least three months ago. In three months he had fallen in and out of love with me. I was a train wreck. I was a car crash. Only I didn’t move in slow motion. I was a full on train wreck. No time to think and evaluate the situation. A hurricane. A tornado. A natural disaster. I am what parents hope their children don’t grow up to be. I am a product of my raising. I am ¼ good guy. ¾ arrogant jerk. And the world just keeps spinning. Trying its best to notice me without me knowing. I am what keeps thousands of sad pathetic 13 year olds from killing themselves. I am the Devil and God's bastard child.