Another Day

“I don’t listen to Demon Squirrel Usurpers anymore.”

“No?”

“They remind me of you.”

“THANKS.”

“Not like that. Just... painful. You know? Fresh.”

“It’s been three years.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I still listen to Demon Squirrel Usurpers.”

“I should think so. Your favorite band.”

“They were yours too. Found ‘em together.”

“At the Screaming Turtlenecks show. Was a good time.”

“We had a lot of those.”

“I guess.”

“We did.”

“We did. Long time. …Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does. Completely different me.”

“Yesterday I woke up, thought… ‘I’m old.’”

“You’re not old, because if you’re old, then I’m old. And I don’t wanna’ be old. Thirties isn’t old.”

“But I’m 37.”

“Still.”

“Kids online call me Unc constantly. Usually disrespectfully. ‘Grown-ass, man, by the way,’ or, ‘Okay, Unc.’ ‘Hi, Unc.’ When I enter a fandom space of an adult creator. Like I can’t like comics, video games, and anime anymore. Let’s all just stop having fun at 30. Pack it in, folks. ‘If an animated movie gives you joy, you must be a pedophile.’ Kids today are such assholes.”

“So were we.”

“I wasn’t, but even back then I hated hanging out with other teens. They were always doing stupid, disrespectful shit. Always breaking the rules for no reason.”

“You definitely were an asshole. And I guess breaking rules without a reason is what you do when you’re young.”

“Then grow up and realize you SHOULD break rules, but that when you were young you broke the WRONG rules for the wrong reasons. …No reasons.”

“Rebel Without a Cause. Always been like that, huh.”

“Breaking rules for shiggles.”

“What do you break now?”

“My back.”

“Nice.”

“Nah, I didn’t break rules back then, and everyone called me boring.”

“If the shoe fits.”

“Yeah, no, shoes never fit. I have abnormally narrow feet. Genetic.”

“Everything with you is genetic.”

“Everything about anybody is genetic.”

“Ha!”

“Anyway. How’s life in Chicago? Land of pizza that isn’t pizza.”

“I’m too fresh to complain I guess.”

“Isn’t that the perfect time to compare and contrast?”

“Nah, I need to live there at least a decade. On both sides.”

“Sides?”

“Southside. Northside. It’s definitely not L.A. though.”

“’Mean L.A. isn’t L.A. The Metro is vast. Shit-Cago though. Colder I imagine.”

“Yep.”

“’Miss the food in L.A.”

“No good food in Kansas?”

“Not the kind I eat. Lotta’ Barbecue obviously; that doesn’t help me. Even when I ate meat, I hated Barbecue growing up. Like the sauce, smoked meats. Didn’t like any of it. Never grew on me either.”

“Weirdo.”

“I guess. ‘Mean you don’t eat that shit either.”

“But I was a good, little, KCMO girl, and pretended to love it until I hated it.”

“Makes sense. A lotta’ my life here is pretending to get by. Get by in Kansas, L.A., Missouri, all the states. Society in general. Earth, perhaps? Freaking Mars and Europa. Pretendin’ to get buy. Maskin’ all the time, so the neurotypicals don’t eat me. Tryin’ to be a chameleon or invisible man.”

“But in the end, it’s more like you’re wearing a Hawaiian Shirt at a funeral and gaslighting everyone.”

“Yeah, pretty much. ‘Not sure what you’re talkin’ about, dude. I’m wearing a suit jacket and tie… with sandals.’”

“Socks with sandals.”

“Yeah, I hate bein’ barefoot in public, and I hate watchin’ other people do it. Nasty. I’m cringin’ just thinkin’ about it. Painful. What if something rips off your toenail? Scary as shit. Jesus. I hate sandals in general though. Like why wear half a shoe? Commit already.”

“I love a good sandal.”

“You never could commit.”

“Ouch.”

“Eh, if the sandal fits.”

“Nice. Asshole.”

“I mean I’m supposed to be the one half in, half out.”

“Even all the way in it wasn’t deep enough.”

“Damn! Okay.”

“Sorry. Low. And not true.”

“Sure.”

“Just trading barbs for barb.”

“Who’s Barb? You can have her.”

“I used to work with a Barb.”

“How was she?”

“Lousy in bed.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Lousy at work too. She always cut the pizzas unevenly.”

