The Entrance
Human beings are curious, odd, and funny things. The "older" generation always says of the "younger" generation: What is that? Whether it be music, clothes, attitudes, or the way we order pizza, the question remains the same: What is that? And the answer to the question is also always the same: What is that? Yes, the younger generation answers the older one with the same question- some substantial evidence that one's surroundings has something to do with the way they view things. I must admit though, that I simply can't understand why kids these days wear their pants around their knees-I mean seriously-they weren't made that way.
I am from the so-called generation "X". And I am here to clear some things up. Because I for one have finally discovered what the "X" refers to. After all, it is merely a symbol, one used often in algebra, geometry, etc.; it was just a matter of time before someone figured it out-just as is the case in your basic algebraic equation. I have come to the conclusion that the "X" refers to 'the absurd'. And no, I do not mean "funny". I ironically retain the meaning of the word as it was used by the "older" generation: lacking meaning. This generation lacks meaning like Ethiopian children lack food. I mean, its too bad some far-off land across the ocean is not stockpiling meaning in huge silos, as we do with our grain. They should air the same commercials as we do: "for only 50 cents a day, this generation X'er could have meaning in his life". They would show pictures of the typical X'er young adult, not sure whether to wear a flannel shirt, or a leather jacket, or no clothes at all. In the background would be the all too familiar shot of the courtroom in which OJ Simpson attained more recognition than the Queen of England, or even the Pope. Yes, this is the setting in which my story takes place, constantly changing, consistently meaningless, and couragously frightening.
* * *
There is a young man, Thomas, who is part of this meaningless generation. He is fairly handsome, not extremely so- but just enough to get noticed. But once one gets a good look though, he appears a little drained, sort of just there-no evidence of life within, etc.. He is of medium height, and constantly stands up straight, to the point of straining himself, so that he appears to be on equal footing with those around him. He always enjoys being in rooms where he is the tallest, because in such situations he feels a sort of confidence, and will tower over the others in the room that much more to increase his pleasure.
But on a bright, breezy fall morning, entering the Super Seven, he realizes he is the shortest. 'Not a good way to start the day', he thought (yes, he even found his height advantage, or disadvantage in this case, important at Seven Eleven at 7:00 in the morning). Every morning he would go to the Super Seven and retrieve a Big Gulp, some crumb cakes, and a pack of Camel Lights. This morning, as he approached the counter, he noticed that the clerk was watching the Black Entertainment channel. It made him feel uneasy.
"Just this stuff, and a pack of Camel Lights-as usual."
"Hardpack?" The clerk was more interested in the T.V.
"No, softpack, if you have it". The clerk knew that he wanted a softpack, but liked giving him a hard time. For the past 2 years he had requested a softpack, but every morning following, the clerk would give him a hardpack. It was kind of a bonding thing-as close to a bond as one could get between two young strangers from differing backgrounds. If he was the sole customer, they would exchange pleasantries, but if there was anyone else in the store, it was strictly business. No greetings, but mere grunts of approval. A "thanks" followed by an "uhh huu".
Today it was a "thanks" followed by an "uhh huu" - even though no one else was in the store. It was the "Black Entertainment Channel" that did it this time. If their positions had been reversed though, and Thomas was watching "Wheel of Fortune", with Pat and Vanna, it would have resulted in the same uneasiness.
He walked towards the door to exit, and noticed himself in the security camera. He briefly contemplated a career in the movies as he unwrapped the crumb cakes.
During the drive home, he nibbled at the crumb cakes, not really hungry at all, but knowing he had to have something in his stomach. After his first bite, the thought of the first cigarette of the day immediately entered his mind. After three crumb cakes and a healthy slurp of his coke, he made the definitive choice- no cigarette until lunch. He had a big day in front of him: his first day at a new job. He had been fearful about it for the past two weeks, though there was nothing in reality to justify his anxiety - except the real thoughts that raced unorganized through his head. Those are real. Feeling a little strange, he looked ahead at his day. Thinking about his new job, and all that entails, caused a large lump to grow in his throat. He started realizing that he would meet new people, people that would meet him. He tried to ignore it, but he knew what was coming. It always started this way. When he had arrived home, and opened the car door, he started to gag. Staring dead ahead at what ever was in front of him, he began to think of good things, and good people, Jesus Christ, etc... This provided him with a temporary moment of relief. But an instant later, he winced again. He was already terrified of the day in front of him. Of what he was terrified of he had no idea-except maybe the fact that he had to go there. It wasn't going to work that bothered him, but that he had to go.
He made it. To the front door that is. Fumbling for his keys, he noticed the powerful heat of the morning sun that was beating on his face. His neighbor, a public defender slash insurance salesman slash bouncer hailed him from across the yard.
