Even under the sun, he couldn’t attribute it to anything: the dark corners around his vision were making it hard to realize that the fault isn’t nearly one thing. Around this time, 2 p.m. He was waiting for his mother to call him back after he excused himself from the restaurant where his father was still waiting. Somehow the vision of dirty brick walls and half-dead palm trees from across the street could distract him from tapping his foot or biting his nails to short stubs. 

The beads of sweat that were starting to roll down his forehead cooled him down and made him realize that he still had his crimson blue blazer on. He was pacing under the shade breathing in the fumes of rotisserie chicken and medium rare meat the restaurant, “Safari,” was so proud to offer. He looked at his watch.

         5 minutes. 4 times the power of 3 steps and 2 steps left, I’ll just wait 1 more minute.

His phone rang. He nabbed it from his pocket hardly able to steady its position in front of his ear. His mother started from the other side.

“Are you home?” she asked.

“No I’m eating with dad.” He answered in a mild whisper.

“Remember you’ll have to pick me up.”

“Mom….it lasted since this morning…going on three hours now.”

“Just pray, you know very well.” she said as she sighed.

“Okay thanks.”

“What?”

“Well….I just wanted you to help me,” he emphasized the YOU with a slight crescendo. “but i’ll see you later on then.”

      I’ll go in, in T minus the power of 3 minus 2 plus the summation of 1 step…

I have these flashbacks sometimes.

Flashes of moist hands, shaking while holding a steering wheel and a dashboard littered with smoke and cigarette buds. Flashes of reasons and kinetic motions leading, guiding this car too far to the left 

Flashes of coagulated blood coating the lining of small syringes. Flashes of saline solution propped by a wire coat hanger being split intravenously. 

Flashes of rickety kitchens and kingdoms of cockroaches. Flashes of people wreaking of interest. 

I wouldn’t be among them. 

Somewhere out there, someone is eating pizza. 

People deserve to be happy. 

Dear Friend, 

I’ve been a little frustrated as of lately. As you know, I’m spearheading my way into Grad. School to complete an education degree and be a school teacher. Not one of the most ambitious careers but you understand my passion. Coming and working as a tutor is getting really annoying really fast. As of lately, I’ve been hiding in this hideous teacher’s lounge and Jesus H. Christ I’d mow some of my coworkers for a fucking cigarette. The scent of this place doesn’t help either; it smells of old bologna and stale bread.

Seeing my statistics grade didn’t help either. When I saw the God-forsaken answer sheet marked with a 65, I couldn’t help but half-skip and half-run to the restroom with my head straight facing the floor, a perfect ninety-degree angle. I locked myself in a stall, fuming almost ready to explode. The reason I went to the restroom is because if there’s anything sadder than being alone, it’s being alone surrounded by the piss fumes of twenty something year olds. It only made my tears sprout all the easier. Stupid toxic waste. I recited my usual Sunday Mantra: I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay. The back of my head, at that moment, was somewhere between thinking of the events that lead to the bottom staircase of failure, pity and resentment. Resentment for all the times I tried and pity for myself for feeling this way, as if there wasn’t any alternative for failure. Thus, you know my goals and I need to complete them. I need to get into Grad. School and I need to help people.

This usual Sunday Mantra of mine, do you remember it? I used to tell you how I feel about Sundays and you recommended this self-hypnosis kind of therapy. Last Sunday’s feelings were a little different, if anything a little more intense. The morning was gloomy, as usual, and desperate. There was desperation for change everywhere. The furniture of my house was scattered all over the new cedar floors and my room was all over the place. To change I would have to walk to my mother’s room and get underwear from my drawer, walk back to my restroom to shower and then walk to my sister’s room to gather my day’s outfit. This Sunday made the move apparent and it caused for nothing to be still, and all of this happens while I’m sitting on this ugly brown couch. It almost seems delicious because the thing looks like a brownie and I’m melting right on it, a la mode. What I do is nothing, notice, and numbing. I can see light peeping through the window shades, brown too, but not as scrumptiously ugly. The lack of duty and order makes me nervous. I can notice every atom and remember how my physics teacher tried to drill in my head how electrons were never still and never could be. My heart, along with my breathing, start off abnormally, pumping strongly, and randomly jumping. I can hear it and I can see it jump out from my chest cavity. This happens at times and you know this because you would visit and recite with me, “I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay.”