Apathy, by Kyle Scott
“We’ve been waiting on this motherfucker all day.”
“I know, I know. Just relax, “Savanna says to me, ”-I promise you won’t be sorry.“ And she looks down again at her phone. Leaning my neck back against the headrest, I feel the soft, steady hum of the engine idling.
Normally it isn’t like this. On any other typical Friday, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here in a car with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known sitting there in the passenger-seat beside me. But I suppose that nothing about this day has been typical. So, I guess I’ll tell you about it. Anyway, seeing as I have nothing better to do ‘til this asshole shows up. And now, at the present rate both her and I’ve been waiting, it appears I’ll have all the time in the world.
I’m a nerd. Not only a nerd though. I’m an antisocial misfit. A lover full on hate. An idealist struck with an incurable nihilism. I like drugs, a lot, and also am over -political. I haven’t had a job in two years almost, and on the daily cannot help but cringe at the mere thought of what amazing, new successes my former high school classmates are having in their immaculate, Facebook-cropped adult lives. On the few short occasions, however, when I do leave my bedroom (typically going up to the store to buy either cigarettes or typewriter ink) I’ll occasionally run into one or two of them, sometimes together. But we never speak to each other. Most people take one look into my eyes and have a gander that the nihilism might be contagious (and they’re probably right). But fair enough. Enough of that! I need to tell you this story.
I’d woken up early this-,.. Nah, fuck that. I’m not gonna’ batter you down with those tired cliches. Let’s just say I woke and did your ‘everyday, out of work bum shit.’ I felt very depressed this morning but didn’t want to take my antidepressant. Actually, I flushed them all down the drain following an immediate sense of pride-filled obstinance. Why accept how things were? Who wouldn’t be depressed?! What I needed now was not to swallow their proletarian stabilizing mechanisms [Down with Big Brother], but instead to get out and live the life I was always meant to live! Yes! ; The one I was always meant for! From here on out, now and always, I would forever be the hero to my own life-story!
I then decided to sit down and immediately begin work on a 3-page treatise in regard to my new life, and all the innovative plans I would soon enact to become an upstanding citizen whom people revered. I typed out a couple of sentences and looked at the page.
“I’m going to be the best, because I’m a hard-worker, I love women, and I care about other people. I need money to get an attractive wife. When you pay for an attractive wife, are they then obligated to have sex with you on every night, and in the morning too? I don’t want to become a capitalist slave-dog though, so maybe it’d be better if I just became a lawyer? ”
I pulled the sheet out and crumpled it up in my palms. I felt like I wanted a hug but didn’t want to admit it to myself. Then I decided to take my Adderall, because well, antidepressants are one thing………
I ruminated a little more on the various ways in which the system had failed me, then jumped out from my chair.
No, I thought to myself, No! I won’t have it. I’m going out and finding a job today. And snatching my keys up off of my night table I stormed my way from the bedroom.
“Looking for a job today, Mom!“
Driving along down Ford road, I began to think about how ignoble my mother’s been throughout this entire ennabling process. She shoulda’ thrown my ass out at least a year ago for chrissake. I appreciate it and all, but damn, us generation X’ers are too weak, even, to do hardly anything. Then I begin to think that maybe it’s all part of some post-babyboomer-encrafted-plan. Like they want to fatten us bolshevics up like pigs so as to not have to worry about our own feebly democratic notions. I sit and steer, mulling over the idea. I look along at the passing businesses while making my way down the road. Tax company, liquor store, fast food. Tax company, liquor store, fast food. Then a vacant lot filled with smashed bottles and crackpipes.
I decided I’d pull into the vacant lot. Ya’ know, just to think. I pulled into a space and slowly shut the car off. I stared up at the bright blue morning sky. I wonder what my dad might suggest I do, I thought, but quickly brushed it away then. He was charismatic but an asshole nonetheless. And anything’s better than being a phony like him, no matter what society might decide to call me. ‘Pwwh,’ I exasperated at the mere thought of it, meanwhile raising an unlit cigarette to place between my lips. Fuck him, he was hardly ever there for me anyway, alive or dead. Fucking republican.
And it was then, while manuevering to light my cigarette, that I saw her. She’d come stumbling down down off the stoop and onto the lawn of a modular home standing only a hundred feet before me. And a guy came following after her from inside the house. I knew both of them; they both had graduated inside my class. Her name was Savanna, and she was the most beautiful girl in all of my grade, (and the whole goddamn school for that matter).
She was tall and slender in figure, and with fine blue eyes colored the most aqueous shade of blue. We’d each of us known eachother for years at-least, but Savanna wasn’t like all the other, so-called ‘popular/beautiful’ girls. Because, for the most part, she hadn’t ever the slightest need for bitchiness; nor was she even a bitch in nature; but instead simply, she was a sincere and beautiful person. So her and I together had remained on fairly good speaking terms throughout all of highschool. And everything about her never failed in style. Not once. Even when other female slobs who’d worn tattered Uggs would talk badly about her wearing stilletos, Savanna would just smile simply, moving gracefully away down the hall. Savannah had class, and still three years out of highschool, and I had never been fully able to forget about her.
