Living With Pessimism

For two weeks, forty-nine year old Ken Thomas had been struggling to write the first poem of his life.

“Love … is a battlefield? No, that doesn’t make sense. Love… conquers everything. That sounds too familiar. Love… is a rainbow…”

He tore the piece of paper out and threw it as hard as he could watching it drop slowly onto the kitchen floor. Ken decided – poetry was hard. He had resolved recently to try experiences he never had in life. His life thus far had been spent living for other people. He became a doctor to please his father. When his career was cut short at 38 due to Parkinson’s, he became an entrepreneur to impress his wife. He was never successful, which is one reason why he thought she now demanded a divorce. Maybe too, he wondered, she didn’t want the burden of having to take care of an aging, diseased, has-been ex-doctor. Maybe he had become so bitter and unbearable to be around. But he concluded it was probably because of his impotence. What woman could love a man sexually unable? What type of man had he become? She talked to him with such anger now, “the woman hates me” he would whisper coldly to himself.

His thoughts had become morbid. The silence and emptiness of his shit hole studio apartment had been eating away at him – worse so than the Parkinson’s. He sat frozen, himself as empty as his apartment, until his gaze focused on one of the few items he had in his place - a long steak knife that appeared to be mystically staring right back at him. He closed his eyes and his imagination wandered further, picturing the long, sharp, haunted knife being plunged strategically into his chest cavity. His years as a doctor taught him exactly the right spot that would alleviate his miserable life. He had thought non-chalantly about suicide before, but today for the first time, a sense of relief , a feeling of satisfaction came with its imagination. His eyes remained closed and he imagined himself walking over to the knife. He began to raise his arm slowly towards its direction to give him some encouragement. The despair could all be over with a quick moment of physical pain, but then there would be nothing but sleep. A peaceful state of rest. His thoughts went to the afterlife, and maybe a thing such as heaven even existed, and God would take pity on what Ken imagined himself as being – the most pitiful of God’s endeavors. He continued eyes closed, reaching his arm out further, until saved by the hopeful sound of a telephone ring.

Ken was almost in shock. His phone hadn’t rang for days. It was amazing was a simple thing as a telephone call could do for the spirits of the hopeless individual. All we want is to know someone other than ourselves actually gives damn that we exist. Ken Thomas, former MD, was fortunate because the caller was actually someone that did give a damn that he was alive – his son Greg.

“Hey Dad… How’ve you been?

Ken’s Parkinsons would cause him occasionally to go into a state of immobility, shutting down his thought process. This time though, he was perhaps just shocked someone had cared enough about him to call him. He stayed frozen, speechless.
“Dad? Hello? Dad are you there? I guess… Dad, if you’re there I’ll just call back later…”

“No. I’m here.”

“…Ok..” He asked worriedly, “How are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, good? But hey. How’s my boy? You can’t believe how good it is to hear your voice.”

“Dad, you’re making me a little uncomfortable. Is everything ok? Should I come over?”

Ken looked around and the last thing he wanted was for his son to see how disheveled and broken down his apartment was.

“No, no you don’t have to come Greg. I’m…I’m fine. Really. How’s work going?”

“It’s fine. I’ve been learning a lot on the set…”

“Oh Greg! I have a great idea for your next CSI episode. A doctor ok… his wife is cheating on him. Make her a total bitch. Anyways, he’s a doctor that’s obsessed with details. Show him at the beginning of the episode saying something to his wife about how poorly she’s putting up the shower curtain, because he’s completely anal about procedures and noticing every little detail. Then, he keeps getting these patients that are dying mysteriously of hypothermal. He gets about 4 or 5 of these cases of people that are passing out in the shower, and eventually the shower turns cold and kills them. Then…then the doctor can’t figure it out, but he becomes obsessed with it. So he investigates it on his own and starts to discover a link between these men being killed, and his wife, who’s been having affairs with all these men. And he begins suspecting his wife, but she picks up on it and while he’s taking a shower, she comes in and injects him a type of insulin that makes you pass out – which is perfect because that’s something no doctor would ever detect regularly. Then, she hurries up and leaves the bathroom, but as he’s passing out he grabs hold of the faulty shower curtain and it rips, and it covers him so he doesn’t die like the other guys. Then he’s able to expose his bitchy wife, but more importantly he gains peace of mind for solving this case which was driving him crazy. What do you think?”

“Dad, that’s…uh…”

“Come on Greg, that a great story. I think I want to get into writing like you. I had an epiphany of sorts lately and I want to do something for myself, something new that I want to do.”

