The Betrayal

I pass by one of those Catholic school for girls every morning on my way to the bookstore. I find it funny that the most opressive establishment on the face of the earth managed to make one of the most kinky fetishes known to man: the catholic school girl outfit.

Im now 36 and I pass by that school everyday, and the shame just gets to me. Christ, it would make anybody, even that Ivanhoe type guy who would die rather than be dishonorable, feel like a dirty pervert.

Funny I should mention that, Odd times were living in. I remember when books were sorta like a beacon for the intellectual, ya know? I remember when it was a good, respectable art. Now its pretty much a buisness. So, I just happened to enter the bookstore that I frequent for ideas, and look who I run into: Chuck Granger. And old friend in highschool, we used to be inseperable. He wrote some pretty good shit, might I add. High quality stuff. Like J.D. Salinger good stuff.

I had to talk to him, cause, you know, there was a line to talk to him! Yeah, a freaking line! He was a bigshot now! Suit, slick hair, that man looked sharp! hell, there was even a girl with enough clothes to barely reach the legal minimum.

Finally my time in line, which looked like some brightly colored tacky centipede who went blind long ago, not being able to see how horrible it looked. Chuck stood smiling, with huge stacks of books, really matched the intellectual inside of him.

"So, who should I make this out to, champ?" Chuck said, almost mechanically. Seems this signing strain really took alot out of him.
"Sign it to the biggest ass you know of"
"Eddie?" He said in shock. Obviously suprised. I could see the eyes lighting up even behind his dark sunglasses.
"One and the same." I said back, in nostalgia to the good old days.
"Hey, ya still smoke?"
"yeah, here, take one of mine," he pulled out a cig from his jacket pocket, and handed it to me. I went for my lighter, and at the same time grabbed the cig. But it felt... strange. Different. It felt soft, light, and hell, tasted and smoked better. This was high quality stuff, something Chuck would never have touched back in our highschool days.
"Hey, this is pretty good," I said, probing to find out what in hell chuck would be doing with a cig this high calibur. "What is it, an, uhh... advent vici?"
"no," chuck laughed, "Port Fero."
Port Fero. The biggest cig out there.
"Port fero," I said. You wouldnt be caught smoking this back in highschool.
"well, yeah. you also wouldnt catch me writing the bestselling novel back in highschool either."
I froze. I knew he had some fame, ya know, considering the line, but bestselling?
"where?" I puffed my ciggarete, sending smoke into the air.
"try 'Best in the Country'" Chuck smiled.
"Says who?"
"Why every paper in this fine nation!"
"Heh, well id hate not to make my friend a few bucks" I bought a book, and left the now crowded bookstore, its rustic and decaying wood seemed to break under the pressure of the touristic huns that beat at its gates.

I walked home, and peeked in my book,
"To the biggest asshole I know, This is for you eddie." I smiled.
Got to my apartment, which would insult a slum by calling it such, and walked into my room. Strewn with paper from old forgotton manuscripts, i chose a particularly comfy one to sit on, brewed some coffee, flicked my now used cig, and pried open the book that my friend had worked so hard for.

To me, my friend was now dead. And it was the masses that killed him. He did what every resourcful author did. He sold out. Every page was designed to captivate the reader, didnt go too fast, nor too slow. Everything i remember talking about with him in highschool, nothing translated into his book. Sex, Violence, Drugs, and no message. every page was painful to read.

I opened up the front cover again, and saw his signature.
"To the biggest asshole I know, This is for you, Eddie!"
Now I know he wasnt being sarcastic or Ironic.
There is now a little smudge from a tear where the E used to be.