"Personae"
He read the words “T.S. Eliot”, and was inspired.
Robyn was an old widow with twins who happened to be twenty-two years of age. They were both off and out of her nest. The nest now only served to collect dust, but Robyn kept it immaculate. She had a thing about keeping things from serving their purpose, because that was her’s. The immaculate nest also appeared by the rational eye as a modest home with no payments to make except for taxes. And that was good, because Robyn didn’t exactly have balls of money to throw around. She couldn’t throw very well, anyway.
Sam had always been a bachelor. He came to sort of make a hobby out of it, taking semi-beautiful women out to dinner and a movie and sex – although he never related his entire plan to anyone over the phone. He really didn’t like using the phone that much – pressing magnets to his ear wasn’t his idea of a good time. Making love to a semi-beautiful woman one night and drinking himself blind the next night really wasn’t his idea of a good time, either. That was just his hobby. And hobby always sounded better than routine.
Tim had always been a very obnoxious child, but never so much, his parents thought, as to be expelled from J.P. Morgan Elementary School. He didn’t respond well to being told what to like. His parents were a bit annoyed at the inconvenience that the expulsion proved to be, so Tim’s mother went about becoming a home school teacher, and Tim received an education from a place where expulsion meant certain death by exposure to the elements. Tim really was a Frail And Weak boy, as his stepfather insisted on renaming him.
Bill had died of a broken heart when his mistress ran off a married another man. The only thing was that the mistress was really a master who was living in Hawaii now.
It was the summer after Robyn’s junior high school year. She was naïve, and she knew it. I’m just a seventeen year old trying to take on the world she would say to her piece of highly reflective glass and anonymous passers-by on the street. No one thought that she was crazy, though, because she lived in New York and people were sure that they could be crazier, any time of the day. And she only talked to arbitrary people on the streets because she lived in New York, where everyone makes sure not to make direct eye contact with anyone else, so that whenever anybody speaks, it’s assumed that they’re talking to you, even though you don’t know who they are or what what they have to say has to do with you in the least. They could be speaking to anyone, so it might as well be you and it just might be you – assumptions are made to keep from looking up, because the only ones looking at other people are the cops, and they’ll haul you away for seeing things for what they are. I’m just a seventeen-year-old trying to taking on the world is what Robyn would thus say to fellow pedestrians on New York streets.
Tim’s mother and stepfather received a call one day from the principal of JP Morgan Elementary School, informing them that their son was to be expelled. As the typical parents would do, they went and saw the teacher that referred Tim to such punishment. The teacher and the parents greeted each other with a handshake, and Tim’s stepfather lit the room with his smile.
Sam was lying in bed with a semi-beautiful, almost semi-gorgeous woman, naked and sweating. Wow, I could almost go for a two-night stand with you, baby. She responded by slapping him and dressing with the speed and suddenness of Sam’s ejaculation. Like Sam, she was out of there in two minutes, and Sam automatically called after her, I’ll call you!
Tim had developed a drug problem throughout his teen years, and his stepfather knew. I know you’re on drugs, Frail ‘n Weak, the stepfather said one day. The fact that no one was in the room when he said that did not phase Tim’s stepfather. The fact that Tim’s stepfather painted that room with his brains immediately after did not phase Tim.
What Sam did find to be a good time was watching people pass by on the street from the window of a parked car. The time back when he was going to NYU gave him the idea; one day he was going out for a cup of jo when he passed by a cute girl speaking to the sidewalk, saying I’m just a seventeen year old trying to take on the world. He, of course, had to have looked up to observe her cuteness, so when questioned by the police about the incident, he stated simply that although he sometimes looks at women, he never sees them for what they are, and the cops gave him no trouble after that.