“Well, good Dad. Then you’ll like this. The reason I’m calling is I think I can get you a part in a big pharmaceutical commercial. A college buddy of mine is shooting a commercial for Celebrex and they just need to shoot some B-Roll of a doctor talking to a patient to go along with the voiceover. He owes me a favor, and when he told me he needed someone cheap to act like a doctor, I thought about you. It’s a small part, but if you do it you’ll get a Screen Actors card and everything. Plus, it could lead to other little things. That’s pretty cool right?”

It was again either the Parkinsons or the shock but Ken was again speechless.

“…Dad?”

“Ya. Sorry Gregory. No, that sounds wonderful. I think I can pretend to be a doctor right? I’d really get a Screen Acting card or whatever?”

“Yep. Who knows, maybe acting will be your calling”, Greg chuckled to himself. “Just be there tomorrow at 2pm. I’ll email you the address and everything.”

“Gregory, you’re a hell of a son. Thank you.”

“No problem Dad. Break a leg.”

Before his son was about to hang up Ken spat out something that had been bothering him recently, “Greg!... What do you think we live for and what keeps us going?”

“I don’t know Dad. Love I guess.”

Ken was in too much shock to hang up the phone. He stood there for minutes with the phone to his ear, ignoring the phone beeping off the hook. Parkinson’s may have ended his career, and that combined with his lack of business savvy may have ruined his marriage, but having a SAG card would prove his relevance in society again. He grinned devilishly imaging the expression on his wife’s face when he flaunted it in front of her. He could show her that he wasn’t some moronic invalid. He was a risk-taker, successful, an … ACTOR! He was filled with vindictive optimism. It was amazing how a simple phone call could change someone’s view of the world. Suddenly, even his studio apartment seemed promising, and he even thought of some ideas for how he wanted to decorate.


Optimism is life’s healer. Without any hope the despair eventually overcomes us. For the first time since Ken found out he had Parkinsons, he was once again experiencing optimism. The morning of his big “shoot” was full of positive thoughts. His wife wouldn’t believe it – Ken Thomas, the actor! This could shine a whole new light on her perception of him. Hell, he thought to himself, this could lead to better women than that cold bitch. He resisted the urge to call her just to let her know he was off to LA, just you know being an actor now and everything. He liked the sound of that. He felt younger and even his Parkinsons seemed to be giving him less trouble today. He wanted to crank up the music in the car on his way, but the only dc he had was a mix of Elliott Smith songs his son made for him. Who could listen to such depression at a time like this? The world was suddenly exciting and full of hope to be brought down by such pessimism.

What a great son he had, he thought to himself. Ken cringed at the current realization that he had neglected his son and taken his love for granted. When had he become such a bad father? Probably the same time he had become a bad husband, he thought. But that could all change. Life can change. This commercial was proof of that. He could love his son and show him he appreciated him. Hell, he could change to gain his wife’s love again. God, he realized, he missed her. He had tried for so long to deaden any emotion for her, but today, filled with positive feeling, he realized something very painful for him – he was still very much in love with her.

He hadn’t even realized it but he had arrived. He had parked his car and at the location and everything but his mind had been elsewhere and he had lost track of time. He was late! An hour late. Hurriedly, or as quickly as the Parkinsons would allow him, he made his way inside the building. He asked someone who looked like they might know the answer where the director, Michael Edwards was. He made his way over to Michael, who appeared to be juggling delivering several orders at once. Ken instantly became fixed with anxiety.

“Michael, hi, I’m Ken… your doctor.”

The director stared at him puzzled. Ken realized he must not have made himself entirely clear. “The doctor, for the commercial.”

“You’re Greg’s Dad?” the director responded still confused.

“That’s me. Where should I get ready. I’m sorry I’m late, it was… there was traffic everywhere.”

“Are you drunk? You practically stumbled over here.”

“I have…no… I have Parkinsons. That’s all.”

“Parkinsons!?” He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t believe this, Greg didn’t tell me anything about Parkinsons, that little bastard.”

Ken instinctively wanted to defend his son, but chalked Michael’s insult up to stress, and the last thing he wanted was to piss him off any further. “I’ll be fine. I just have to change into my scrubs and I can start.”

Michael seemed agitated still. “This is a bloody nightmare. Fine, be out here in 5 minutes.” He then brushed past Ken nearly knocking him over. “Get in place people, we’ve wasted enough bloody time!”

