I'm Not Laughing

BEEP! “Dr. Love, your twelve o’clock is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Claire Love sat in her easy chair with her high heeled feet propped up and a cup of rosemary tea in her hands. The smell relaxed her senses, but not enough to keep the barrage of questions from swirling in her mind. How would she tell Alexander Percival what she needed to tell him? What would his reaction be? Would this put a strain in their therapist-client relationship? She took a sip of hot tea and closed her eyes as she waited for her client to enter her office. Just to show she was serious about trying to relax, she pressed a button on her remote and played gentle piano music on the stereo. Still not enough to put her at ease.

There was a knock on her door and upon being told to come in, Alexander Percival waddled in the room with a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hand and a worried expression that equaled his therapist’s. “So what’s the emergency, Dr. Love?”

“Thank you for coming by on such short notice, Alex. Please, have a seat. Get comfortable.”

He took his gray hooded sweatshirt off and hung it across his own easy chair, complete with its own footrest. His dismal expression told the story of not being able to relax despite the cushy chair’s comfortable features. He sat with his spine hunched over and his fingers drumming on the coffee cup.

Claire placed her tea mug on the coffee table and took deep breaths as she tried to come up with the right words to say. “Alex…I want you to know that…I enjoy these sessions of ours. I really do. I enjoy learning new things about you. I enjoy giving you healing when you need it the most. Nothing will change that. However…I want to preface this by saying…I know you don’t actually have hostile feelings towards women.”

“…What? What are you talking about?”

Claire pulled an iPad out of the coffee table’s drawer and scrolled through it as she explained herself. “I went through your Twitter feed last night. I saw something there that upset me deeply. This Tweet goes a while back in your history, but it’s still there and it still gives me chills every time I read it. In this Tweet, you’re doing a parody of feminine hygiene product commercials. And…my stomach hurts reading this out loud…you said…‘If it smells like dead fish and you’re nowhere near the ocean, buy a shipping container full of…Vagisil Pussy Wipes.’”

Alex’s massive hand trembled so badly that he spilled a little bit of coffee on his blue jeans. He gave a tiny yelp and wiped the stain off with the belly of his shirt.

“It doesn’t end there,” continued Claire, swallowing a wad of saliva. “In a similar Tweet, you refer to tampons as Tampax Tube Steaks. You also refer to maxi pads as Blood Huggies.” Holding her palm against her aching stomach, she placed the iPad back on the coffee table and said, “Alex, do you see where I’m going with this? I know you have a weird sense of humor, but this goes beyond comedy. Comedy can’t be comedy if it’s not funny. These kinds of jokes will do more damage than good.”

Alex downed the rest of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the rubbish bin. He hunched over and ran his trembling fingers through his thick brown hair. He seemed to have a more difficult time coming up with the right words than his therapist. She even detected a tiny tear dropping down where his coffee stain was.

“You know what this conversation reminds me of?” he said with a shaky voice. “It reminds me of being back in college with a creative writing professor who wanted me to submit only G-rated stuff. I couldn’t have any R-rated fun around her and she threw it in my face all the time. I gave her what she wanted…and all I got was a lousy C+ in return.” He lifted his blushing face. “I feel like you’re trying to censor me, Dr. Love. I don’t want to be censored.”

“Alex…listen to me….this is not about being R-rated, G-rated, PG-rated, or whatever. This is about using common sense. Your Tweet was buried so far beneath the rest of your history that you dodged a bullet when it came to getting backlash. But what if the wrong people saw that Tweet? What if you finally managed to find a girlfriend you liked and she read that? What if your boss read that? What if your writing became famous one day and a media outlet picked up your Tweet? Are you really prepared to defend those jokes against the ones who mean the most to you?”

Alex’s voice grew even shakier than before. “So what? You want me to ask you for forgiveness? You think I don’t know how the online mob mentality works? I could ask for forgiveness over and over again and it won’t make a difference. I could literally be on my hands and knees and it wouldn’t be enough. I gave up on asking for forgiveness a long time ago.”

