Life, and other Wastes of Time
by
Robert G Dietz III
Star is sitting by my door when I arrive home. Her knees are drawn up to her chest and she has a book sitting open next to her. It’s a collection of Kafka. I’ve only seen her read this book about a hundred times in the four or five years I’ve known her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I wanted to hang out. I was bored and there was nothing going on at home, so I came over here.”
“And decided to just wait when you realized I wasn’t home?”
She stretches like a cat and then stands up. She cocks her head to the left and smiles, ever so slightly. “No, I knew you weren’t home, but I wanted to be here when you got here. What are we doing tonight?”
This is a frequent occurence. Not her just showing up when I’m not home, this is a new development. Her just assuming that I will spend my time with her. In her defence, I usually don’t have anything to do, and if I did, I’d rather spend my time with her.
“What if I had a date tonight? I couldn’t really get out of that, just because you’re bored.”
She laughs. It sounds like tiny wine glasses breaking. “Now, we both know that isn’t true.”
“You’re my friend, you’re supposed to have confidence in me.” I say, as I unlock the door, open it and allow her to walk in first.
“No, I’m your friend, and I know you too well. It’s doubtful that you have a date. You either don’t find anyone interesting enough to ask out, and if you do, you sit around torturing yourself wondering why someone so interesting would want to spend time with boring old you.”
“Point and match.” I say, and walk in after her. She walks over to one of the couches and spreads herself out on it. She opens her book and says “Now, figure out what we’re going to do tonight, I want to finish reading this.”
***
I met Star about five years ago. I was standing outside a bar, where some friends inside had become absolute bores. One was all hung up on some woman he had went on a date with, and was for sure she was “the one”. The other was so drunk, that halfway through a story he’d be telling, he’d start laughing at the resolution, and then forget the story. He’d then go and get another drink, only to come back and start the same story again.
I was smoking a cigarette, which I was a pack a day guy back then. A woman with a green military jacket that was two sizes too big for her walk by.
“You shouldn’t do that, smoking kills.”
“Really, then it’s not working quick enough.” I said, and turned away from her.
She laughed and then said, “My name is Star, and you amuse me.”
“Well, nice to meet you Star, my name is Ralph.”
“Ralph? Ralph. I feel sorry for all the people named Ralph. It sounds like a cough that’s trying to be a word.”
“Says the girl named Star.”
“Yeah, well...my parents were fucked up, but cool.”
“Okay. So what do you do, Star.”
“Oh, I just go around, being me.” she cocked her head and smiled.
“No, I mean...for a job.”
“Why is that the first thing anyone ever asks? Why is society fixated on what a person does to earn money? Isn’t it just enough for a person to be a person. That’s beautiful. But instead, people concentrate on ugly ugly money. I mean, it’s cool if you live to work. If the thing that defines you is your job. But some people work so that they can exist. So they can be themselves.”
“Wow. Fine. Good on you.”
Star then started to amble around me. Not really speaking, but singing a song to herself, low and mumbling, and not really paying attention to me. I finished the cigarette and said “I better get back inside.”
“No! You should hang out with me. C’mon. I promise it will be more fun than whatever you’re doing right now.”
“Okay, and what were you planning on doing?”
“I was thinking about dropping acid.”
I start walking toward the door of the bar and say “Goodnight.”
Star runs in front of me blocking my path. “No, I don’t expect you to either. I want you there, so you can write down any crazy shit I say, or tell me what I talk about or what I say I see. Also, if I start freaking out, there is someone there to talk me down.”
“You barely know me.” I say, trying to push her aside.
“Yeah, but I’m more comfortable with strangers than with anyone I know.” she bit her lower lip and look just slightly embarassed by this statement.
I stood staring at her for a good while. Contemplating what I was going to do. I felt sort of responsible for someone who tells me they are about to do something irresponsible. I’m no prude, drugs are fine if that’s your thing, and if you’re smart about it. I also felt she was being smart about it. She wanted someone with her in case things went south.
“What the hell, but...if things go bad, I’m taking you somewhere for help, and you deal with the consequences...and you can hate me if I have to do that.”