“Hate an uneven pizza.”

“I hated Barb.”

“Hate’s a strong word there.”

“Not strong enough to get Barb to cut the friggin’ pizzas even enough.”

“I see.”

“Always got out of cleaning the restrooms too. Little worm, Barb: escape artist.”

“Houdini Barb. Forgot you used to work at a Papa’s Pizza Palace.”

“Only for Senior Year.”

“Long enough to get fired for giving out free pizzas.”

“And short enough to get fired for giving out free pizzas.”

“Long enough to tell me about it.”

“Yeah.”

“My friend, David, used to give us free ice cream at Bernard’s. That was the tits.”

“Cool Beans.”

“He got fired after a month though.”

“Ah, Cold Beans. But… Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Shouldn’t give out free shit, but you also probably shouldn’t hire teenagers if you don’t expect them to steal or hand out free shit.”

“Yeah, teenagers are horrible workers. Who thought that was a good idea? Frigid-Ass Beans.”

“So ‘cool beans’ is good, because that means they’re ready to eat. Like Goldilocks shit, right?”

“Just right. Don’t want ‘em too hot. Definitely don’t want ‘em cold. But like no one WANTS to work as a teen, and we were terrible anyway. It’s a lose/lose.”

“At least we weren’t, like, 10, working in the coal mines.”

“You don’t even have coal mines around here.”

“And be thankful.”

“You have wheat.”

“Wheat State.”

“Wheat State Pizza.”

“Wheat State Motel.”

“Wheat State Bank and Trust.”

“Sunflower Bank and Trust.”

“Yeah, Sunflower Everything too. You Kansans are obsessed with Sunflowers.”

“I actually like wheat and sunflowers. Like I know we do have corn and everything, especially now, but I hate how corn is a Kansas stereotype in Hollywood, so everyone jumps to that first, when we’re literally the Wheat State. We aren’t the Cornhuskers; that’s Nebraska. Our town was drowning in seas of wheat, and we had a whole class about Kansas History where we watched horrible, boring-ass videos where they just showed wheat waving. We literally have a college with a bundle of wheat mascot.”

“Shocker.”

“I know, right? WuShock. Kansas has Wheat up the wazoo.”

“Nice.”

“Like our pizza place was literally behind a giant wheatfield. We had wheatfields on all sides of town. Frickin’ surrounded. Had to go like 30-plus minutes to get to corn. That was MacTown though. McPherson County. Salina County. Sumner. Frickin’ Wheat Capital of Kansas right there. I don’t think I’ve even been to Wellington.

“Well I don’t know what the hell a Wellington is, other than that beautiful Vegan Wellington we had on Thanksgiving. You do have a lotta’ corn here too, though, to be medium fair. I mean you have that corn maze every year.”

“Yeah. I’ve even been like three times.”

“That’s not a lot of times in the scheme of you living almost four decades.”

“Seen one maize, you seen ‘em all.”

“Indeed.”

“’Maize.’ As in corn.”

“I get it.”

“Had to be there I guess.”

“Oh, I was there.”

“Guess you’re just square.”

“It’s hip to be square.”

“But like yeah there’s the corn belt.”

“Oh, please. Tell me more about corn. It’s so interesting.”

“Alright, I’ll stop. My bad. …We do have corn all over even near Lawrence—”

“—Jesus—”

“—There are soybean fields like just hidden in the middle of town too. One behind my parent’s house. Also, wild grass everywhichway, but that’s the entire state.”

“Every which way but loose?”

“Nice.”

“I did live in the Midwest too, you know.”

“’Mussura’ doesn’t count.”

“Okay, Graham Cracker-Ass State right here.”

“But for real, wild grass is as all-consuming as our inhabitant’s racism and homophobia.”

“Small towns are great… until they… aren’t.”

“Yep. Quaint but soul-crushing if you are anything other than a straight, white male. Really scary to grow up in sometimes. But easy to bike across. I haven’t been back in my hometown like 15 years, and I hear it’s just gotten way worse. People are so angry. So isolated and bigoted that they are the center of their own universe, but also living on the edge, completely forgotten and outside of the realm of anything that matters. Red Hat Central.”

“Damn.”

