Chapter Sixteen B - The Negative Aspect of Positive Thinking

When I was in elementary school, my parents and teachers all told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. One day in the fifth grade, we watched a presentation on astronauts. I had always wanted to be an astronaut. One of the things the presenter said was that all astronauts had to be 5'11" or smaller. I'd been to the pediatrician's office for a well child visit a few days before. They told me my projected adult height was just under 6'1".

That's when I learned something very important: no matter what anyone says, you can't have everything you want.

Several years later, my mom was driving me home from a friend's house. There's a big hill near my house, and we had to climb it. That particular time, there was a cyclist going up the hill. The guy was halfway up, moving as slowly as he could without the bike falling over. He must've weighed 300 pounds; he looked ridiculous.

Mom and I laughed as we passed, and I looked back at him after he was behind us. That face was a mask of pure determination. He was going to climb that hill if it was the last thing he did.

I learned something else important on that day: you can't everything you want, but you can damn well try.

Fourteen hours after my termination of friendship with Chandler, I was walking Katalin home. The night was clear of rain, for once. I finally had an opportunity to put things to rest.

"Katalin, do you like The Damned?" I asked her.

"Not as much as I used to." she said. My stomach knotted at the noncommittal answer.

I wanted to believe that not everything Chandler had said was a lie. The only thing that kept me from dismissing the conversation altogether as him attacking a vulnerable spot was that his description of Katalin's reaction meshed with the one she'd given me, especially that part about me making out with some random girl, "So we'd be even." I had to know, once and for all.

"Have..." my voice faltered. It was exhausted. I tried again. "Have you ever referred to me as 'Saint Mark?'"

She giggled. "I wondered how long it would be before you heard about that."

I swallowed. So, that much was true.

To another abyss. I thought. I slid my hand out of my pocket and slipped it into her hand. She went stiff.

"Mark, um, I think you've got the wrong idea." she said politely.

"Right, right, sorry. Don't know what I was thinking." I stammered, feeling my insides fall into a blender.

"Mark." she said. "It's not that I don't like you. I just don't like you that way."

I think that "Get the fuck away, you creep!" probably would've hurt less. She didn't know that being "just friends" was what I was afraid of most. This was high school all over again.

"Yeah, I figured as much. That bastard Chandler fed me this story about you pulling away from him, about you being crazy for me--"

"That's...that's not totally untrue." she said. "It just...well, it wasn't you I was talking about."

"Oh." I said. It took all my self-control to keep from crying.

"I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean for you to--"

"I know, I know." We were outside Brooks now. "You'd better go."

"Mark, I can tell this hurts you, let me--"

"No. Just go." I didn't listen to her response, I just walked away.

This was getting to be a habit.

*

I've always prided myself on being basically good and basically rational. I think that's where my problems stem from; I think of everything in the best possible light, and so I wind up disappointed when reality rolls around. Sometimes, no matter how important something is to you, you just have to see if you'd be better off without it.

It's a lousy defense, I know, but revenge was all I cared about at the time. I'd opened up to Chandler, and all I'd gotten for it was betrayal. I didn't care about morality, didn't care about rules, didn't care about consequences. Chandler had to pay.

See, I didn't sleep at all that night--I laid there for seven hours, awake and seething. When the sun came up and hung there for hours, I gave up and went to Brooks, but to sate something other than hunger. There are dozens of loose bricks on the Brooks walk; I used to amuse myself by pulling them out and replacing them upside-down.

It was still lunchtime, so Brooks was open. It was toward the end of brunch, so not many people were around. I went straight for Chandler's room. I knocked on the door, waiting for him to come out. He pulled it open, and I chucked that brick at him with all my might.

I was expelled for that. I spent some time on probation for assault, too. They let me off easy because the judge ruled it was premeditated, plus I had no previous criminal record. They say that when they pulled me off him, I was screaming so voraciously they couldn't even make out the words. They also say Chandler was lucky that brick hit him in the shin instead of the chest--he'll have that limp for life, but he wouldn't have a life to limp through if I'd aimed higher.

The saddest thing is, things like that seem like a good idea when you've been running on pure emotion for so many hours straight. I'd heard that sleep-deprivation got to be like a drug after awhile, suspending all reason. I guess they're right.

I came back home in disgrace. I went to Cuyahoga Community College (a school I'd once made fun of for letting anybody in. After crippling Chandler, there was no college worth attending that would accept me) and got my degree and a job as a technical writer. I write stories in my spare time about people whose lives don't resemble mine at all. Mostly science fiction--then I can get as far from reality as possible. I hope that one day I'll get popular enough that I won't have to stay at that God-forsaken day job.

I'm still not married, and I'm starting to doubt I ever will be. I've had a few short-lived relationships since then, none that proved to be any more fulfilling than staying single. I don't believe in soulmates anymore. I thought I'd found mine twice, and neither one was even interested in me. I think my radar is so out-of-whack about this kind of thing that I've probably met her and dismissed her by now.

So there you have it, the mundane end to my adventures in real life.

You know, no one calls me "Saint Mark," anymore. I miss that.

The End

Originally posted on January 18th, 2005