a single chapter from a single story
08/13/2006 02:59 a.m.
THE BOY WITH SALTY EYES

For proverbial or non-proverbial reasons I feel like the glass is half empty. Maybe because the glass in front of me is half empty, because I drank half. The idea being that somehow my perception of the glass in relation to its contents reflects my personality in some rudimentary way. I finish drinking. Now the glass is either empty or its full of nothing. Either way I look like a pessimist who ruined, i.e. drank, the punch-line.

He's standing across from me with tears in his eyes and he's washing dishes. Whether or not I caused these tears is the least of my worries. He drops a glass in the sink and it only perpetuates the tears more. The glass breaks. Something else does too. A dam of some sort.

What you have to understand about me is I'm a nobody. You've probably passed me on the sidewalk and you didn't even notice me. I'm covered in skin but it feels more like Saran Wrap. I'm the invisible one. People look through me. Actually, they see me, in fact sometimes they respond to me, but I end up being that guy. The forgettable one.

If I left my job it'd take less than a month before people would forget my name, or remember my name but forget my face, before they'd forget me all together. I'm like the city in the middle of the state that nobody knows about. You're from where?

The worst part is that I'm not even sure I remember myself sometimes. That's how pathetic this story is. I'm that miserable. This is the part where author and character divide and one says to the other, "Maybe I shouldn't write all this in first person, people might know who I'm talking about."

So, he's that invisible. As he watched another boy cry from arm's length away. He looks at the tears in what appears to be a sense of jealousy. Yes, jealousy. The tears can be seen and felt and tasted. The tears serve a purpose. They are short lived, but they carry more weight than he's ever felt. He knows he will never effect anyone the way these tears effect this boy.

He's that sad.

He's never been loved. Never been held in a loving, intimate embrace. At least not one that carried equal weight for both parties involved. He's technically a virgin and he's fucking lost. He's the type of character that Sundance movies try to capture. He's noteworthy but tragic. He's a genuine loser. An average Joe, with parts less average.

He's scarred. Emotionally and physically. And he wears sunglasses the way many losers wear bifocals. His head is oddly shaped and his penis is small. Parts less average. Not even his tattoo can make up for the areas in life where he lacks.

What he wants to say to the boy with the tears is something sympathetic. What he wants to do is protect and help and heal. What he wants is to not feel like anything he could do would just make things worse.

For the boy with the tears the glass is always half full. And he's always standing by with a jug or a bottle of liquid to fill it back up. For the boy with tears the glass is always full of something. Maybe this is why the boy with tears cries more when the glass in the sink breaks; because for the first time the glass is truly empty. Although the boy with tears will soon rationalize, it is no longer a glass. The pathetic boy sees this and he idolizes it.

The boy with tears looks at the him and for the first time in a while he feels like he's being seen. He's being looked at. Even though the boy with tears looks displeased and unsatisfied with him, he's still being seen. Nobody has ever looked at him like that. Not with those eyes. Not in that way.

He feels, for the first time, like he's effecting somebody. Unfortunately for him it's someone that does not wish to be effected. Not in this way and not by him.

He will rationalize that there is not one person in the entirety of his existence, in the length of his life, he will not meet one person who is willing to look at him. There will never be someone who wants to see him. He knows this now and can somehow accept it because the boy with the tears proved something. He proved something with the look in his eyes. With the stress on the veins in his neck. With the strength in which he tried to fight the tears. The boy with tears responded to him.

Be it for a lack of words, or a lack of purpose, or an abundance of insecurities, for whatever proverbial or non-proverbial reason, he stands and he walks away from the only person who ever truly showed him something. He takes what the boy with tears was willing to give and he is unable to pay it back. He will never be able to pay him back.

It won't be long before the tears dry and the boy who had them will forget all about the boy he helped. It won't be long before the boy with tears will forget the other boy's name, or remember his name but forget his face. Soon enough he'd forget him all together.


I am currently Empty