"Hey!" His neighbor was a control freak. Thomas knew this because when he wanted you to do something, you did it. The 250 pound power lifter, as he called himself, always had a smirk on his face that communicated something like 'if you make one wrong move, I'm going to pick you up and throw you across the street', and of course, he would do it, and then sell you health insurance. He was the kind of guy that works out everyday, worshiping his body as if it wasn't part of himself, but rather, a piece of art to be admired and later, dusted. But if he were to have a serious accident- one that, for instance, might leave him a quadripalegic, he would most certainly be a suicide candidate. There would be no question about it- no use to go on living if he couldn't pump iron.
"Uh...What's up?" Thomas was always tongue-tied when he talked to this particular neighbor.
"Nothing much, man. Hey- how come when I borrowed your lawnmower, there wasn't any gas in it? How the hell am I suppossed to cut the goddamn grass without gas?"
"Uh...I don't know. Sorry-"
"Hey man- did you fix your weed wacker yet? My yard's getting really bad, I mean, I have clients coming today!"
"No, I haven't fixed it yet." This guy had some nerve, Thomas thought, barking orders at me like some goddamn highschool bully. He thought about doing something about it, but decided against it. After all, he really didn't feel like taking this guy on. Forget what he thought he ought to have done.
He would have just stood there, taking in all the abuse that was flung across the yard, but it was too hot. Staring into the sun, his neighbor's voice faded away. 'Man,' he thought, 'the sun is strong. You know the sun is there, for it reminds you with unavoidable heat.'
"Hey!" He had forgotten about the power lifter.
"Huh, what's that?"
"I'll just give you a call then, and we'll talk about it some more." Apparently he had participated in a conversation that he really had not participated in.
"O.K., sounds great. Call me." Thomas was still preoccupied with the sun. He was glad that the sun was there, and that he was noticing it. The sun was something very real for him, real in the sense that it effected his life, not like, political correctness, or talk show's entitled "Bisexual mothers that beat their HIV positive children". He hated talk shows. 'Talk shows', he thought, 'will be the down fall of our society.' A pretty bold statement coming from an accounting major. He thought of the last conversation he had participated in concerning talk shows. This discussion took place at the school cafeteria, where the truth was supposed to be dished out along with all of the menu items.
He directed his statement to a highly respected genetics professor known for his willingness to engage in good-faithed, cafeteria debates.
"You see, the whole issue, any issue, comes down to one basic rule: if there are opposing positions, both of them cannot possiby be right. But the hosts of these shows, and most of the audience agree that they can both be right. Because today, everyone's opinion is accepted as valid."
The genetics professor was ready and willing to argue. "That's right, everyone's opinion is valid. What right do you have to say one opinion is as good as another?"
The rest of the table felt obliged to affirm this accepted axiom. In unison, as if rehearsed, the table let out a defensive, "Yeaaa, what right do you have?"
Thomas was prepared to take them all on. "Just look at the world around you! It seems to me that things exist in one way at one given time. After all, a cat is either a cat or not a cat. It could not be both at the same time!"
The genetics professor thought for a moment. "But it could be both. Someone may have the opinion that it could be both a cat and not a cat at the same time."
"So that opinion would be as valid as the opinion that, for example, it could only be one or the other?"
"Yes. Everyone has the right to their own opinion."
Thomas started to get uneasy. He scooted around in his chair, picking at the scruff at his neck. "Well then, if both opinions are valid, whose position would prevail, if for instance, a decision had to be made?"
"What do you mean, if they had to make a decision?"
"Like, a law for example."
"The guy with the biggest guns will win. That is, the majority-such is the law of our own United States." The genetics professor was extremely satisfied with himself, and his reference to the way in which a democracy works. He looked around the rest of the table, basking in the approval of his enticed students. But Thomas knew how a democracy worked-that was his entire point-the strongest position, in numbers, will win. An essentially violent position. 'Nevertheless', he thought, 'it is a necessary condition if the truth is to have a chance to submerge.' He figured he would just let the whole argument go; 'no need to ruin anyone's appetite.' He gave up just as one of the mothers in the talk show had to be taken from the set as a result of her backhanding the mother next to her. 'Just let it go', he thought.
