Sam Pink - Rontel

Could smell my genitals today, sweating through Wrigleyville.

I decided to go back home after not seeing any signs about jobs (and just generally not wanting to talk to anyone).

I’d gone into one place and asked if they needed help and the guy seemed to say yeah and I was like, “I can wash dishes and shit.”

Regretted adding, “and shit.”

And the man asked for my phone number but it didn’t look like he would call me plus there was no way to leave a message on my shitty phone and I was too discouraged to set up a voicemail.

And shit.

Walking through Wrigleyville in the heat, half looking for dishwashing jobs, half just walking.

My brother sent me a message.

Half a minute — gone.

Subtracted.

Twelve and a half minutes remaining.

Death death, the plunge.

Him: “Hey that microwave you mentioned is still here should I grab it.”

Me: “I still work?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we smash that shit.”

Him: “Yeah man.”

Subtract subtract subtract.

Minutes gone.

Into the terrible plunge of death, oh lord.

I envisioned myself falling into a deep pit, as seen from above, with my arms out reaching for the place I always already was.

And my life felt complete, satisfying, and worthwhile.

But only for like, twenty seconds.

Kill you — I thought, addressing Chicago (but more accurately, anywhere I was or would be).

*

When I got home, my brother was sitting on the floor drinking water.

His hair was sticking up and he looked unfocused, petting Rontel.

The microwave was on the floor next to them, no sign on it anymore.

“But,” I said, “does it still work.”

My brother put his water glass down and swallowed loudly.

Staring straight ahead, he made the sign of the cross then slapped Rontel’s ear and said, “Let’s find out.”

Rontel rubbed his face against the microwave.

My brother grabbed Rontel and held him up like a handpuppet.

He put his finger on Rontel’s bottom lip and made the bottom lip go up and down, doing fast laughing sounds like, “Meh meh meh meh.”

*

I carried the microwave, after my brother asked who was going to carry it then quickly said, “Not me.”

In an alley a few blocks away there was an open fence to an apartment building courtyard.

My brother grabbed the microwave from me — yelling, “Yuhhhhhhhhh”—running into the fenced area.

He went up the back staircase.

He was moving fast, considering how he had to hold the microwave in his outstretched arms, away from the rusty back part/ broken part (neither of us were updated on our tetanus shots).

Three flights up, he leaned over the railing and checked below.

With both hands — overhead, soccer style — he threw the microwave off the deck and into the alley.

The microwave hit the ground a few feet from me and compressed a little, sending out small pieces.

It was great!

Always felt like, if I could pause time, I’d just go around and break everything then un-pause time, leaving people unharmed but everything else broken, even clouds, mountains, and the sun, maybe a fish or two as well.

*

My brother and I ran home.

We slowed down by the entrance to our building and stood there.

I said, “Why did we run. We could’ve walked.”

“You started and I followed,” my brother said. Then he said, “I feel like I’m faster than you, but that you could run for a longer time than me.”

I said, “Yeah, definitely.”

And I remembered the gum I had in my mouth.

Worried I’d inhale it while catching my breath.

What would that do to me: a piece of gum, stuck in one (both?) of my lungs.

I saw myself decaying in the corner of a room empty but for a toilet — wheezing in the corner, purple-skinned and seconds from death.

My brother gave me the gum a couple days ago and I saved it.

It was pink and had been in a dresser drawer for a long time.

When I ate it today after my sandwich, the gum crumbled into dust at first.

It was extremely hard to keep the pieces together in my mouth but once they all combined it was nice, and then, hey, I was chewing gum.

Regaining my breath out front, I spit the gum against the wall of the apartment building.

The gum bounced off instead of sticking, which is what I imagined it would do, stick.

Why didn’t it stick.

Definitely thought it would stick.

This means something — I thought.

Followed my brother into the apartment building.

I thought about inventing a word for when your smile becomes a laugh.

The breaking point between the two.

This is the breaking point — I thought.

And I had a strong urge to tell my brother I loved him because I’d never done that and he’d never done that and he was the only person I talked to so it seemed important.

*

My brother showered and went to see his girlfriend.

I lay on the tile floor, playing with Rontel.

Dripping sweat.

I thought about how tomorrow, I’d completely change my life.

Tomorrow I’d do something new.

Something as yet undone.

Yes.

Tomorrow will be the start.

I’ll do something I’ve never done.

I’ll go to the store and purchase a new videogame.

The videogame will be a new release.

I’ll say, “Which is the newest, best game” to an employee, then buy whatever suggested.

I’ll take the videogame home, reading the instruction manual as I walk, because the anticipation to play the game will be so intense that I’ll need to read the manual before I even play.

At home, I’ll play the videogame to its conclusion, completing what the game asks of me.

Play the game until I win.

I’ll fucking win.

And the winning won’t be hard, because the game will have been designed for someone to win with very little trouble.

And early evening will pass into the next day, sun rising on me through the (blinds closed, DUH) windows.

And I’ll turn the videogame off.

Stand, stretch, walk to the window, open two blinds with my first and middle finger, and look outside.

No focus, just looking.

Forever, as a feeling that takes place inside of time.

What next — I’ll think, staring outside.

What next, Chicago.

How do you want me to fuck you, Chicago.

Then I’ll go to bed, to another terrifying dream of being on the deck of a ship during a violent storm.

Same fucking shit.

Sweating on the floor this afternoon, I decided to take a shower to stop sweating on the floor this afternoon.

*

After the shower, I noticed my only towel wasn’t clean.

It smelled really bad and had crumbs all over it and I think Rontel pissed on it and it would probably give me a rash.

So I got some paper towels and used them to dry myself off.

At first, looking at the sheets of paper towel, I thought — This is the saddest thing that will ever happen to me.

But no.

That’s silly.

Using paper towels to dry off after showering might not be bad.

Why get upset.

Why get upset about anything.

Everything felt automatic.

Controlled.

Control yourself.

Ok, I will.

No, you don’t even know how to start.

That’s true.

Look at the paper towels.

Dry yourself.

It’s a new day.

Start this new day.

You can do anything you want, just have to dry off with those paper towels first.

Exciting.

Exciting because I knew if I wanted, it could be the beginning of a new period in my life.

One where I solved problems as they happened.

One where I solved problems before they even had all their elements.

A new period where I eliminated problems before they were problems.