Michael Seidlinger - The Strangest

I’m too busy thinking about what to say.

I tell them it feels like anything else: the same.

“What’s going to happen?”

“Lots of people worked up about this ridiculous snafu that fell through. We’re all getting together to talk ‘damage control’ over some beers.” Points at me, “We could use another mind on this. Someone that’s not already got his fucking mind in the clouds.” Shakes his head, “Everyone’s falling apart. Fucking too deep into things.”

Rios turns away from me, looks down the hall, “Don’t know who to trust.” Looks back at me, “But I can trust you, bud.”

I tell him that I have to be going.

Though I do my best to listen to his problem, he is intruding upon my routine. I should already be out on the streets.

I step outside and lock the door. Rios walks with me.

Ben the super waves to me as I walk by. He mumbles, “O-okay … you have a good day.”

I focus instead on what Rios says. I made a decision and I stick with it.

Out on the street, there are already too many people. 48—how many of these people are watching?

Rios and I walk, and this takes on a different sort of importance. I am not alone and being in the company of others means bearing the burden of more peoples’ thoughts.

I look down at my phone. I begin counting and recounting the number of likes and comments Meurks received so far.

You live through it and look forward to the day(s) off.

Rios keeps talking.

Words take on some sort of meaning as the conversation elapses over the course of my entire walk to work.

I listen intently, but nothing he says comes through.

I hear the voice, the voice that is his, but my heart racing, sound of blood thudding through veins loud and clear, I never look at him again, keeping my gaze to the phone, at least one item of my commute remains in place. He keeps slapping me on the shoulder.

Rios acts genuine.

Anticipation is often more than the actual; the day off is really just another day, another day without a routine.

We part ways a block away from the mall.

I tell him, “I’m going to be late.”

Rios chuckles, grins and I worry that it isn’t genuine.

“Yeah boy — I’ll catch ya later!”

And he walks away.

Just like that.

As he disappears I think back to how he appeared at my door.

I think about people and how they are lost and found. I think about the capacity of a single person on a single day, what they are able to accomplish, what kind of routine a single person adheres to in order to have some sort of hope. And then I think about hope as time seems to pass.

When I look back down at my phone, I see that time had been waiting for me. Only five minutes passed.

I wasn’t late for work.

Veronica walked out as I walked into Elite Aesthetics. She said the words again and when I didn’t say them back she wouldn’t leave.

“Stop acting that way, I know who you really are, Zachary.”

The name sounds unfamiliar.

I don’t feel like myself.

That previous sentence also doesn’t sound like me.

I tell her, “I have to work.”

She says, “You already clocked in.”

Veronica looks genuinely worried but I feel really lethargic, like my actions are twelve steps behind and there are no thoughts registering to help bring me out of this situation.

We stand in front of the store.

There are 4 people watching us talk.

13 people brush past us as they make their way to another store in the mall. Veronica has my hand in hers and she squeezes it hard.

I tell her that it’s getting dark outside, and then look back down at my phone. It is going to run out of battery soon. I need to post more.

Meurks isn’t active enough today. He doesn’t feel right either.

That sentence sounds wrong.

Something about this all is wrong.

Veronica goes in for a kiss. Okay.

She is worried.

A thought: I don’t fit in here.

She reads what I’m thinking, “You try too hard, Zachary. If you were who you really were, you wouldn’t feel so much like an outsider.”

It’s the first time I feel like I’m really awake. Not just today but for a long time. I hear my voice clearer, when I deny it, telling her that she’s too attached to me and that something about this whole thing is really wrong.

She tells me to stop shouting.

No amount of resistance pushes her away. I may have realized it more than once and most certainly said it many times:

If I am strange, so is Veronica.

If she calls me strange, I’d say she’s exactly the same.

Then I kiss her. Feel genuine as I hear the words slip back out.

I love you.

She takes them despite there being nothing with the words.

Feels like nothing, but she’ll take it.

No sighs, no releases, she looks at my hand in hers and at the fact that my gaze almost always goes to the phone before it goes to her.

The strangest part of this is how I think, later, Zachary the employee in effect helping a customer— may I help you? — I think I have imagined so much of it. The most bothersome part, the encounter with Rios, is the only part that stays. It’s the only part that I never question.

It’s the only part that I think about at lunch break.

It’s the only part that doesn’t feel strange.

And I don’t know why.

I don’t fit in here. But I haven’t purchased food beforehand — Rios altered my routine this morning — and so I go to the food court, where many different fast food chains are well-represented.

Bright, lit up signs, long lines, over 100 people.

This is a mall made for this. This isn’t a mall made to accommodate people like me. My phone in my hand, I read what I want from the menu I searched for online. The employee points to the menu behind her but that means having to look up. I’m already looking down.

I order and I move to the side, finding the perfect place to wait for the food, a place wedged between counter and trash can.

Nobody is standing close enough.

There are more than 100 people in this wide open public area.

There are 8 employees at this fast food chain.

They are, on average, selling more hamburgers sold than can be eaten.

Where do all the uneaten hamburgers go?

Lots of comments, average likes.

Meurks is found to be funny. I contemplate what brand of humor this might be. I take the tray of food to an empty table farthest away from the noise of families and couples and assorted people occupying the tables closer together. I take a bite and already know that the food will get cold quicker than I can stomach eating this.

I place the phone next to the food and I begin.

Do my best to eat the food without coughing, without choking, without dribbling anything on my shirt or eating in a manner that might cause disgust in others. I eat calmly. I look up once and observe a man and woman speaking to each other in a way that feels right, feels as though they are supposed to be here, on a Saturday, and they are talking about something that they both genuinely care about; they laugh sometimes and then they also listen, intently listening to the other’s voice. Thoughts are relayed in perfect lines that I think could be rehearsed but aren’t.

I have been staring for too long.

I return to the phone. I get three likes before I hear a voice.

A man with his own tray of food stands at my table.

He is wearing a suit.

“Excuse me, mind if I sit here?”

I look at him and then at his food.