In the end though, all of the cafeteria discussions had taken their toll on Thomas. He noticed that everything was constantly changing. Absolutely nothing remained the same. Love came and went in the course of one night, right along with the stars- although, he knew that the stars were really there the whole time-they just didn't appear to be. Friendships were of utility, as was his relationship to his parents. Everything he acted on was an attempt at attaining one particular self-interest or another. He had become a part of mainstream society. It seemed to him, natural enough. After all, it just felt right to him; he felt like using a friend to get to a girl, and felt like getting a girl to satisfy his feelings of sexual appetite. Likewise, he felt like asking his parents for money that he really did not need. In any other case he would not be around them. He felt like partying instead of studying. He reasoned that those that studied now, only did so because of the award of high paying jobs later, so that then, they could do what they felt like doing. 'Feelings', he thought, 'are big in this day and age. Everyone gives and listens to the following advice: don't hold those feelings in, let them out, let them out in a big way!' Just like now, walking through the dining room, he didn't feel like going to this new job. His intelligence though, told him that he had to go-that part of him that would wage war on his feelings, and never give up until consciousness itself did.
His psychiatrist never recognized the battle. She prescribed drugs to engage the battle inside Thomas-but there was no war at all-only a gathering of allies, a covering up of feelings, with new, better sentiments. Some what like the United Nations. The first day of sessions, Thomas asked her if he thought that there was something wrong with him...
"Why yes, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?" The psychiatrist wanted to be friendly to her new patient, already imagining their first passionate kiss, and diagnosing him immediately, knowing beforehand that he was Prozac bound. 'The wonder drug of the nineties, Prozac, never failed', she remarked to herself. She was on it herself. In the beginning she would joke with Thomas here and there, trying to break the ice. 'Yes', Thomas thought, the very root of the problem sprouted up then, upon our very first meeting. 'The problem is, the ice never breaks. The ice is precisely the reason I am here.' But she failed to see this. She had her own diagnosis, and her own remedy. And the supplement prescription- actual, real life pleasure-she thought, was the only thing missing. The patient and doctor ended up making it on just the third session-whereupon the patient disappeared. 'She was good though', he thought, 'real good.' Laying down on the couch, Thomas asked her a few questions.
"Do you know what human beings are?"
"What? I guess that I have an opinion in the matter, just like anyone else-"
"Do you think that a lawn-mower repairman knows what a lawn-mower is?"
"What?"
"Seriously,- I think that a lawn-mower repairman is named such, precisely because he knows what the goal of lawn-mower is, and repairs them accordingly. For instance, he knows that a spark plug is necessary, if the mower is to start, which in turn is necessary, if the blades are to cut the grass. The goal, you see, is the most important thing. Without knowing the goal, the repairman would lost."
"Well, if that's what you mean, yes, I think that a lawn-mower repairman should know what lawn-mowers are." She didn't get it. "Where are you going with this?"
"I need to know what you think the goal is for human beings."
"Well, let me think for a moment." She searched her feelings for the answer. "I think that you can't generlize the goal of human beings. Every individual is different-we all have different goals."
"All lawn-mowers are different too, but nevertheless, they all have something in common that provides us with the reason that we call them all lawn-mowers. Wouldn't you agree?"
"As far as I can see, the only thing that human beings have in common is their appearance. We all have four limbs, a head, and stand upright. Other than that, we seem to all be radically different. We all want different things."
"Well, do you know what my individual goal is then? Because I guess that I should tell you now, that I haven't the slightest clue myself."
She wasn't really interested in the question. "We'll talk about it later- come here..."
He often thought of her as he walked past the dining room table, as it reminded him of the desk in her office. 'Merely the principle of association', he thought. But right now, association scared him, not the referent of the word, but just the word itself. For no particular reason at this moment was he scared-just the fact that there was a word out there, existing independently of his mind. It was that the word would be there without him. It didn't need him in order to be. His mind raced with these jumbled thoughts, along with ones of self-analysis that told him to get some help. He made a promise to himself that he would-but not with a psychiatrist. He would look for a priest.
Presently though, he had to get ready for work. He stepped into the shower and felt the hot water slowly work its way down his body. It felt good. He wished that he could stay in this moment for the rest of his life. An eternal now would suit him just fine. He pulled the water through his hair over and over again until every ounce of pleasure was extracted from his person. And sure enough, following the pleasure came the numbness, and then the dull anxiety, soon to be panic. He noticed that the heat had substantially changed. Before it was soothing and refreshing, almost ecstasy. But as moments passed it had become just plain heat. 'So much for the eternal now', he thought. He finished his shower and reached for his razor.
Thomas really didn't want to go to his new job. He wanted to just sit there, not bothering anyone but himself. He wondered what his parents would think if they knew that he was afraid to go to his job. He wondered what his friends would think. He wondered what the kid that he had picked on in high school would think. That one truly scared him. 'What if he did find out? Was it possible?' He checked his level of anxiety and thought, 'anything is possible'.
