Twenty years ago I sat in a classroom, barely learning, sleeping through math and still getting good test grades. That's the past most can't see clearly; thirty-seven years old and even I’m still trying to forget. My dogs, Star and Scruffy, wake me up. They are medium-sized, Light enough to pick up but too heavy to be purse dogs. At six o’clock in the morning; I flipped the heavy covers off of me, I was up too late. I can't stay up till three and still be wide-awake like I used to. I feel my feet touch the floor covered with a thin, cold, purple carpet. I walk into the kitchen and give my dogs their treats; “bacon” flavored. They come to me hurriedly. I start to prepare food for myself, I take a pan off the wall and put it on the stove. Melt butter and crack two eggs. I cook them scrambled with cheese and then pan fry three strips of bacon. This bacons’ smell is more familiar than the treats. Toast two pieces of bread and eat breakfast. I put the dogs on the leash and walk them in the yard that they never leave. I can smell the freshly cut grass on my lawn in the crisp spring air. It's refreshing and brings me peace if only for a moment. I bring the dogs inside and head to my computer room.
I sat behind my desk and let out a small sigh. “Another day” I utter in a cynical tone. I log on to my computer and check my email; four new requests. Two of them for technical support, one for help with building a website, one from my friend. My friend emailed me a picture of me and him from high school. I saved the picture on my computer then filed it away. No matter how much I want to forget highschool, it was the easiest part of my life. I got to see my friends everyday, the few I had, the classes were way too easy, and the teachers were… mostly nice. No one sees that until now, we took those years for granted and now that we opened our eyes it's too late to change what we did. I never made it to a college since I did not take school seriously. Due to this, I do freelance work helping with building websites, coding games, and on the side psychological help for people who need a person to talk to, not a therapist. The only difference? I don’t just spout off a script and prescribe pills that make them feel better. Personally, I hate therapists. They ask you how you feel and, no matter the answer, they always just say what a shame take these pills while charging you a week's salary and- *Ding*.
Another message comes in; a person who just wants to talk to someone who will listen. Another broken voice with no one else to hear it. I put my other emails aside for now and started an application from my computer. I ask for their number and call them. We talked for three hours about why they feel this way and how life has treated them so poorly. They offer to pay me for my time and I turn them down. I don't charge for my help since I know how it feels to be in their shoes just wanting someone, anyone who will listen for a while. I hear a scratching coming from the corner of the room. It's my dog scratching at a box, he knows I just got a delivery of treats yesterday. I laugh quietly to myself and head to the kitchen to feed them each another treat. My dogs are always loyal, remaining by my side till they are dismissed to roam the house again.
I head back to my office, my computer dimly lighting the dark room. I check my emails once more and see that my friend sent me another message, a short poem. “Remember all the days we were young, sitting around blowing bubbles, on those memories we’ve clung ”. I think back to how life used to be and how much we had and how much we didn't. Blind to our spoilage, which any exclamation of fell upon a deaf ear. We did not need anything, just having true friendship was more than enough and truly a blessing that we all take for granted. I think to who I was friends with, most of them are changing like leaves in the fall, but others remain the same; as a large stone would, slowly eroded by time but always there.
I continued my work. I email the person who needs help with a website about where they want to start. They send me an essay filled with spelling errors, a horror story to an english teacher but normal to me. They want a website about their company. “How original” I think sarcastically while rolling my eyes. I ask if they have any pictures, another wall of text this time with pictures interlocked amongst the endless monotonous words and grammar mistakes. A restaurant opening in town needs this website done as soon as possible. I called them on the business phone to make sure it was the correct number. It is picked up by an elderly man, clearly not the person who would care about a website, right? I say why I called and he becomes defensive. “ Why would I give you the wrong number? All of you young people just think we are all a lost cause since we did not grow up as privileged as you with fancy computers in our pockets. I'm taking my business elsewhere because you obviously can’t follow simple directions.” I sit in astonishment, how can people be so cruel to someone with only the best intentions. I delete the email.
