Lost Keys

I wrote this about a year ago now, I felt like this would be a good place to share. One day I will finish it, but for now there is a temporary ending (I wrote it as a short-story for Uni; but many have told me I should expand it, and I have a little bit, so this version is not like the original, nor is it the finished product). Hope you guys enjoy, I'm open to ideas, suggestions, questions, what have you.

1. Introducing

Life can drag you down into a spiral, leaving a bitter haze in your mind, the kind that makes you want to punch a baby. I seem to spend a lot of my time in this mood, I never use to know what anger was but I guess everyone’s mind starts fading, baggage leaving damage; a never ending vicious cycle of wanted and unwanted change; sink or swim in your own thoughts.

My story is no sadder than anyone elses; I’m not special. I can’t stop a bullet with my face; my memory is far from photographic. I live life not knowing if I’m crazy or sane; and too worried to get an answer because then I’d have to do something about it. The line between crazy and sane is a hard one to draw. Harmless people who feel a little bit sad some or a lot of the time can be classed as mentally defective, something is inherently wrong with their brain and only prescription drugs can fix their insanity. Apparently it’s completely illogical to be lost, confused, anxious, and/or sad in today’s society, there’s no amount of rationality or talking that can save these people according to your average doctor. Then you’ve got your serious crazies who frequently hallucinate as if they’ve been downing every mushroom they walked by, regardless of its hallucinogenic properties. Again the solution is drugs, not talking to them or helping them come to terms with what’s happening. We load them up with mind numbing drugs. Hoards of zombie-esque people shamble down the street not knowing what purpose they serve. Just as lost as before, twice as numb.

Everyday it’s hammered into our brains; we’re all #ed. It’s been happening for as long as I can remember, SARS, Y2K, bird flu, swine flu, etc. Tomorrow’s headline: ’Strange Snake Syndrome set to annihilate the planet; keep watch for snakes foaming from the eyes’. Unless 2012 gets you first; if that fails there’s always global warming to look forward too. You better start wearing sunscreen; or maybe there’ll be a law to make sure we wear sunscreen; similar to the seatbelt law. We need to be forced to not die. Speaking of enforcing things, I have a hard time taking law enforcement seriously, 9 out of every 10 police officers are giant douchebags with a hard on for justice, be it stopping hitchhikers or telling people not to consume alcohol outside and that’s about the extent of their work. There’s 4 cops in Maleny and I know for a fact that the most work they ever do is raise revenue from someone’s bald tyres; or harassing skateboarders. The older I get the more I want to opt out of government services and tell the whole world to leave me alone. Find a nice hill somewhere and let the eyes in my head watch the world spin round.

Finally Bob moves his fat ass out of the police car parked behind me. I’d been sitting in my car anticipating my fine for my missing headlight for about 20 minutes. I watch in my rearview mirror as he waddles up towards my window, it’s the only bit of pleasure you can take in talking to the police. If you show the cops any hint of personality or free thinking they will get very angry and talk over you. His fat fingers make it hard to take the piece of paper. He stops me.

‘Let me explain this to you, you have to pay this amount by this date or else’

I can’t tell if he’s stopped for breath or forgot what the rest of the sentence was;

‘Or else what?’

‘Look mate, just wait, I’m going to explain that in a second okay? Just don’t talk over me.’

I stare at my steering wheel until he shuts his fat #ing face up; knowing whatever he’s going to say is going to be written on the fine that I will avoid reading for the next month. Eventually he stops talking either because he realizes I’m not listening or because he’s out of # to say. I grab the fine, say thanks and wish the officers a wonderful evening. The funny part is, I’ll be driving home drunk later and I just know neither of these guys will be there to catch me. I never get caught for doing any of the many illegal things I do, I’ve only been caught for: not stopping at a stop sign for 3 seconds, not having a p-plate displayed and now my headlight; never the bags of drugs in the back, or the intoxicated driver.