Right then though, in the midst of his anxiety, he had a sort of vision. Thomas really didn't know what the hell a vision was, but was sure that what had just happened was close. When he was thinking of the possibility of the kid from high school knowing about his fear, he thought 'anything is possible'. Well, when he looked in the steamy mirror, and gazed at his profile, he realized that if anything is possible, then so is the possibility that he could face his day without fear. Just like when he was a child. No worries. Just do it! He felt a confidence surge through him that he had not felt in a very long time. He smiled back at himself in the mirror. But this time it was a real smile, that is, a natural one, not like the inauthentic ones he usually displayed. At that moment, he thought that he could strut right into the Oval Office and take the reins. No problem. He was extremely excited about going to work. He would meet new, fantastic, and good people who would like him, and they, in turn, would think that he was fantastic and good. He really couldn't believe that he was afraid just a moment ago. He was just fine.
Thomas smoked a cigarette as he put on his clothes. First the pants, then the socks, shoes, undershirt and belt. He wore these clothes as he ironed and starched his shirt. An extra starched shirt pleased Thomas. If done correctly, the shirt would come out rigid and firm-just the way he liked it. 'This', he thought, 'is going to be a great day.' He called his girlfriend before he left, to make plans to celebrate his new job over dinner tonight. Now he was ready to go.
As he walked to his car, he thought of putting a nice sized dent in his neighbor's car. 'What's he going to do? Kill me? What's the worst possible thing that could happen to me? The worst thing that could happen would be my ass getting kicked.' He started biting his nails, or rather, biting where his nails used to be. Instead though, of getting flung across the street, he went into the garage and made sure that there was no gas in the mower. He reached down and unscrewed the spark plug too, and placed it in his pocket.
Passing cars left and right, speeding by strip malls and billboards, Thomas gained back his confidence. Speed limits and traffic laws certainly didn't apply to him-not the Thomas in this moment of time. When he drove to the interview, it had taken almost a half an hour. But today, it had only been about 13 minutes, and he was almost there. He was above it all. Pulling into the parking lot, he winked at those employees that he would soon meet. Those new, fantastic, good people who had come before him. His adrenaline was racing. He explored the parking lot, searching for a space in which to leave his car.
The parking lot was of the standard kind, placed directly in front of the building in which Thomas was employed. Lanes ran perpendicular to the building. He had just turned left directly in front of the entrance, and proceeded down another lane away from the building. For a moment, he thought of parking in a handicap space. He passed them up though, and turned deliberately back towards the building in the center lane. He could see in the distance, four or five employees working there way through the revolving door at the entrance.
But things changed. With absolutely no warning, panic struck Thomas. 'What am I doing here? What are all of these other people doing here? What is that building doing here?- there is no way in hell I am going to park this car.' When he tried to control the car, his limbs would not respond. With a great amount of effort, he managed to make another left turn towards the building. He had to go through with this day-even it killed him. Even if he made a fool of himself in front of the whole corporation. Even if he was fired the moment he made it through the entrance. He would make it through the entrance. But his body was not responding-only reactions: profuse sweating, blood-shot eyes, and lumps in his throat. All of these reactions came on instantly. No bodily actions came from the agency of Thomas. Nevertheless, he was still determined to enter. He would do it-even if it was necessary to persuade someone to physically drag him through those goddamn revolving doors. His mind desperately tried to control his muscles, but to no avail.
He was approaching the entrance with great speed, though to Thomas, it seemed like an eternity. No, he thought, it didn't seem like an eternity, it was eternity. In such moments in a persons life, rare and beautiful thoughts enter their minds. For the first time in his life, after traveling on roads for over 20 years, he realized the beauty, and stability of roads. 'All of those human muscles, and all of those human ideas, every one of which was directed toward the making of a road'.
At that definitive moment, just as he was about to crash right through the revolving doors, another car pulled out in front of him. He tried to swerve in time to avoid the car, but ended up catching it in the rear fender. Both of the cars spun around, nearly taking out a few bystanders. Finally, both cars remained motionless. As if of its own accord, and not of Thomas', control came over his body. He jumped out of his car. Checking on the other driver, he was relieved to find that he was unharmed.
The security guards led the two drivers through the entrance, and into a small office with a lot of radio equipment and cameras. Sitting across from a large, paper cluttered desk, he stared at an unused paperweight that resembled the 44-Magnum that was placed on the shelf next to Thomas. He thought of the absurdity of the paper weight, and the attached significance of a "big gun". Beeds of sweat formed on his scalp, situating themselves between and around the roots of his hairs. But he didn't mind it so much this time. 'Just one step at a time', he thought. 'All that matters today, is that I made it through the entrance.' And it was true, he had.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:27 PST