Ketchup: No Open Food or Drink in the Library
“You’re a lil’ squishy piece of shit aren’t you, all high and mighty wrapped up on your bourgeois packaging. I mean, what the hell do you even think is in here?”
“…..”
“On the side? So it does, so it does, so it does, so it does, so it does. This is the last ingredient then?”
“…..”
“First, allow me to ask you something real quick if you will just indulge my curiosity, wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-what do you suppose this mysterious lil’ squishy piece of garbage tastes like?”
“….”
“These ones? A couple, a few, to be sure, to be sure. A non-insubstantial amount. Enough to get the ol’ noggin’ workin’. More than one? Undoubtedly. More than two? With certainty. More than three? Why, I’d defy you to find a…”
“….”
“I was going to say, before you so rudely interrupted, that I’d defy you to find a single doubt with which to contradict the certainty that is me having drunk at least three cups, though it is evident that you have defied yourself my dear. As to your first point, which hereafter is my second point… no. Decidedly. Should we not marvel and wonder and build the anticipation before placing the finishing touch, especially when we have it so close at hand?”
“You can’t have food in here.”
“I would hardly classify this as food.”
“And yet it is.”
Reasonable. “Well, it seems that once again you have bested me milady, perhaps you would like to join our little soiree.”
“No, Larry, I’m sorry. I’m going to need you to leave, you can’t bring this mess in here.”
“Oh my dear! There’s no need for such theatrics. In fact, as it was, I was just preparing to leave tout de suite having, of course, just about finished up the project, which has been occupying our attention. If you’ll just allow me to pack up my affairs I shall be out of your hair.”
That’s a new chandelier they put in.
Don’t you think it’s weird they put a chandelier in the library? It seems so fundamentally… anti-book.
Well I mean there’s no flames, seems to be electric.
I mean still, given the legacy, it just seems like a poor stylistic choice.
Menacing.
Yes, menacing.
“You should take that chandelier down, it’ll do worse for the books than a hamburger.”
“That’s not up to me. Goodnight Larry.”
“You saw me out.”
“I had to.”
It was too warm out for a sweatshirt, but too chilly out for a T-shirt. Horrendous weather. The warm buzz from the caffeine filled my head and my thoughts danced around the rosie. I worked the packet in my pocket vigorously, seesawing it between my fingers, the packaging crinkled and crumpled in my hands, but adamantly refused to leak let alone burst.
The door to the house is pink. The exterior walls are blue. It is here where I sleep, and where I eat. The door is always unlocked, there’s nothing of value inside.
“Where were you?”
“What’s it matter where I was?”
“Why do you have a loose hamburger?”
“I was at the library. I made it. They kicked me out.”
“Jesus Larry, what the hell is wrong with you? You can’t keep doing creepy shit like this, there is no justification for it. I can’t keep doing this any more. You need to move on.”
“She looks like her you know.”
“Of course she fucking looks like her. And with your bullshit she can’t move on either. Why do you insist on bothering her. Why would you make a fucking hamburger at the library?”
“Why does anyone do anything?”
“No, no! Larry, that’s not good enough. It’s enough with the bullshit.”
“Because I am fucking sad Jay. And I have been sad, and nothing that I do has any…”
“Oh shut the FUCK up, that’s some teenage melodramatic bullshit. It has been five fucking years Larry. Five fucking years. And I am sorry, I truly am, but don’t sit here and pretend like you’ve been working so fucking hard to get better. How many times have I tried to get you to see the therapist? To see the counselor? And what the fuck do you say to me every goddamn time. ‘No, I need to work on this myself. They’re not going to understand the process I need to go through. I just need some more space to work this out.’ I have been here this whole time, I have supported you this whole time, I have given you the space, but this is it I can’t… I can’t Larry… I can’t do this anymore. I just fucking can’t.”
I don’t think I’d ever seen her cry, not since back then. Five fucking years ago.
Will you dance with me?
What?
Come here dance with me.
There’s no music.
Just come on, we don’t need music to dance.
Just let me just put some on, I have my phone.
Ahh whatever forget it.
Wha-what-what? No, I’m sorry. Come on, dance with me.
The packet released from the balcony initially spun violently, but slowed as it descended, like a figure skater stabilizing an Axel. Weakened-so it was by my hand, my caressing and coddling, it did not splatter, it bounced harmlessly off the ground and rolled into the bush out front. Again, and again, and again. I still can’t understand how the ground had become soaked with red. How could it have been my touch that broke you?
I love you. I’m sorry. Goodbye.
“Mr. Johnson? Please follow me to the back.”
“Hi Larry, I’m Dr. Luke, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself to get started.”
“Well, Dr. Luke, it would seem that there is, evidently, something wrong with me seeing as how I am here, so why don’t we go on ahead and skip all the hoopla, you can slide me on over some of those antidepressants and I can be right on out of your hair.”
“Larry I admire your tenacity, but I’m afraid that’s not exactly how we do things here…”
I worked the packet in my pocket as he spoke, my hands still unable to break the packaging. I haven’t spoken to Jay in a while. I think she loved me too.
I won’t let you go.