As ken was getting ready he felt the sharp pain of rising pessimism. He had never done anything like this a day of his life. The director obviously hated him. Ken could only imagine what awful things he would say about him to Greg. His son would never respect him. Just like his wife. His soon to be ex-wife. He closed his eyes to try to relax but when he did, all that he kept picturing was his wife getting pounded by some charismatic, successful fellow that had a gym membership. His Parkinsons would only worse he knew. He would never be the man that she wanted. And God, did he love her. He remember the first time they met in college, and how she used to look at him. He was vibrant back then. He played college football, as a 3rd string receiver, but still he was a strong, young man whose football scholarship enabled him to support himself becoming a doctor. She had praised his ambition. She actually worried that she wasn’t good enough for him. That all changed when he got news of his Parkinsons. He couldn’t blame her for changing her feelings. She fell in love with a man, and the thought that he had disappointed her had agonized him. He stood in the dressing room motionless, a combination of the Parkinsons, but mostly the realization that she was gone. He fought to put such thoughts aside. He fought to get back to the state of mind that this commercial could somehow, mystically change his life.

“Ken! What the hell are you doing?! I said 5 minutes not 5 years ! Let’s go!”

Ken finished getting dressed and shuffled out to the “shoot” not as excited about that phrase as he was before. “Where should I stand Michael?”

Ken interrupted him spewing out orders. “What? Stand over there… with all the other actors.” And he added under his breath, “Jack-ass.”

It was loud enough for Ken to hear, and whatever confidence Ken was clinging to, became replaced by a more familiar feeling – humiliation. He again shuffled his way awkwardly to where he thought he should be standing. Ken felt like a million eyes of capable young professionals with their lives all ahead of them were simultaneously fixed on him, judging his peculiar behavior. Michael, obviously overwhelmed with stress, lashed out again at his new favorite whipping boy, “No Ken! Stand over there! You know, maybe just a little closer to where the camera is. Thank you!”

Some quiet laughing from the crew followed. Ken stood motionless, frozen. It was the shock. It was the humiliation. It was probably the Parkinsons. The director became incensed. “Hey! Retard! What the hell are you doing?! I can’t take this. Ken, I’m sorry… You know what, I’m not sorry, your out. Let’s see,” and then pointing at one of the interns, “You go ahead and find some scrubs in wardrobe, you’re the doctor. Let’s go people, we’re turning this into a day long project, come on!”

Ken had blocked out most of that little speech. The only thing he cared about now was winning back his wife’s affections. The thought of losing her panicked him. There had to be something in her that still cared about him. He shuffled thru his desolate, desperate, apartment and immediately went to his phone to call her.

It’s amazing what a simple thing as a telephone call can do for the spirits of the hopeless individual. In this instance, there was no answer. He left a message. He waited in agony for an hour before calling again. Again, no answer. He spent the rest of the night calling her, pretty much every hour, in between tears reminiscing of happier times. She finally called back at 1:30 in the morning and Ken could distinctly hear house music and a crowd of people in the background.

He answered frantically, “Hello, darling…”

She cut him off. “Ken, I told you before, don’t call me until you’ve signed the divorce papers.” Click.

Kat sat on the floor of his kitchen, slowly becoming overwhelmed with despair. He sat for hours until he finally snapped out of it with a brilliant thought. Once again, optimism arose. This was one of peaceful contentment. He promised himself to stick to his vow to accomplish something he wanted to do. He thought of his poem he had started writing. He would do nothing else until its completion. This was for him. His plan was set – and a new type of happiness came. This was the realization that few rarely get to experience. The type of happiness for Ken knowing that there was nothing – not even Parkinsons – that could stop him.

Two weeks later, Greg Tomas made his way to his fathers new apartment for the first time. His father had ignored his phone calls, and Greg figured he must have been embarrassed about what happened at the commercial. He came with a DVD of MASH – his father’s favorite TV show-, a six pack of beer, and a resolve to make a full effort to reconnect with his lonely father. He felt bad for him, knowing how the Parkinsons had changed him. He knocked hard and repeatedly without answer. Ken’s car was parked out front, he had to be inside. He began feeling worried. He screamed for his Dad to open the door. He finally kicked it open, and as he walked inside in the empty, dead apartment, he was first immediately overwhelmed by the smell, and overwhelmed next by the sight of his poor father, lying motionless as ever, with a piece of paper with a poem stabbed between a steak knife, and his father’s heart.









“Love Is”
By Ken Thomas

The contradiction of our lives
What is it that strengthens
Yet weakens
At the same time.

A riddle that reigns supreme
What can be given
Without taken
At such cost, yet free.

A puzzle of chemistry
Can you read my inner thoughts
And open my heart
Without hurting me?

A game to deadly to play
Beaten, I’ve given up
Never loved
To sleep all day.