I drive onward toward a party that I’m really not in the mood for; but go because there’s nothing else to do. However, I did look forward to the alcohol that would soothe the rage in my head telling me to do bad things to Bob’s house. My friend in the car; Jude tries his best to cheer me up, it doesn’t work.

We get to the party, my friends quite popular in the area, he’s greeted with hugs while I stand aside watching on, slightly envious only because I could use a hug. Plus it’s dark and I can imagine whoever I want holding me in their big strong man arms. Finally a tall, lanky man named John hugs me, long tall Sally in my imagination. I stumble further into the darkness, finally we can see the house. It’s big, there’s a lot people I know but don’t really know. So I drink, and drink, next thing I know I’m wasted and everyone’s asleep, I stumble around the house trying to find signs of life before eventually passing out on the floor.

Jude wakes me at 6 AM, I stole his blanket in my sleep apparently. I stand up and realize it was a bad idea. I’m still drunk. Jude guides me toward food and car, first food, we walk to McDonald’s. It’s a quick walk because I’m rambling drunken non-sense. We eat and then I stumble back outside, coffee in hand. I spot a tree, and take some frustration out on it, I’m not sure why; but the tree and I had become quite intertwined, a cyclists cycles by, yelling something at me, something insulting, and I knew it. I pulled myself out of the tree and set chase to the cyclist, I didn’t stand much of a chance so as my last act of defiance I hurled my coffee in his direction; it didn’t make the distance though.

Soon enough I spot my car, “I am the walrus” written on the back; I like the Beatles and my car sounds a bit like a dying walrus so it’s a match made in heaven. I feel around in my pockets, Jude waits impatiently on the passenger side. My heart rises to my throat, I know this feeling. Something’s terribly wrong.

‘I seem to have misplaced my keys’

‘#.’

2. All the young dudes

The bus rounds my corner and I hop off, my tired drunken legs hike up the stairs to my apartment, I reach my hand out for the latch, heart racing, partly because of the heat, partly because I’m nervous the door is locked. The door is locked. I yell for about 15 minutes hoping my roommate is home and comes to the door. She doesn’t. So I wait.

I go to University; I can’t stand it. You get charged thousands of dollars to get brainwashed; or an “education”. The most educating thing I found out at University is that you lose a lot of marks for incorrect spelling and punctuation and not referencing at least one person for every statement you make; no matter how obvious it may seem; someone else has to have your back or your statement means nothing. What the #. As if anyone actually gives a #; I know when I read something if I’m judging the grammar and spelling then there’s something seriously wrong. If this is what I am most concerned by I put that particular piece of writing down because it’s making my eyes bleed. When someone is telling me something; for example my friend might claim that milk belongs in a bowl of cereal to optimize taste I don’t ask them to cite at least 3 other scholarly sources that prove this or else I can’t be friends with them anymore. It’s like finding a typo in the newspaper and finding it far more amusing than the entire paper.

Society should be promoting free individual thinking; but how can anyone be individual if the same reality is formed in everyone’s mind. If you don’t behave the way you’re told, if you don’t think the way you’re taught. You’re wrong. Think for yourself. Question authority. I checked my phone just now and I still haven’t received any missed calls from Morpheus. Maybe we aren’t being farmed as a power source by some weird aliens but something is clearly wrong with the society we’ve built around us.

I’ve done a few courses at University and the gist I’ve gotten is that none of us know how to be human; I even did a course about communication; a course where you learn how to talk to people. Are we that far gone that people are now incapable of interaction without someone explaining the principles behind the way we interact just so that we can keep doing the same bull#? It seems pretty basic to me:

I go out during the night because everything looks like # during the day; with that said so do most people. The night is so much better; hiding everyone and everything’s tiny imperfections that we’re all so obsessed with. The liquor tells me everything’s great; I walk a sort of confident walk, I’m happy enough to not want to kill anyone or myself; I’ve at least forgotten how much I hate everything. I might like to talk to a girl.

