Finding Veronica, Ch. 2

This story, so far as you can hopefully tell, is going in the direction my life is naturally meant to go. One snail's pace at a time. Through writing this, hopefully I learn something. Discover something. Find something. And through writing, hopefully I gain a new found courage that, to date, I am lacking.



The next morning I meet up with my friend with whom I would have stayed, to go for a mid-week run. This past Sunday I ran a fifteen-mile trail run around the five-mile loop of Mount Penn, up in Reading. The run broke me. The first ten miles, or two laps, went fast. The third lap, the one where cramps quickly swelled into my hamstrings and quads, was the one that broke me off. So today's run was not going to be a fast one. Recovery week for me.



This friend, who actually is a co-worker, runs ten minutes late specifically because I said I might be late, and finally he shows up in typical fashion.



"All right, you ready? Let's go."



"Still stretching, dude. Hold up. And maybe stretch yourself," said I. He drops his keys and goes along with it. Then he lays the story on me.



"Dude, so last night, this girl I met the weekend before last, yo, she was all over my dick. I busted right in her fucking mouth. She gargle and spits it right back out and keeps going." His stories of his extra-curricular activities don’t really affect me anymore. Every once and a while he'll trip me up with something about choking a girl out or letting her sit on his face  and I’ll give him a little added attention to make him feel good. But I’m used to it by now. It’s not that I think he’s full of shit. Not at all, in fact. I just am not fazed by it. In fact, since I left my old job, I've missed shitty, gross guy talk.



"Oh yeah?" says I, leaning up against a pole to stretch my quads.



"Dude, she was all up in my junk," he replied, looking up in pure self satisfaction, "so it was sa-weeet."



I continued to stretch my hamstrings one last time, changing into my leg swings to loosen up.



"I almost did it last night. Had this elaborate plan and all. To leave her finally. But I didn’t do it. Couldn’t. Wasn’t the right time. Again."



He shoved his keys in his pocket and replied, "Look, I know you're obviously going through a tough time, but seriously, at some point you're going to have to make the hard choice. And if you do it later, rather than sooner, is that really going to help anyone?" He has a point. But the man's lived it all. He always has a point.



"Man, some days, with everything that's going on with me right now, I feel like I have no control over anything." Words of wisdom come back at me.



"Brother, listen, I know you like to do a lot of shit. You know? Who doesn’t? But remember your advice to me a while back? About spreading yourself too thin? Need I say more?"



And he's right. Always right. Always has a point. By this time we're running up Kelly Drive past Lloyd Hall.



"You know, I’ve been putting off grad school for too long. I got this job at the university so I could get back to school. And I’m doing it. I’m sick of fucking putting shit off." And I am. I do so much. I always have a lot going on. It's just how I need to be. I get bored. Always have since I was a kid.



"And this new part-time position with the state is something I've wanted ever since we left Georgia. I’m not passing it up, busy as it's going to make me. So fuck that."



My buddy thought about it a second and came back. "Well, in that case, fuck it, sometimes you just got to bare down and deal. You know?" I do know. Another point. And some more words of wisdom.



Sometimes you just got to bare down and deal. This is me baring down and dealing.





At work later on at the university, as I was pouring over syllabi for the start of the school year - Oh, yeah, I teach at a local university, did you know that? Yeah, military leadership studies. It’s most closely related to a business leadership program. Anyway, while pouring over syllabi and the school year calendar, I couldn’t take my mind off of her and off of leaving her. I couldn’t take my mind off of how we came to where we are, so far apart and the complete opposite of each other. There used to be a time when we were inseparable and ridiculously in love with each other. It was the talk of all our friends. Then another thought came to mind. About everything I’m going through, everything I’m responsible for. Everything that I want nothing to do with. And it is at that exact moment that I say fuck it. Just fuck it. I quit.



I quit.



Leaping from my desk, a fury of rage swells through me. Bursting from my office, I stop in the hallway and bellow out, in deep, horrid disgust, "I hate my fucking life! I hate it! I fucking hate it!" And, followed by my buddy now, who came running out smiling and cheering as soon I made it out the door, I launch down the hall and into our admin office, to see a confused crowd of coworkers and my boss, running out of her office.



"What the hell was that!" she demands.



"Fuck this place. Fuck it! Fuck it and Fuck you!" Bolting past her, I run into the hall and right into her office.



"These papers, these regulations, all these stupid little fucking notes, they're all worthless, just like this job is and just like you," and all in one fell swoop, I clear off her desk, slamming half the books and random debris into her back window.



I storm out of there as she screams behind me, enraged and nagging and something with 'fired' and 'ungrateful'. I don’t care. I’m done. Had it.



As I leave the building, my friend tries his best behind me to contain himself, hold the laughter in, while one of the older admin guys remarks to no one in particular, "One of us was bound to crack sometime. Might as well been him."



Outside I wasn’t finished. I neglected all formality with my work outfit, throwing away my nice jacket and tie, kicking off my shoes. Fuck it. I'm through anyway, right? An older fella, probably a tenured professor, scoffs at me in disgust, shaking his head. "What areyou scoffing at, ya old bastard, you never seen anyone gone bonkers before?"



Two blocks away at my car, I go to the back hatch and change out of what’s left of my work clothes and put on a pair of black gym shorts and a shaggy white v-neck. I kick on my sandals and get the hell out of there, outta the garage, and outta University City. Enough of this place. Game's over, man.



I wasn’t done yet. I’m speeding up the main boulevard, blowing random lights, and b-lining right back to my - to our apartment.



And then I get an inbox message.



“Hey, you busy later? I saw you’re Downtown? You and your wife wanna meet up for drinks? Catch up?”



Not what I expected. At all. In the least. Not right now.



It was an old fellow high school graduate, Elizabeth. Sure enough, odd enough, and yet at the perfect time – the internet came through and here she was. Asking to hang out. This random lady I knew nothing about who suddenly wanted to hang out. I mean, I knew her. From high school. But we spoke maybe, maybe, once.