“Yay! No! I won’t hate you!” she said jumping up and down. She stopped jumping and giggling and then gave me a hug. The thing about a hug from Star is that you can tell she means it. Usually, when someone gives you a hug you can tell that it’s done because in their mind, good form dictates that they should give you a hug. There is no affection or honesty in them. It has become a symbol for affection, without actually being affectionate. But when Star hugs me, I can feel geniune affection in it. I still do, after five years.
***
I come out of the bedroom, after completing the rituals people do when they get home from work. Changing clothes, cleaning up a little bit. I walk into the kitchen and Star looks up from her book and says “I’ve had an idea.”
“Wonderful, I’m guessing it’s going to be great!” sarcasm all but dripping from the statement. I grab two glasses from the cupboard and fill one with ice and water, the other with ice and rum, with a splash of Coke.
“We go out and get you laid.” she says as she takes the glass of rum I hand to her and sit down in the chair opposite the couch.
“Not interested.” I said as I sip at my water.
“C’mon, when was the last time you got some...I know for a fact not while I’ve known you, and that’s a few years.”
“It’s been...” I exhale sharply in thought. I think about a girl that was my best friend at that time. We’d both been having bad times. We took comfort in each other. After the shitstorm cleared in both our lives, the sex became an awkward knife dangling between us. We just drifted apart, slowly but definite. ..”seven years.” I finished.
She laughed, loudly. “What? You have to be going nuts. I would be so fucking horny if I had to go that long.”
“True. I’d fuck the wind if it had a moist hole.” I then took a big gulp of my water.
“Then why are you turning down my offer of what to do tonight?”
“Firstly, how do you expect me to meet a woman if I walk into places with you next to me. A woman and a man walk into a place, the general population of said place assumes that they are a couple. If I start talking to a woman that is not you, and then if the conversation goes well, and I start flirting or putting on the moves, then I look like a prize asshole.”
“We can work around that. You said firstly, so what’s the secondly?”
“Secondly, I can’t. I just...can’t do the one night stand thing. There has to be some kind of connection, other than ‘I want to fuck. Now!’ I need an emotional connection. To actually care about the person. Some random person...it doesn’t really work. For me.”
Star looked at me for a minute or so, and then her eyes became saucers and she smiled. “So you could have sex with me...with your caveats that you have. You could do me.” She stood up and started to do what she probably believed was a sexy dance.
“No. I mean, yes. But...there is more to it than that...I...”
“Yeah. C’mon!” she said as she danced closer to me. “I’m wearing a skirt, so I don’t even need to take off clothes.”
“Look, I can’t. You’re my friend...and I don’t think of you like that.”
“I know.” she said and sat down, “I’m fuckin’ with you...well, not literally...but you know what I mean. Besides, you’re my buddy. I can’t sleep with my buddy.”
Yeah, you know how much I’ve heard that, in the past.”
***
The night I met Star ended like this.
***
Star wasn’t always the happy go lucky girl. She had her off days too. I sometimes wonder if she’s bi-polar. Today she called me up and ask if I’d drive her to the next town over so she could take care of some buisness over there.
When I stopped at her place to pick her up, she came out of the door and got into the car. She rolled down the window and slumped against the door. I gave her a hello and she just glared at me and then went back to staring at her lap.
Halfway to our destination she spoke up. “Do you ever feel like everything is degrading? Like, you read about how things were in the sixties and seventies, and it sounds amazing. People were out doing things. They were trying new things. Inventing new ways to enjoy life. New sounds to listen to. New ways to spend time together. Roller rinks. Disco. The Summer of Love. Woodstock. What do we have now? We sit in our houses waiting for someone to invent a new app so we don’t have to interact with anyone ever. I can order everything I need from my phone now. Food, entertainment. Everything. And no one makes anything new. We’re remaking movies that were made thirty or fifty years ago. TV is all reality shows...and there is nothing real about them at all. It’s fucking sickening. Punk rock is dead and I get to see what some famous fuckhole is whining about...”oh, I have so much money and the press is following me everywhere.” Bullshit, that’s what you want. They are only alive when sad motherfuckers live on what these other sad, rich motherfuckers are doing. Why do we give a shit what they name their kids. Jesus. I wish I could start a colony with people that actually want to think and feel.”
We sit in silence for a bit. Then I say “Well, it sounds like you had a good day. I am having one as well.”