The cops were always on Tim’s case. Unlike Sam, Tim saw everything for what it was, and Tim found that there really wasn’t a whole lot to anything. Why did you look at that man who ran by you? He was carrying a stereo, officer. Do you know why he was carrying a stereo? He was probably a guy down on his luck who stole the stereo to pawn it off for a buck or two to feed his family. Son, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come down to the station with us. What’d I do? You very blatantly saw something for what it was. You have the right to remain silent. As Tim was being lowered into the cruiser, a curious girl walked by, saying I’m just a seventeen-year-old trying to take on the world. A man’s head turned toward the girl and the officer shoved Tim in the police car and turned to the man. Sir, did you just look at that girl? Yes, officer, but although I sometimes look at women, I never see them for who they are. Oh, well then, go on with your business, sir.
Robyn had met her dead husband while she was taking her twins to an amusement park with the child support that her divorced husband readily handed to her, always on time and always in the right amount. Her divorced husband loved his children and hated his ex-wife, so he felt it in his best interest to keep both her and the courts satisfied.
Sam lost his virginity at age fourteen. After that, he decided to dedicate at least part of his life to sex to make up for how horrible his first time had been. There goes Sam the minuteman, a kid joked in Sam’s American History class. The teacher was thrilled to hear that Sam was so patriotic.
Tim couldn’t stay in one place too long. There was just something about his character that kept him on the move. He’ll tell you that it’s because he’s the antsy adventurous type, anyone else will tell you that it’s because he pisses everyone off. Maybe your child wouldn’t cry so much if you didn’t yell at him. Screw off, asshole. Just – trying to help. And Tim would walk on. But as he walked along the street, seeing things for how they were, no reflection followed on the office building windows that he passed. A few people noticed this, and they were hauled away by the cops.
Sam was afraid now, because he was in Hawaii laying any semi-beautiful girl who laied him and had just received news that his good friend Bill had shot himself on account of something – love, probably. The only thing more fatal than love was heart disease, and Bill always kept his heart in the right place.
All the while, Jim was applying for and hoping to get into his dream school, NYU.
It seemed like just yesterday that Robyn’s twins were watching educational puppet shows on PBS and riding on the vacuum cleaner and now they were graduating high school and going off to college. It had been a difficult year, her husband had used a protein-based lacquer instead of oil to redecorate the living room, and she had found hits of lysergic acid in her sons’ room. There was madness everywhere, and the world was starting to grow on her.
Tim was high. The substance kept all human substance out. And that’s all he wanted. He hated seeing deeper into things because nothing saw deeper into him. Especially himself. Not without the weed, anyway. Or the acid. With enhancement, Tim could have a reflection.
It was true that Robyn hated her life. She was only human. After the graduation of her sons, her life lost all meaning – her life had lost its purpose. With each passing day, she found herself only growing older, more frail and weak. She was lonely, so she bought a cat. Within a week she figured out that she really hated cats and became lonelier than ever. Two years later, the cat would get run over by some careless or inconsiderate driver, and Robyn would cry for it.
It was true that Tim hated his life. He was only human. Every time he made use of his gift of human intuition, he got in trouble. He was lonely. He was outcast by all groups because he always marked ‘other’ whenever he could on census surveys. There were many times that he wished that ‘other’ appeared on sex identification and marital status. I’m a member of the human race, he would say, although everyone wanted him to turn in his letter of resignation.
It was true that Sam hated his life. He was only human. If he had any interest in his own life, he wouldn’t watch people from behind the windows of a parked car. He wasn’t particularly good at what he did, either, which was to be a bachelor. He was lonely. There goes a thirty-one year old man, trying to take on the world, I’d bet. There goes a forty-four year old woman, trying to take on the world, I bet. Sam was a sixty-six year old man trying to take in the world. And he was naïve, and he knew it.
But Jim dreamed of living it up at NYU.
Tim knew that his mother was lonely, so he made it a point one summer to come home from college and stay a little while with his mother. As he was driving, his mind drifted to all the memories he had of his mother, of the joy in her face that day at the amusement park, of the pain on her face when the curtains were sprayed red like a pointillist’s dream. At that point, he felt a violent jolt in the car’s suspension but felt no need to stop, as his mother’s house was just two houses away. When he saw her, she was crying.