Claire took a sip of tea to settle her anxious tummy. “Alex, you don’t have to ask me for forgiveness. I already forgive you. It’s not my job to cast stones at you. Unconditional love is a prerequisite for being a sex therapist. But you’re right about one thing: those other people might not be as forgiving as me. Which is why it’s important that you do something about this Tweet before everything spirals out of control.”

“You want me to delete it? Why? So that I can prove the conformists and gatekeepers of the world right? So that I can remind them that they can do whatever they want to me without resistance? This is a free country, Dr. Love. I don’t have to justify my first amendment rights to anybody.”

“That’s true. But there’s something you should know about the first amendment. It protects you from the legal consequences of free speech, not the social consequences. In other words, you won’t go to jail for anything you say as long as you don’t defame anybody. But free speech is a two-way street. If you have the right to make sexist jokes online, then your critics have the right to respond to you however they want, not the least of which is labeling you a social pariah. Alex, if you want to be in a creative field, you have to learn to take criticism gracefully.”

Claire could tell that Alex was doing his damnedest to hold back his tears and shield his red face. He shook some more as he refused to engage his sex therapist.

“Alex, you don’t hate women. I know you don’t. That’s not who you are. But when I read those Tweets, as a woman, I think to myself…I don’t feel safe around this person anymore.”

Another small tear splashed onto Alex’s jeans. It was obvious to Clare that he couldn’t stand breaking down in front of a woman whose job it was to build self-esteem. He pulled himself up and staggered towards the door.

“Wait, don’t go!” Claire pleaded. “Please. Just do me this favor.” Handing him the iPad, she said, “Delete what you’ve posted. This isn’t about censorship. This is about your life. This hatred is not worth defending. You’re better than this.”

“Better than what, exactly?” said Alex with a sniff. “Better than a C+ student who couldn’t hack it with a G-rating?”

“Please, Alex. I know you’re hurting now, but you’ll hurt even more if this joke circulates to the wrong people. Nobody’s asking you to change who you are. I’m just asking you to use some common sense. Please…delete these messages. Do it for the women in your life who trust you and love you.”

Alex’s breathing became labored as he wiped another tiny droplet out of his eyes. He kept his back to Claire as if to stall for an answer, as if this choice was the most difficult one he’d ever made. She could see that he thought his individuality was on the line and she knew nobody should have to compromise that. But in the end, Alex turned to face her without lifting his head. He reached for the iPad and sat back down to do his work. After a few more long seconds of stalling and refusing to crack, he tapped the screen a few times and handed the iPad back to his therapist.

“It’s done. The Tweets are gone.”

Claire breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank you so much for doing that for me. How do you feel?”

Still refusing to lift his head, he answered, “Hurt…defeated…controlled…embarrassed. I’m an English student, I should have more words for it somewhere. Humiliated…sorrowful….”

“I know you’re hurting, Alex, but whether you know it or not, you did the right thing by deleting those Tweets. You’re not a sexist. You’re just a guy who made a mistake. You don’t need to be punished for it by the online mob.”

Unable to hold back any longer, Alex’s tears came more frequently and his voice grew even shakier. Pouting sympathetically, Claire crossed the room and cradled his head in her arms. “It’s okay, Alex. It’s okay. I forgive you. Let it all out. You are an amazing human being. You are sweet. You are kind. But most of all…you are loved. After our sessions are over, I’m sure you’ll find a lovely woman who’ll agree with all of those things I’ve said.”

“Crying sucks. Goddamn, I’m such a snowflake.”

“No, you’re not. Snowflake is a derogatory term for a natural emotion. You’re just a highly sensitive person. And to be honest…I like that in a man. Now, what shall we work on today?”

The embrace was broken and Alex snorted more salty liquids up his nose while wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve. “Can I have some of that tea?”