‘Hello’ I might say

‘Greetings’ she probably wouldn’t say

‘Nice night isn’t it?’

‘WHAT DO YOU DO!?!’

The first question anyone asks; almost like robot’s exchanging commands; FUNCTION_SMALLTALK ERROR FOUND ON BRAIN CELL 59 [Irreparable Alcohol damage detected] GOTO Line 1. I’ve got nothing. Your turn to talk, let’s be honest it’s only about sex anyway; the only reason anyone does anything. Sex is the real gateway drug. We’re all so obsessed with trying to be awesome so that someone will # us. Better snort that line of crack so that guy with the tattoos thinks I’m cool and wants to put his herpes infested cock in my yeast track of a vagina.

‘Well I go to Uni and I drive a hybrid, ‘cause global warming is a big deal, ya’know?’ she’d probably say.

This is when my instincts would tell me to stop talking to her; but I wouldn’t want to appear rude. The short skirt and almost no top in the middle of winter should’ve been enough to stop me in the first place and it usually does but this is a hypothetical conversation. Some nights I’m filled with a loathing for these girls. If it wasn’t frowned upon and I wasn’t afraid I’d feel bad for doing it: I’d probably stab them. Other nights I want to # the # out of them; but I find them threatening; they look like they want to have sex. If I don’t get in their pants there’s something terribly wrong with me. So why even try.

The whole meeting people thing use to excite me; a lot of things did. Nothing ever seems to stand the test of repetition; over stimulation numbs me in every way, in everything I do. I use to like watching TV now everything on TV is # and I can’t stand it. My music taste has changed so much over the years it feels wrong to claim to be a fan of anything. I had girlfriends who I thought I’d love forever but now I can barely stand to be around them.

Some people dream of getting married and shooting out a bunch of kids; I can see that being interesting; but if I never marry, if I never have kids; I won’t give a #; at least right now I have no desire to do either of those things. Every time I fall in love I find reasons to get upset; I nitpick the ways they aren’t good enough for me or the ways they annoy me and push them away until they b

3. Novelty

A week goes by easily with weed. Life’s responsibilities pile up around me, I’m supposed to be replacing my tyres and my headlight with the money I’m spending on smoke to keep myself sane because I can’t drive or leave the house because I’m paranoid from the weed and don’t want to leave my precious things unprotected. They’re all I’ve got left now that I don’t have a car.

The phone rings, I check the caller ID; unknown. I let it ring a few times trying to decide whether or not it was debt collectors or Jude. I decided to put the phone down and ignore it. Or at least see how badly they wanted to talk to me. They called back a second time, then a third; I decided no sane debt collector would be still trying to contact me; especially given my history of not picking up the phone.

‘Hello’ I pick up the phone.

‘Hi, is this Maverick?’

‘Maverick by name, Maverick by nature’

‘This is Doctor Robert, I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this; but your mother has passed away’

‘for reals?’

I may sound like a jerk, but I never really knew my mother, the time I did spend with her she spent with her imaginary friends. Schizophrenia is a hard thing to comprehend for a child.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, if you’d like to see her; her body will be kept here at Adelaide Royal Hospital for the next 72 hours.’

‘Ok, cool, thanks’

‘I’m sorry for your loss’

‘No problem, have a nice day’

I hung up knowing there was no possible way I could get there even if I wanted to. Martha was making breakfast in the kitchen, and inquired about the phone call. I told her about dear old Mum.

‘You have to go’ she said.

‘Not only do I not have to go, I don’t have any possible way to go’

‘Nothing’s lost that can’t be found again’

‘Thanks Yoda, I’ll remember that next time I misplace my virginity’

‘Seriously, just get a key cut.’

‘I could just hotwire it I guess, I don’t know why I didn’t punch the window in and do it earlier to be honest, that part might’ve been therapeutic at least.’