“All my fellow youths were always like there is nothing to do here and it’s hell; I wanna’ leave this horrible place with these horrible people. I always wanted to live in L.A., but I also didn’t really want to leave Mac and was scared to. But I was different, ‘cause I had plenty to do… Mainly ‘cause I never left the house, and my imagination was my oyster. Their fault for needing activities to do with other people. Nothing to do but drink and get pregnant if you need fun with others. What do you guys need, a theme park? Stop themeparkin’ each other’s privates and give journaling a try. Nah, they just made Dry Ice Bombs, slashed tires, and committed hate crimes to pass the time. Damn. I’ll never go back.”

“I can tell. I would highly recommend you not, if that’s how you feel.”

“I’d recommend not having sex with Barb again.”

“Easy.”

“Easy.”

“Done.”

“Done.”

“Her theme park was rather abandoned and overgrown anyway.”

“Good to know. I’ll look ‘er up. I like an unbeaten path.”

“’Coulda’ mentioned that. I would have stopped the upkeep.”

“Ha.”

“I’m taking improv classes.”

“Thank you for lightening the mood.”

“Thank you for pulling it down, so I can bring it up.”

“I do what I can. How are the classes?”

“I’m having a blast. I prefer the sketch writing class I’m taking though. Improv is a little too improvy n’ shit.”

“Right.”

“I actually have our class show coming up.”

“Anybody live streaming it?”

“Hulu.”

“Bullshit.”

“The shittiest.”

“For real though, can I see it anywhere?”

“Paramount Plus with Showtime.”

“I’m DEFINITELY not paying for that shit. I have Netflix with Ads.”

“Nobody has Netflix with ads.”

“I do love slaying a Cyclops every once in awhile.”

“Maybe your own Cyclops.”

“At least three times a day. Dry rub, like choking a Cajun Chicken.”

“Ew.”

“My bad.”

“Big bad.”

“Call me ‘the mayor.’ I’m Ascending.”

“I’ve actually been rewatching Buffy.”

“Hold on! Ya’ didn’t answer me. Can I see your Improv? Are you embarrassed?”

“Yes!”

“Why? It’s me.”

“I don’t like to be perceived. I’m nervous.”

“I like cheering you on.”

“Cheer me on without your eyes and earholes.”

“That’s no fun. Like to see the fruits of your labor.”

“I think it’s time for you to see other fruits.”

“…was that?”

“…I don’t know. I’m sorry. …Have you been with anyone? I mean obviously you—”

“—No. No, I haven’t.”

“In three years?”

“I got on the apps for a tiny bit. Right after, actually. I was manic, lonely, in pain, and hypersexual, extra fucked up trying all sorts of different meds that slung me back and forth. Jumpin’ out there before I was even remotely ready was my deal of dealing with all of this shit I guess. I’d start an account, delete, restart. Sometimes I joined for love (or at least see what kind of people were out there, because I wasn’t ready for love), and sometimes for a hookup, and, boy, was that profile embarrassingly graphic. Looking for a relationship with a normal profile I found nothing. Like a couple matches every time I signed up, and most of those were fake, and I never realized it until like an hour of talking. I said yes to everyone. Thing is, the handful of people who were real were mean, or uninteresting, or not really my type, or ghosted me, or just… weren’t you. I didn’t like what was out there. I didn’t really like anyone or click with anyone. So, I decided the apps weren’t for me. I’m a love at first sight person anyway. I have to be there. Problem is I don’t like going out and… being there.”

“So like… you haven’t BEEN with anyone?”

“No. In my entire adult life, I’ve only had sex with you. And in the entirety of my life, including youthful experimentation, I’ve only ever had intercourse with one person, also you.”

“You should definitely get out there.”

“What’s your body count now-a-days?”

“Since you?”

“Yeah.”

“One and a half.”

“What’s the half?”

“Over the pants petting.”

“As an adult?”

“Don’t knock it.”

“And before me—”

“Three and a half. So, four total, including you, if you MUST know.”

“I think that equals six or something.”

“Oh… Shit, yeah.”

“You’re a seasoned queen.”

“Wow. Do NOT call me that. Makes me seem like I’m 70 and my vage is the Lincoln Tunnel.”

“Nah, I just meant you’re like a nice smoked paprika.”

“More like cilantro, because some people love it and others just think I’m soap.”

“Yeah, six is not a lot. Just a lot compared to my none. So, what was the other half? Oh!”

