Hope Idiotic | Part 36
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
LOU PICKED MICHELLE UP FROM WORK ON HIS WAY BACK INTO THE CITY. It was Friday and they were going to try a few a of the neighborhood bars. When they arrived at the condo, they headed straight to the bedroom to change out of their work clothes. Lou could have worn hole-filled sweatpants to the shop; no one would have cared—it’s not like he met with clients on a regular basis. Most days he was the only one in the office with a handful of union workers out in the shop doing whatever union workers get paid to do when not on a job site. But wearing a nice pair of slacks and a tie made him feel a little more professional. His mother taught him long ago that what a person wears directly affects one’s attitude. It helped motivate him to look for other jobs if he was wearing a tie. It also made him feel like less of a degenerate drunk when he would have two scotches for lunch.
As he traded his button-down for a hooded sweatshirt, he told Michelle, “You know, I really missed Chuck today.”
She had stripped down to everything but her bra, pantyhose and panties. He used to love her in that outfit. “Oh, come on, Lou, it’s been two weeks. When are you going to get over it?”
The rage he felt surprised him. He didn’t think he had any left but, as it swelled from his gut, he began to sweat. His fists clenched. His face became red. A lump formed in his throat. It felt like he had swallowed a racquetball. He could barely get the words out.
“When will I get over what?” When will I get over my best friend dying? Is that what you’re wondering? Never. I’ll never get over it. As long as I’m stuck living, I’ll never get over it. I will always miss him.”
“Okay. Fine. Calm down.”
“No. Not ‘okay fine calm down.’ That’s not an okay thing to ask me. What’s wrong with you? What could possibly be wrong with your brain, with your heart, that would allow you to ask me a question like that? You have no empathy. No sympathy. No understanding of anything at all. Not outside of your own world, do you?”
“Sympathy? You want me to feel sorry for you? Or for Chuck? He was a drunk, Lou. He was a terrible friend.”
“You don’t know the first thing about any of it. You don’t know because you don’t know what it’s like to be a friend, much less a terrible one.”
“Excuse me?”
“Chuck wasn’t perfect. He was flawed in a million ways, and those were his undoing and, yeah, he put his friends in some shitty positions sometimes. But it was never out of selfish intentions. Never on purpose. And he felt remorse and always made it up to us somehow. He had empathy. He understood the plight of others. And he understood their joys, too. Chuck, even at his worst, was always there for me. Unlike you.”
“Oh, really? I haven’t been there for you these last three years as you’ve been unemployed and sad and drunk and miserable? You’ve been pulling me down all of this time, and all I’ve done is pull you back up.”
“You kept me alive just enough so that when this shit does pass and I’m back on my feet, you can take the credit. You’re a martyr. Thing is, when I do stand up on my own, you just knock me back down. It has to be you who pulls me up—and you alone. You’re a sadistic puppet master is what you are.”
“I’m this close to asking you to leave.” She held two fingers closely together and jutted her hand out so he could see the measurement.
“Fine.” He grabbed the hoodie off of the bed and threw it on. Then he grabbed his wallet and keys off of the nightstand. “Who needs this shit? I bust my ass and try to do the right thing, and all I get is dumped on. You give me shit about everything. Every job I’ve had you’ve dumped on. And you dump on me when I don’t have a job. I can’t win.”
“Just go.”
“Oh, I’m going alright!”
They made their way down the hallway toward the front door. Michelle managed to throw on T-shirt.
“I’m done,” she said.
“Done? You’re done? I’m done. I’ve been done. You broke my heart a long time ago.”
“What did you expect? You weren’t the man I thought you would be. You can’t give me what I want. I mean, Jesus Christ, Lou, you’ve been fired from every freelance job you’ve had.”
“You do understand what the nature of being freelance is, don’t you? It’s not being fired if the job is completed. Fuck, I swear, you are so out of touch with how the rest of the world actually works.”
“And what? I’m just supposed to wait around to start a family while you work at a sheet-metal factory? What about your writing?”
“First off, there’s nothing wrong with sheet-metal workers. It’s not the dream job I want, but don’t bag on it. And I am writing. I’m looking for work—like always. And I’ve got the show…”
“Oh, right! The show! All you care about is that stupid show that doesn’t pay you enough to live on. I don’t know about the world? Give me a break. Look who’s talking. I want to get married and have a family, and I can’t wait around forever. I want to have kids in two years.”
“Two years? Well then, now is the perfect time to break up. Better get started finding someone new—no time to waste. We all know how important getting married to the perfect guy is.”
“Just get out.”
“Gladly.”
They stood there a moment. Quiet. This was it. The moment they had dreaded. The absolute end. They looked into each other’s eyes, and all the events of the last decade replayed for them: their friendship, falling in love, the fun times and the bad, the hopes of the future and all of the shared blame. Michelle broke the silence.
“Getting over you will be the hardest thing I ever do.”
“Good. I hope you miss me.”
As Lou walked out of the door, Michelle said, “I loved you, you know.”
He stopped, but didn’t turn around and said, “You sure had a fucked-up way of showing it.”