‘Now you’re using your noggin’’

Feeling a little condescended and a little high on adventure and road trip I started packing. Imagining all the possibilities I knew couldn’t be true but it couldn’t hurt to indulge myself a little; so as to at least have a reason to go. Maybe in her drug-addled insanity she’d become a great writer and made a fortune; Farfetched. Or maybe in her drug-addled insanity she’d started turning tricks and earned a small fortune; way too unattractive. It didn’t matter I thought maybe I’d grow and learn something from the experience either way. Maybe, just maybe, it’d give me that new lease on life that I needed to change my ways and get a job. I doubted it.

4. Full circle

I paced around my apartment one final time, the empty lounge room, the bare kitchen, the dirty bathroom. I’d miss it. I’d miss Martha more. We said our goodbyes and I headed for the bus stop.

On the bus a memory invaded my mind; my mother: I was 10 or 11, Mum was in hospital; my father and I had driven to a place called Orange to see her, we stayed in a large hotel. I don’t remember the name of it, but I remember being in the bathtub when my dad burst in yelling that I had to get out and get dressed. There was a bomb threat. I didn’t really panic, I just sort of wondered what the explosion would be like. I methodically dried myself and put on my clothes. My dad was rather lax about the whole thing as well. We casually strolled down stairs and stepped outside, there was a man scaling the building, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and I couldn’t see a bomb. My Dad noticed this quickly also.‘Escaped mental patient, I think; we’ll probably meet him later when you go visit your mother’.

I wasn’t sure whether to be enticed or frightened I chose a combination of the two, hesitantly suggesting we go see Mum. I barely remember going to the mental hospital, maybe I blocked it all out. Just vague memories of very strange people doing very strange things; the bomber man was indeed being held at the mental ward, next door to my mother. Who after being in there for at least a month now was still insisting she didn’t belong. Hysterically going on about how “they” were listening. I could tell something was not right with her; and it pained me that I couldn’t do anything about it.

I would plead with her, it’s not real, they’re not real, no one’s listening to your conversations or putting bugs in our ears, or poisoning our food. Those voices you hear aren’t real, listen to me; I’m a child, I play pretend all the time. I’m really good at knowing what’s real and what’s not.
Nothing could ever be done; her key to the world was long lost; and that’s what pushed me away from her; eventually I gave up and I couldn’t stand to be around her anymore, the constant laughing at nothing, or waking up in the middle of the night with her standing over me; checking me for listening devices. I couldn’t have friend’s over; the other children’s parents were too scared. My Dad eventually gave up as well, maybe because I did. That was the last we ever saw of her. I never even missed her; I wonder if my Dad did. We never talked much, through my childhood or even now well into my adulthood.

I would go to Adelaide; and seeing her would give me the strength or the reason or something; I needed to find my key; the key that would open the door and start the engine of my life. The bus slowed to a grinding halt. I stepped off and headed for my car. The internet had given me all I needed to know to get my car up and running once again. My hand was the key to the door, well, window in this case; wrapped in a towel I punched the window.

I stopped for a moment looking at all the broken glass, wondering what onlookers would be thinking. Who would steal that car would be my first thought. My thoughts turned to officer Bob for a moment, wishing he could see me now; breaking into a car, I bet he’d throw me in prison for this one. I entered the vehicle with grace and fragility, careful of the shards of glass, tore open a plastic panel and started haphazardly playing with wires. The joke was on me, the wires were not like the ones I had seen online; but I hadn't come this far to give up now, I tried to piece together the puzzle, making connections any way I could. It is never as simple as it appears on screen or as the experienced make it seem; I ponered as I tried various combinations. The old cliche of persistence way a valuable motivator and eventually I landed on one that worked, the sparks flew, "this is it!", and when the spark became a flame, I knew, indeed; this was it, and in just a fraction of a moment it was all over.

reply to post by thoughtfuldeliquent


interesting read - but i think the ' felt like i could thump a baby' or there about - might make some people to stop reading - it did me -- but I carried on anyway, who is this story about? - it is kinda sad, that a young man is so angry.