“The nipple licking, yeah.”

“Still counts.”

“Does it?”

“Sure.”

“We both really need to get out there.”

“I really don’t.”

“Come on.”

“I don’t want it. Sometimes I’m horny as hell and pretend about other people, or even set up some hookups with men—”

“—Only men?”

“Yeah, it’s easier. Women who hookup have supremely high standards, not even letting you get to the proving-yourself stage, whereas, as soon as I start an account, I get five legitimate dick appointments in my DMs and a ton of dick pics. I did have a sexy, fantasy chat with a woman though. I mean I tried, but she wasn’t really contributing except for occasionally showing her tits, meanwhile I was writing a novel about how I’d lick her majestic canyon.”

“Maybe it’s because you called it her—”

“—I didn’t actually—You know what I mean.”

“Yeah… maybe.”

“Chickened out of that too, told her I was struggling with my mental health, which was true, and disappeared after. Never contacted her again. I felt… guilty. But we, as in Us, were still fresh. Still felt like a wound. Way too soon. Eventually things leveled out a bit more, or at least the hypersexuality had a change of focus, and instead of apps I just masturbated all day, every day.”

“TMI.”

“Is it?”

“Nah, not really. It’s fine, but we ARE in public.”

“Right. The barista is pretty far away though.”

“It’s fine.”

“Point is, my heart wasn’t in it. Soon as I set these dates, I cancelled all of ‘em and disappeared again. I realized it’s not sex that I miss at all. It’s sex with you…. I guess it wasn’t as hard for you, huh?”

“Don’t do that.”

“What? I wasn’t tryin’ to be… I don’t even know the word right now. But I wasn’t tryin’ to be it. Wasn’t attacking.”

“I know… Look. It wasn’t easy. My friends helped, which you should think about getting some, by the way.”

“There it is.”

“Walking red flag, you. But I went through a really dark, lost period. Cried a lot. But then I got out into the city. Felt some life. Saw art happening before my eyes, the art I wanted to do. I felt like a part of something. Actually enjoyed what the city has to offer. Made new friends, met cool roommates. Heavy therapy.”

“Nice.”

“And a lot of going through different meds, which as you know is a nightmare. But here I am. Just like you. On the other side.”

“Which side do you live on, by the way.”

“Southside.”

“Ah.”

“But this wasn’t clean. It was all messy. It took a lot for me to get out there too, because I didn’t really want to get out and meet people. I went to those shows on my own, and it was still lonely. But I tried. Some encounters I… really regret. But, you know, some surprised me. Were kind of wonderful, but didn’t really work out, for whatever reason. But I miss you too. I miss your forehead kisses… to be honest.”

“I miss the way you’d constantly and painfully pick at my acne.”

“No, you don’t!”

“I don’t. But I kinda’ do. Because at least it would mean you were there in my arms again. And that’s what I miss. I think I would do anything to have that again to be honest. I mean—Shit, sorry—I just… I don’t mean… this isn’t me trying to get back together and pressuring you to feel sorry for me and miss me, I just—”

“—I do though. I miss us. Our jokes. Our shorthand.”

“Why DID you want to meet with me?”

“Because of that. Just getting to see you again. Catch up on our lives. And I wanted to have a good day. I didn’t want to leave things in all that painful mud of a situation. That wasn’t a good memory. I just wanted to have a good last day. One last day. Part with a taste of a happy memory.”

“So that’s what it is… a last day?”

“I think so.”

“Oh.”

“…Look—”

“—I don’t know that I want it to be.”

“…I don’t know that I do either. I mean… You never know the future. But I know myself now. And I’m not ready for something like that yet.”

“Yeah. I’m not ready either. I’m still a mess, I think. I mean way better than I was. But I need a little success in my life, before I feel like letting someone compliment it with their own. You know? I can’t share what I don’t have.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…”

“…I’ll send you the Zoom Link.”

“For…? Oh! Ha….”

“The Improv. Yeah.”

“Don’t call it, ‘One Last Day.’”

“What? The show?”

“No. You said this was, ‘One last day.’ But if we don’t know the future, and anything could happen it shouldn’t be something so final… so hopeless… really. …So… sad.”

“So…”

“Yeah?”

“…Another Day?”

“…Another Day.”