A Crazy World

I don't see them. I've been waiting here at least half an hour. Been preparing at least two hours.

Maybe I'm just not good at this. Haven't really had too much practice. Father was a boozer; used to hit Mom. He finally left; she couldn't take care of us. Got put into foster care. Foster parents were alright. But I never really got over it.

Maybe I'm not doing it right. Tried the harder liquors, but some of them actually taste pretty alright. Can't have that. So I guess I'm stuck with this cheap beer stuff.

Pat my brown paper bag. Yeah, took one for the road.

Ok. The park bench then.

See, I did my research. There's lots of examples scattered around this park.

Maybe I should talk to one of them though.

What in the world would I say? Say, have you seen them? See them now? What's your secret?

Maybe I need to prepare longer. I mean, it's not like I was kicked out of that place across the street. It's just, the bartender was starting to stare at me. No, really, he was.

I think.

Yeah, I think, therefore I am!

Used to go to college. Engineering, would you believe that? Dropped out halfway through the third year. I'm not much of a problem-solver. I'm real good at disguising them though. And hiding from them.

Self-aware, I am.

Should be a real catch for the ladies.

Ok, maybe not now. I need quite a bit of freshening up. I may not be a swooner, but I can smarten up pretty good.

So what am I doing here you ask?

Lost my girlfriend? Nah. That happened after I dropped out of college. Coming to five years now. After her were a few casual and meaningless relationships. But that's ok. I'm not really looking right now.

Lost my job? No. Just on the annual sabbatical of sorts. I'm keeping myself busy with something temporary. At least, I'm trying to. I have good references, but I fear they'll have to let me go soon. My mind is just not into it.

Lost my apartment? No, I'm not homeless. My savings will hold me out for some time to come. I don't really need to work over the summer. Except that it keeps me busy.

Is there anything else one can lose? Anything important enough to drive one out here?

Didn't lose my wallet did I? No, no, it's still here. That's good. Lost it once. Was a pain getting everything straightened out.

Got my keys with me too. Means I don't have to sleep out here like some of these other guys.

Can't remember the last time I went camping. Was it ninth grade? Yeah, I think that was it.

This wouldn't be camping though.

So I haven't really lost anything. I'm not out here because I have nowhere else to go. Or because I'm so depressed with my life. Didn't lose anything so important that it's loss would drive me out here. Not in a desperate situation.

Or am I?

Ok, maybe I am depressed.

Lost my mind? Maybe. Just maybe.

What am I doing out here?

Just having an evening nightcap. Or two. A dozen? No. Surely not that much. To be honest, I wasn't really keeping count. I just kept sending for more. Not like I knew what I was doing.

What do I know?

It's a crazy world.

Has to be. What does being the good guy get you? Just hurt and misery. There's some satisfaction in doing good. But then the world has to slam you with something bad. That's my experience. I'm not being overly pessimistic. I have always tried to look on the bright side of things. Tried to be positive. But this last one...

Just a small piece of metal, moving so fast you see its work before you notice it. Commanding the attention of all spectators, drilling through the air. It flew, and left its mark. Shattering my optimism. And more.

That moment is etched in my consciousness. In the history book of my life, that moment fills a chapter.

It is the knockout blow that floors me, leaving me dazed, unsure about where I am and what I am doing. Every hit before that I could recover from. Every set-back the world dealt me, I could eventually understand. Not this; there is no understanding this.

He was just trying to do the right thing. The tank at the back of the classroom had shattered. She was just standing there, staring into the broken tank, staring at the class' pet lizard. There were small cuts on the backs of her arms; she had been hit by broken glass, but she did not notice. She was fixated on the lizard, not caring about the drama that continued in the rest of the classroom. He saw her standing there, not crouching down like everyone else. Forgotten were the screams of the other children.

She was too far from me. My shouts failed to rouse her. And he noticed that too.

So did the shooter.

So what did he do? He did the good thing. He tried to help. He was a lot closer to her than the teacher, and the teacher looked worried about her just standing there. I don't know how he did it. But he did. He just acted. Ran between the desks. Ran straight for her.

And the shooter did the sanest thing a crazy man would do. He shot at the moving target.

The bullet did its job very well; too well. Two bodies fell to the floor; a boy's and a girl's.

He was being the good guy. I would have done the same. Except she was too far from me, and I was on the wrong side of the teacher's desk.

I should open up to the counselor more. I'm having fantasies about her. That can't be good. Maybe I should tell her that. She's a grief counselor, not a full-fledged shrink! Or are they the same thing? I should probably do some research.

Do I even have her number? I'm sure I could get it off someone.

Do us late-night park visitors use the trash cans? My paper bag is empty now. Better use the trash can.

Still don't see them.

Look to my left. No one there. Look to my right. Nothing. Just me and this bench.

Where are the pink elephants when you need them?