And as for the guy who now was beating her, his name is Aaron Lovegood. But please, let us not point out the simplest of simple irony! And so I decided then that I would no longer be able to live with myself for just watching as such abuse took place, and stepped quickly of of my truck.
I lifted my arms in the air, “Aaron,” I shouted, “-what’s good?!”
Seeing him perk his head up to look at me, cigarette still in mouth, I transitioned into a full-on sprint rushing toward the house. He’s positioned himself to be sitting inside of a full-guard on the lawn top of her; one he immediately stands out of as he sees me coming toward him. He’s heavier than I am, so I can’t rush in for the tackle. I decide then that I’ll slow my momentum on reaching the yard where I’ll finally come to box with him. I was always a good boxer, I think. Hmm., I was in two fights back in highschool,[both of which I lost];but both of which I’d censiderately think I boxed very well in! Yes, bring it on you fucking cocksucker!
Leaping over the roadside curb and past the sidewalk, I plant my feet down on the lawn spaced 6 feet away from where Aaron is standing. Sparing no time for words, we immediately face-off. Dun.. Dun.. Dunn Dunn Dunn! We’re circling. Aaron moves left and sticks out the jab. I back out from it and then rush in with a string. Left, right, left, left, right. But he’s blocking well. Then a right-cross with weight behind it comes down against my eyebrow, left. It burns and I feel as blood comes slipping out of the wound. I get in close then. and in an adrenaline soaked rush I begin to swing wildly. He does the same. And both of us resign any true defensive strategy but keep with the punches, just sending them away, back and forth. And then, as I’m swinging, in a change of pace, Aaron directs his attention away from something which is standing behind him.
I take a few steps back, just incase it’s nothing and Aaron is soon to turn back around and swing more at me. And, having taken a few steps back, I look up to see that it’s Savannah. She’s standing, oh, say, ten feet away from Aaron inside of the modular home’s driveway. A revolver is held up in the hands before her. Her thin and gentle pointer finger presses tension down against the trigger. I begin the see the chamber twitching to turn, like a log to roll-over.
“You sun’uv’a’bitch!“ she said, fuming with rage.
I look away to avoid the flash.
There’s a moment of stillness inside of me. I realize I’ve come a long way from being a child. And I realize that when I was a child my resolve overall held a bit stronger on account of my still keeping belief in a God. But I no longer believe in God. And the gunshot did not even manage to set my nerves on edge. Because I knew she wasn’t shooting the gun at me.
I looked back up and over at Aaron. He was still standing there. And Savannah still stood there, the gun extended out in her palms’ clutches. Aaron began looking down at himself, inspecting himself for wounds. Nothing.
“Savannah,” he said.
Aaron falls forward down onto his knees. Both mine and Savannah’s eyes meet at the same time, simultaneously. Dropping the gun, she opens her mouth,-
-then she’s running away toward my truck which still sits parked in the lot. I hesitate another moment, walk over, and stomp my heel down on Aaron’s head, before sprinting along behind her. Reaching the truck, we both open our doors, get in, and slam them shut. I stick the key in the ignition, throw it in reverse and hit the gas, flooring it full-speed back onto Ford road.
My eyes stay glued to the road ahead of me. I don’t know where it is I’m going. I keep driving as fast as possible.
Another five minutes and 5 or 6 turns later, I glance over at Savannah in the passenger seat beside me.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask her.
She said nothing.
“Where am I going?!” I ask her.
“-just go straight!” she said.
“Straight ain’t good enough from the girl who just killed a man. You better tell me where the hell it is I’m going.”
She was sending a text message.
I slam my foot on the brake, and her face smacks into the dash. Then, I reach my arm over, wrapping a hand around her neck.
“You better think now bitch!”
“Do you have any money?!“ she says to me.
“No,” I lie. “where’s all your money?”
“Under the mattress at Aarons. Would you like to go back for it?“
I take my hand off her neck just to back-hand her then. She places a hand up to nurse her swollen cheek. I pull the truck over and park on the side of the street.
I turn up the volume on the car-stereo, and skip forward to track number 6: Spiritual, by Coltrane.
“Look,” she says to me, “-you give me a $50 bucks plus a ride to the city and back, and I’ll suck you off.”
“I only got forty,” I lied.
She rolled her eyes, appearing now on the verge of tears.
“Alright, I’ll do fifty,” I say to her, laying my foot on the brake to put it in drive.
“Where’r we headed?”
She glares down at the phone again. “Davison and Livernois,” she says to me.
“Awesome,” I say sarcastically, and pull out again back onto the street.
I turn the volume up louder, and light a cigarette.
“You think I can get one’a those?” Savannah asks me. With my free-hand I offer her up the opened pack. She slides a cigarette out of it.
“You need a lighter?” I ask.
Not responding, she extracts a yellow Bic from her short-shorts pocket. A light, summer wash.
“So,” I ask, “-how ya’ been? since highschool and all.”
“I dunno,“ she says to me. ”-I started at community college the summer right after graduation. But then I met Aaron, and worked full-time and all.“
“That’s cool,” I say. “, I dropped out after two semesters.”