Hope Idiotic | Part 35
Back in Chicago, people offered Lou their sympathies. The typical, “I’m sorry,” and “Let me know if you need anything.” He heard a lot of “Are you okay?” Most of those people never knew Chuck, but when you hear that someone dies, the polite thing to do is express condolences and make empty offerings of assistance. Not that you shouldn’t be graciously appreciative of their efforts.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of December 22, 2019
• The worst thing about the 2010s decade was the Star Wars sequels.
• The second worst thing about the 2010s decade is the rise of obtuse American division.
Hope Idiotic | Part 34
Sadness doesn’t come immediately after the sudden death of a loved one. Shock comes first. You feel nothing. Your mind and body switch to autopilot. If you’re one of the first to hear the news, you get busy making phone calls to other loved ones of the departed. You involuntarily go through all of the other motions that come with surviving someone. You try to maintain the status quo. You eat breakfast. You feed your kid. If you’re Lou, you go couch shopping.
Hope Idiotic | Part 33
For years, Lou thought Michelle was his friend. But right there, on that street in Chicago, on that perfect midwestern October night, it was clear to him that Michelle was anything but. She hadn’t been a friend for a long time. A drinking buddy and a sex partner, maybe, but not a friend. At the beginning of their romance, Michelle made a helluva case that she was okay with Lou; that she liked him and accepted all his faults and would support him throughout his career. She painted a beautiful picture of their future in which they would fight together through life’s difficult times and rejoice together during its triumphs. They were sure they were going to be good together as partners. But that never happened. She sold him a bill of goods, and he bought them all. Buyer beware. Because Michelle was not a partner. She was a hindrance.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of December 15, 2019
My excitement to see Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker is equal to my excitement to see any movie in the theater. Seeing movies in the theater is the only time I drink Cherry Coke, and I’m excited to drink a Cherry Coke.
Hope Idiotic | Part 32
Wine was served. Chuck had a glass. Then he had another. Then another. By the end of the evening, all the young alumni were pleasantly soused.
Hope Idiotic | Part 31
To celebrate his birthday, he, Lexi and Darryl went to Bella’s. There was a moment between his second and third beer when Chuck felt entirely at peace. He and Lexi were going to make a go of it—for better or worse, his brother was rescued from the black hole of the Keller broken home, and it seemed that the tempestuous days were behind him. In that moment, at that dinner table, all that was before him was his beautiful girlfriend, his sweet and simple brother and the vast desert landscape spreading off into the distance.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of December 8, 2019
You know it’s going to be a good day when the first conversation you have with your partner is a disagreement over what time it is.
Hope Idiotic | Part 30
With the sadness of Pop dying, the excitement of the play and Michelle preparing to buy a condo, Lou had plenty of reasons to drink. And so he did. A subdued aggravation grew in that small apartment with the incredible view that Lou and Michelle called home. He wanted to talk about the play; she didn’t. She wanted to talk about the new condo; he didn’t. These were the two biggest things in their lives at that time and both knew that discussing them could result in a disastrous fight. But what were they going to do; not talk at all? There was no choice, yet somehow, they managed to be civil during these wretched conversations.
Hope Idiotic | Part 29
A week later, Pop was in the hospital. Benjamin called Lou that morning and told him. Lou drove out that afternoon. Benjamin, Grams and Aunt Elise were sitting around Pop, who was lying in the bed. The room was full of forced casual conversation. Dr. Caplan, Pop’s doctor, came in. He was the son of a close childhood friend of Pop’s who was also a doctor, but had retired from practicing medicine a few years ago. The younger Caplan inherited many of his dad’s patients, including Abraham Bergman, who used to give him rides to school.
“Here’s the deal, Abe,” Dr. Caplan said as he tossed Pop’s chart on the foot of the bed. “There’s cancer in your leg. A lot of cancer. It’s bad.”
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of December 1, 2019
If you didn’t like the latest Peloton ad, don’t buy a Peloton. That’s how advertising works. Ads are meant to liked so people will buy the thing they’re selling. If you don’t like it, don’t buy it. But also, find something else to do with your time than rage out about how dumb it is.
Hope Idiotic | Part 28
Each week they walked a few blocks to the therapist’s office. His name was Adam, and he specialized in couples. Adam was part of a practice of three other couples’ therapists who saw patients out of that location, and the waiting room was a revolving door of jilted lovers. The awkward efforts of the couples to not make eye contact with each other were exhausting ocular acrobatics. Lou missed the intimacy of Dr. Milner. The sessions were hour-long free-for-alls during which Michelle purged her frustrations with Lou’s faults. Among the faults: “Sometimes he’s too driven toward things that I just don’t understand.”
Hope Idiotic | Part 27
It was hard explaining to Lexi why he hated going to Indiana so much. To her, Indiana was where her heart was. But she had a lovely family; one that got along and didn’t live in filth or rely on a broke, recovering alcoholic to support it. Chuck and Lexi were from the exact same place—grew up just two blocks away from one another—but they were from completely different worlds. She would never see Cayuga from his point of view, and he would never see it from hers, even if he wanted to.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of November 24, 2019
We can’t predict the future. Therefore, we can’t predict how history will play out. We can, however, make informed estimates on how history will play out based on history itself. But that leaves a lot of room for a large margin of error. Squeeze that in among all of your certainty.
Hope Idiotic | Part 26
Chuck’s mother was sick again. A massive heart attack. She was in the I.C.U. for three days. Chuck arrived three days later. Neither his father, nor his brother thought to call him with the news that his mother was on the brink of death.
“She got home all right,” Darryl told Chuck over the phone.
“You people are unbelievable,” Chuck said. “I’m coming home.”
Hope Idiotic | Part 25
Lou shot straight up in bed. What did she just say? Am I drunk? Dreaming? Am I being punked? he thought. Lou could only recall one instance in their entire relationship—including their friendship before they dated—in which Michelle apologized outright like that. It was back in college, and it was for hardly anything worth apologizing. She got really drunk at a boyfriend’s frat house, fell in the pool, got into a fight with the boyfriend and called Lou for a rescue. They spent the night in his bed like a brother sharing space with his sister. The following morning she apologized with shame in her voice. This apology on the phone was something else entirely. And he needed to know more.
Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of November 17, 2019
Political/social stridency is about as attractive a trait in a person as Jimmy Fallon fandom.
Hope Idiotic | Part 24
When most people travel to Las Vegas, they spend a week drinking and gambling and trading venereal diseases with strangers. Maybe they take in a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon. Lou’s week in Vegas was spent interviewing for a job and repairing his house, which had been haphazardly battered and bruised by his best friend and tenant, a recovering alcoholic.
Hope Idiotic | Part 23
He burst through the apartment door like a savage. It was just past one in the morning, and Michelle was in bed asleep. He started to kick his shoes off, but he noticed that she hadn’t closed the closet doors. He hated it when she left the closet doors open during the night. He pulled the folding doors to close but something was on the sliding track preventing him from closing the closet. Lou thrashed and thrashed them again. When he realized what was blocking the doors—some of Michelle’s shoes that had been pulled out—he kicked at them and a heel or two slammed against the wall of the closet as the door path became clear. “Fucking shoes!” he shouted. “To hell!”
What’s an Mp3 Again?
We had finished lunch at Arby’s.
Then took me to his place, which was his parents’.
A lovely home decorated in northeastern Americana
heavy on the light houses.
His bedroom looked like the bedroom of a twenty-year-old
who lived with his parents
and attended a university a fifteen-minute drive away.
Ten minutes longer than his commute to high school.
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.