Whitman - Harlan

By David Whitman

Crossroad Press Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

Copyright 2011 - David Whitman

Cover design by David Dodd

Parts of the cover courtesy of : http://wpb-stock.deviantart.com/

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This is a work of fiction. Except for historical personages and events, all subject matter is a product of the imagination of the author. Any resemblances to living persons are unintentional and coincidental.

COLLECTIONS:

Scary Rednecks & Other Inbred Horrors

Appalachian Galapagos

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Sometimes you just have to admit when life sucks. Just when you think you know what's comingFucking Boomyou're knocked on your ass again. Look at this, I just started this thing, and I'm already off track.

Let's start over.

My name is Harlan Sexton and I am sixteen years old. This is my memoir, sort of my last will and testament. At the end of this year, I die. I pass on to the next world. No, I'm not one of those poor cancer kids. I don't have any kind of disease. I just don't like this place anymore. The way I figure is this: things have got to be more interesting in the next world, because in this one it simply feels like I watch grass grow for a living. In seven months, I plan to take some pills and just rest my head for eternity. The thing I fear most is that someone will read this and feel sorry for me. On the contrary, I expect any reader of this manuscript to actually feel happy. Finally , the reader will say, someone is going to give me the answers to life, the universe, and all that other shit . Do I have any profound answers?

Hell no, I don't even have any good fucking questions.

I can hear my mom creeping around downstairs. Sometimes she really scares me. She is so far removed from my reality she is like some kind of alien. I look at her, and especially my father, and I wonder if I'm really not some sort of test tube baby or something. The relationship that I have with my mom is beyond fake. I am just not the person she thinks I am, and if she really knew me she would probably take a quick exit just like yours truly at the end of the year. I'll tell you about my dad later, because there is a lot to tell. Shit, he'll probably have a whole chapter to himself.

It's Friday night and in a half-hour I'm supposed to meet Julian Morrissey. Julian is probably the only person that I'm going to miss when I head on out of this place. He is the only person that knows about my plans to check out. He doesn't necessarily agree with me, but he's trying to understand. He's the only reason that I'm still alive right now. I was going to do myself in last month, but he convinced me that I should wait. He wanted me to give him until May to try and convince me that, yes, life is really worth living after all.

Nothing is going to change my mind.

On the television screen before my stoned eyes is the latest MTV show. Young adults, only slightly older than me, are dancing around and cheering at the most moronic things. They don't even bother to show music videos anymore. It's as if they consider themselves some sort of lifestyle channel. When you really think about that, it becomes nauseating. A group of executives in expensive suits are deciding what the "lifestyle" is going to be. They tell my peers what to wear; what's beautiful; what kind of girls you should be attracted to, and most importantly, what kind of music you should buy. MTV my ass, it's more like Empty-V. Look at it closely and you'll see that there's nothing there. It's almost like looking at an empty fish tank. Yeah, there are some bubbles floating around in it, maybe a colorful dead fish or two, but for the most part, it's empty. Just some smelly, stagnant water, trying desperately to show some signs of life. Even if you throw a brand new fish in there it just dies and then floats to the top.

You may have noticed that I'm a little more perceptive than the average sixteen-year-old. Or you may just think I'm precocious, smug, and annoyinga pretentious and whiny brat. Either way, I could give a shit. Like I said to my neighbor Billy when he said his favorite football team won the Superbowl

"Hey, Billy, come over here. Now, look deep into my eyes. Looking closely? Now, I'm gonna ask ya this. Do you see 'give a fuck' in these eyes? No? Didn't think so."

All I really ever do is read or watch mindless movies. I never sleep. I read about five books a week, from just about every genre. I was raised by the written word.

I turn off the television and stare out of my dark window. If there is anything that I'm really comfortable in, it's the dark. My clothes reflect this, considering that black is the only color I ever wear. Okay, now I really sound like a precocious teenager. Believe me, I'm well aware of the stereotypical teen that wears dark clothing and listens to bands like The Cure . I'm not that bad, and sometimes, I actually have a good mood. Although when this happens I usually hide it from anybody for fear of being caught.

The strange thing is that I really laugh a lot. Almost everything makes me laugh. Life is completely absurd. The newspaper is like a complete comedy to me. Better than any play that Oscar Wilde could ever dream up. The only negative thing is that what I usually find humorous isn't the sort of thing other people find funny. I've pissed off someone many a time for laughing at the most inappropriate times. Oh, and Julian makes me laugh all the time. It's why he's my best friend.

In the window across the street I can see my neighbor, Suzanne Miller, getting ready for a night out on the town. She's an attractive woman in her late thirties and, I have to tell you, I'm very fond of her. Her hair is dark, cut short for an almost butch look. Oh, and she had sex with me when I was fourteen. My virginity was taken away in her pool. She calls me Joelita. You know, like Lolita, the character in Nabakov's book? The first time we had sex was strange, like it was an awakening for me. I saw the world in a much different light. Before we even did anything sexually I immediately fell in love with her, probably because some part of me knew she was unattainable. I flirted with her ravenously, mostly because I couldn't help myself. For awhile, she seemed uncomfortable but she slowly began to flirt back.

I used to sneak over to her house after everyone was asleep and take midnight swims in her pool. Suzanne knew I did it. I often saw her looking out her window as I swam naked in the darkness. Well, anyway, one particularly hot night I was enjoying the cool feel of the water and I saw her come out the back of her patio door. Before I knew it, she was in the pool and we were kissing and...well, let's just say I returned every night for the rest of the summer. We're good friends now and, although we still have sex, she's mostly who I go to when I have a problem with other girls. Suzanne is one of the chosen fewone of the people that I will say goodbye to when I go. I love her. I haven't told her that I'm dying because I know that she wouldn't accept it. I'll probably just see her one last night and then leave a goodbye note on her pillow. Yeah, I know, it's cheap, but it'll be way too painful if I do it any other way.