One more new email has come in, a girl losing hope in her life. I get on as quickly as I can and call her. I hear nothing but deafening silence for five minutes, I assume she is just confused or scared so I speak up “hello, Abby?” nothing but silence again. I begin to worry till I check my email again on a passing glance. She is mute, people bully her for it, she has been accused of putting up gang signs in class when just trying to speak and sent to the office, her parents scream at her “why can't you just be normal” “give up the act and speak already” “do you want the kids to think your retarded”. Hurtful words she has lived with for sixteen years. I read the last email she sent me “I got some rope from the hardware store, thanks for talking with me though.” almost as if she knew I was done reading. I hear a sickening sound of a rope going taught then silence. I waited for five minutes to reassure me of what I heard. Thoughts race in my mind. I end the call and check my email again. I had missed a message from her “sorry for wasting your time, wish I could have paid you for being there even just at the end of my story”. I close the email and think upon what has happened. I start to think of all of what I could have done, what I should have said; I lock these thoughts away in my head. Im not the suicide hotline but I yearn to save lives and all I’ve ever done was witness them end.
I check my email again. It's an email from my girlfriend, Chloe, the most beautiful girl a man could hope for black hair trimmed to just below her shoulder, eyes as blue as the brightest summer sky. She has a large scar across her left eye. I have a picture of her pinned to my bulletin board. It is pinned next to my bracelet I got from the concert I went to with my sister. I've had it since I was fifteen. Chloe emailed me about a date later tonight. I tell her I don't know if I can go depending on how late I am willing to stay up till. I helped both the other technical support emails one needed help connecting her headphones to her computer and the other was a prank. An hour of my time wasted, a common yet unwarranted occurrence. It's almost seven at night, I text Chloe, she would rather come over and just hang out. I tell her that's fine. I need to be ready for eight.
I check my email one more time. It's an email from the old man who needed a website earlier. A moral choice, do I hold a grudge? I choose to play along and help him make his website every other word he says seems to be sorry. Star starts to nudge my hand with her nose, she knows what time it is, I should not be working right now. Eventually I finished the website and posted it online. The man paid me, I charged him a little more than I should, my morals were crushed years ago and I have no sympathy for rude people. I ask if he needs anymore help and he says yes. “What now?” I think to myself, glancing at my clock, I've only got twenty minutes. He asks if I heard about his daughter. “I already have a girlfriend sorry” I say with a cheerful, almost playful tone. His tone changes “that's not it”. Confused, I query him about what was asking. His daughter killed herself, his daughter Abby… She hanged herself and I was the last call she made. I answer with no hesitation hastily. I say “I had no clue” under my breath and he asks me to speak up. I repeat myself and he starts to cry, they only wanted the best for her. They did not know how much pressure they put on her. I race to find an answer and lamely say “sorry for your loss but I have to go”. I hang up with no formalities. “Small world” I say to my dog through tears.
I look at the clock, it's quarter of eight now. No time to mourn, I need to get ready. I took a shower, walked both of my dogs for the last time tonight and prepared two cups of hot chocolate. the doorbell rings. Chloe is here and she is as beautiful as ever. She asks how my day has been and the usual banter. I don't burden her with anything I've dealt with today. I hand her a cup of hot chocolate and sit on the couch she comes and sits next to me. I now know what true bliss means. Sat under the covers with Chloe not a care in the world. Just enjoying how it feels to not be alone for once. Both of my dogs have already gone upstairs and they are ready for bed. Chloe went home at midnight.
It's three o’clock again; I can't control my sleep I guess.. Both of My dogs, Star and Scruffy, wake me up. Six o’clock in the morning, I flipped the heavy covers off of me, I felt my feet touch the floor covered with a thin, cold, purple carpet. I let out a heavy sigh and weakly mutter to myself “Yet another day”.
Thank you