Post details: Enjoyment +++ tnemyojnE
Enjoyment +++ tnemyojnE
Sunday, March 22nd 2009
Sarah didn't come over today. I called her up and she said that since I'd patched things up with the grocery kid, she probably shouldn't fetch my shopping for me. Also, she was on the beach. Maybe @groombridge was right about girls and beaches and imagination. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't sure that things had been patched up with the grocery kid, but I didn't. I wanted to ask her about Francois but I didn't. People don't like to talk on the phone when they're on the beach. It messes up their enjoyment.
I saw @groombridge's profile picture this morning. It is of his face. He took it himself by looking in the mirror with the camera. He is in his bathroom and he doesn't look happy. He's trying to look happy but he isn't. He doesn't look anything like I expected from his chats. I thought he'd be older, kind of dressed better. I thought he'd wear a black silk shirt with a big collar. I thought he'd have this look of sadness in his eye – not the bad kind of sadness, the kind where you're afraid of what might happen and who might fight you next, but the kind where you're aware of what's already happened and all those fights you've lost over the years, and you're kind of okay with it. He's got an earring. I think that maybe the photo has messed up my enjoyment of @groombridge as a concept.
I was starving by the time the grocery kid came round. I spent just about all of yesterday tearing through my food so that he wouldn't get suspicious if he saw the kitchen. I was afraid that if he saw there was a lot of food left he'd tell the landlord that I don't need as much food anymore as I usually do and then he'll buy less food next week to compensate and I can see a cycle happening where I'm hungry forever. Yeah, the stakes were high.
I did the job really well. The kitchen looked just like it did every Sunday – empty. The food was all gone (into me) and the garbage made by the food was also gone (into the back room). The grocery kid didn't really look around the kitchen very much when he came, but I felt so much better knowing there was no chance he could find me out and punish me for not eating enough.
“I'm sorry for the other day, I shouldn't have got so angry with you,” he said as he put the bags on the ground like it was no big deal. “But sometimes I just want to grab you and shake you, you know? The whole blumming world is full of people and they've all got their stories, enough to fill a million lifetimes if they just told the best ones, all these people and some of them right here and you don't take any notice. You don't see who they are or what they have to say or the effect you're having on them. You don't see! Can you see why that could make me angry with you?”
My mouth was dry. It needed food. There was so much of it there on the kitchen floor and I couldn't have any before he'd stopped. I opened and closed my mouth a few times but I couldn't think of anything to make it all go faster. Anything I could possibly say would probably make him go on and on. I wanted to stop him, take him aside and tell him that he was wrong, that there were all these real people out there on the internet, the people who are pregnant or sad or getting teased a lot or really into their truck. There are people who clean the hair out of subway tunnels and people who are one quarter Cherokee and people who work the fryer at a chain restaurant to save up for an engagement ring. They've all got stories too and they tell them every day. I'm one of those people. I'm real. I tell my story. But I couldn't tell him about us. He wouldn't understand. I don't think it would be the same world at all if the grocery kid went on the internet and looked through all the pages I've got bookmarked.
“I like the people in your books,” I said and I surprised myself when I said that. “I like their stories.” His shoulders kind of moved down when I said that and I realised that I hadn't seen the grocery kid relax in a very long time.
“I know,” he said. “I know.” My mouth filled with moisture. We were patching things up.
“Do you think you could put the groceries on the counter instead of on the floor when you come in?”
“My back's gotten worse,” he said.
“But what about me?” I asked, but I didn't say anything more. I know how it feels to have your enjoyment of something or a moment or a TV show messed up for you. I didn't want to do that to the grocery kid right then. He left and he didn't say anything to his dogs.
