Hauntings Down the Toilet

I was so tired from staying up texting Anna that the ferrets noticed I wasn't very playful at work. I think being sleepy allowed our texts to go to levels of our subconscious we couldn't have reached had we been having a wide-awake conversation. We were not as alert and our guards and walls were not up. We revealed what was real and not the disguises we usually wear in the light of day. As She Wants Revenge says:

This is the time of night when the moonlight shines down and we can reveal who we truly are
Within the darkest most depraved
Of joys

And gentlemen and ladies, I think those joys look good for me!

At one point I texted: Ive missed u. Havent seen you around

She responded: Yeah well ill be around. Sorry i havent been. You really threw me through a loop last time we talked

What do you mean? At my place?

Yes. When you talked about those feathers. I didnt know how to respond. I felt something tho and was scared of it

Scared of how u felt?

Yeah

What did u feel?

She didn't respond for seven minutes. I started to read the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities, but I just kept reading the first page over and over again without even getting that it was the best of times as well as the worst of times. Every two minutes I thought I felt my Blackberry vibrate in my jeans pocket and took it out to see no new messages. My leg began to shake as if it had a mind of its own. I walked to the bathroom and started to micturate, for the snippet of relief it afforded me. Unfortunately in the middle of it all, my Blackberry actually did vibrate and I hurriedly pulled it out of my pocket. A little too hurriedly. It slipped through my fingers and fell forever into a splash of the urine/water mixture in the toilet bowl. Only for a second dd I hesitate before I thrust my hand into the light-yellow water to retrieve it. But it was too late. I dried it off with my bathing towel and tried all the buttons, but none worked. The screen turned to black, never again to shine brightly.

The New Mobile Hauntings

"Dude, you just gotta do it. For your own sake. So you don't make the same mistake."

I blinked. "Okay."

Lester was referring to the Anna-incident with which I didn't want a repeat. Lester was going away on another business trip, leaving me alone. I had his new number now, but he told me the week was going to be extremely busy and he wouldn't be able to talk very long over the phone. He suggested I get a texting plan because it was easier to communicate that way and no one cares if you text while you talk to them. But they would certainly care if you were on the phone with someone. I didn't quite understand how texting could be any better. It is still a blatant display of not fully paying attention to someone.

"Great, I'll drive you to the Sprint store right now."

"I've got a bad feeling about this," I said.

At the mall I tripped over a bench while trying not to look at the giant red lingerie-wearing model in the Victoria's Secret window. Lester tried not to laugh. A kid to my left screamed as he was being pulled away from Game Stop by his tired-eyed mother. I gulped the cool fake air, stumbling to the Sprint kiosk.

"Hello," the man in the yellow shirt, goatee, and spiked hair said. "How may I help you?"

I gripped the glass counter of the display case. "I want to get a texting plan for my phone."

"Sounds great. What's your account number?" After I gave him the required information and he typed away at his computer, he said, "Well, it says here you've had a plan with us for over two years now which means along with your new texting capabilities, you can upgrade your phone for free. And you're in luck. Today just so happens to be the last day of a special promotion where you can upgrade to the Blackberry completely for free."

"That's okay. I just want the texting."

"Hold on," Lester butt in. "The Blackberry is for free."

"Yeah, but my old phone works fine. I just wanna get outta here."

"Dude, the Blackberry is a better phone. It won't take that long. Just do it, man. I'll be mad if you don't."

He looked serious so I said, "Fine."

So now I am a Blackberry owner and a texter. I feel so unclean.

The first person I texted was Anna. I only saw her once after that fateful day. Her, Lester, and I went to see Water for Elephants in the theater. She seemed completely normal, but I couldn't look at her even when I talked to her.

Our conversation:

Me: Sorry about the other night. I dont know what i was thinking

Her: Who is this?

Me: Oh sorry ray

Her: Its okay ray. Lets just forget about it. Ok?

Me: Yeah ok. I found a dead bird outside yesterday.

And the conversation went on well into the night. It was a lot easier to talk to her via texting. I don't know how I got on without this technology before.

Fear

Sometimes I wonder if I mean anything. The parakeets at work seem to think so when I feed them, because they always greet me with a new song. But they never read anything I write. And I feel like that's one of the only things I've got. I'm afraid and selfish that they will be ignored, shrugged off, or yawned at. I'm afraid eyes will gloss over and what made my stomach church will, after processed through my choice of words, produce no effect. I don't even think Lester or Anna read my blog anymore. Here's a poem about it:

"A Possible Epitaph"

My life is filled with the tremendous
sounds of friends and enemies, chatting over
tea, discussing Monsieur Victor Hugo,
comparing me to Pierre Gringoire, the
poet and philosopher. I take a bow.
An exitlude. A kissed wave.

My life contains noiseless words,
masked gestures, scratches on the
record of an era when everyone was
someone, and no one was really anybody.

“C'est en faisant n'importe quoi qu'on devient n'importe qui!”

I am the Best of Marcel Marceau.