Bill was in love with Sam, who married a man named Success and moved to Hawaii a year after the two had met. Then Bill shot himself. Sam moved back to New York after Success divorced Sam and the dot com company went under. He came back to see the piece Bill’s bullet’s abstract brush had composed. At that point, Sam was happy to retain his precious bodily fluids.
Tim’s teacher had always told him that he would get in serious trouble sooner or later unless he stopped seeing things for how they were. As a result, Tim was sure to speak as little as possible, for when he did speak, it was obvious that he was seeing things for how they were. Jason, get off your desk and do your math. Why should I? Because the desk will break if you don’t get off of it and it’s important to learn math. I don’t think this would have happened if his parents paid more attention to him at home. Timothy! You don’t want a note written to your parents, do you? No, sir, I just – Timothy, that will be enough. But I’m – Timothy, I’m warning you – you. What did you just say? I’m you, Mr. Straton. How absurd! But Sam knew, though he dare not say, that Tim saw things for what they were, and he knew Tim was right. How much better was Sam than a twelve-year-old boy anyway? Only the sound of the children’s eyes bolting from victim to assailant could be heard. The rest was just truth. Sam walked Tim down to the principal’s office and sat him down in a wooden chair. Jason sat in his chair, his math complete for the first time.
Robyn met a man named Sam at the supermarket. And for a moment, she knew love again. It turns out that they both were in a mood for chicken noodle soup that evening, and they reached and grabbed the same can at the same time. Let go of my can of soup! Hey, lady, I saw it first! Robyn looked up with the intention of making direct eye contact, which was risky business in New York. Sam looked up and was frightened, because when he looked up, he saw not the typical semi-beautiful woman that he typically saw, but instead a person that he could relate to. Another at that very moment who wanted the exact same can of chicken noodle soup. His head swung around looking for cops, but there were none in the grocery store. He saw Robyn for what she was: him. When Sam had looked up, Robyn had joined him in the frantic search for cops. She saw him for what he was: her. An unspoken agreement took place then: they could know each other so long as they were each other, as long as they were connected by their mutual soup can. I’m lonely. I’m lonely. I wait, it seems forever, to see my boys. I wait, it seems forever, to stop getting laid and smashed to go out and watch people. But when they come home, but when I finally get out, I wish they were gone, I want to go back to beer and women. You yearn for life. But you hate life. All you want is. A different misery. Catch-22, it sounds like. Catch-22, for sure. Never read that one. Me neither. Then they let go of the can simultaneously, and passed by each other, eyes to the ground. Tim saw, and smiled, because he didn’t need a can of soup to know that right now, he was happy. He knew it would all pay off someday.
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller. I need it for my grandson.
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller. I need it for my husband.
Catch-22, by Joseph Heller. I need it for my American lit class.
Jim looked up from his copy of Catch-22 on the bus home. I lied, I need it for myself. I need to get away from it all, sometimes. Jim smiled and turned to the man sitting next to him in the otherwise empty car. Sir, I exist! The man did not look up from his newspaper. Seeing the lack of response, Jim went back to his reading. ‘T.S. Eliot’ he read, as spoken by ex-PFC Wintergreen. He read the words ‘T.S. Eliot’, and was inspired. Umbrellas flew open as it began to rain outside. He couldn’t look out and see the people walking by. All the better, he supposed, they couldn’t see him either, and that was good, because Jim was afraid. Afraid because he was unsure about, well, pretty much everything. And it was good that it was raining now so no one could see him. The cops couldn’t anyway. Yes, that was good, except there were no cops and the raindrops that were falling were cans of chicken noodle soup. And that was fine except the cans looked like purpose, and Jim was hungry. But it wasn’t his stomach so much as it was his existence. This fact only frightened Jim more, so he read again: ‘T.S. Eliot’. He was them, he knew now, and was no longer frightened. The umbrellas dropped as the people on the street went to shelter, most to go on with their business, a precious few to look back at the rain spatter on the windows behind them. Reading “T.S. Eliot” told him to just say it and hang up. So he leaned over again to the man with the newspaper: I’m just a seventeen-year-old trying to take on the world.
The man nodded in approval.