“Of course you can, Alex.”

The Last Aqua Man

***THE LAST AQUA MAN***

Remember a blog entry a few weeks ago about my childhood soccer team The Thunder Eagles? Well, that wasn’t just a fun story. It’s now an undeveloped idea for a novel somewhere down the line. The reason Silent Warrior resonated so well was because it was loosely based on real experiences I had. The Last Thunder Eagle, as it’s now called, will hopefully resonate as well since I used to be a sore loser. In some ways, I still am a sore loser and perhaps this novel idea is what will exorcise those demons forever. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve already written the first chapter of Beautiful Monster and I intend to see that one through to the epilogue. Wish me luck!

But as long as I’m being inspired by stories from my past (that thankfully aren’t too traumatic), I might as well throw another one out there and see if it sticks. In the same way The Last Thunder Eagle is intended to be about soccer, The Last Aqua Man will be about swimming lessons, should it ever become a novel idea. When I was a kid, I already knew how to doggie paddle from point A to point B. But that just wasn’t enough for some reason, so my parents signed me up for swimming lessons at the community pool. Although I didn’t get hit with any soccer balls or knocked down, I still was not a happy camper.

There were six different levels of difficulty for these classes: Beginner’s Level Parts 1-4, Intermediate, and Advanced. During both rounds of swim lessons, I was placed in Beginner’s Level 4 and never passed to the next tier. One of the big reasons for this was because I hated sticking my head underwater without plugging my nose first. I hate water in my nose, I hate coughing it up, I hate blowing it out, and I hate water in my ears. I would have worn a pair of goggles that protected my nose, but the swim instructors wouldn’t let me use them. Instead they suggested that I hold my breath before sticking my head underwater. Didn’t work. I ended up feeling like a whitewashed version of Crazy K from Tales from the Hood. I know I make that reference a lot, but there aren’t a whole lot of movies out there where somebody shoves IV straws up another man’s nose, so that’s all I’ve got to work with.

During the second season of swim classes, one of our assignments was to dive right into the water, head first, arms extended. The first time I did this came without incident. In fact, my parents applauded me from the sidelines. And then with every successive time came more water in my nose and throat and not enough ways to expel it. After a while I just refused to dive and instead did a pencil jump while holding my nose shut. I already told you guys that I never passed either season of classes, but at this point I didn’t give two shits and a flying fuck. I was the Last Thunder Eagle and the Last Aqua Man all in one childhood. Sports really aren’t my thing after all. Hell, even gym class in general was an exhausting nightmare at times.

When I talked about The Thunder Eagles, I mentioned how soccer could be improved if hardcore violence was allowed. Well, I don’t think the same could be said for this blog entry. My misery was nobody else’s fault…this time. Nobody pushed me in the pool. Nobody tried to drown me. Nobody splashed me while I had my clothes on. Who was I going to beat the crap out of? The closest I could ever come to that would have to be literally cutting my nose off to spite my face. Yeah, that’s right! It’s my nose’s fault for allowing water to get in there in the first place. That’s not what noses are for! Isn’t that right, Melanie Good’s character from Die Watching? Now there’s a reference absolutely nobody is going to get…unless you’re into that sort of thing. Then again, “that sort of thing” is the only reason why I know that movie exists. How sad. How relentlessly sad.

So how exactly would The Last Aqua Man become a reasonable story? Would it be too similar to The Last Thunder Eagle? Am I just destined to write novels about sore losers my entire career? Mitch McLeod was a sore loser (when he did lose, which was not often). Mario Bryan was a sore loser. And now the main character from The Last Thunder Eagle, a ten-year-old named Alex Woodley, is going to be a REALLY sore loser. Brock Lesnar once said it best: in order to know how to win, you have to know how to lose. He was a sore loser in college and so am I in the real world.

And that’s the thing about life itself: failure is inevitable, but it’s how we react to it that will determine future success. Some people will pick themselves up and dust themselves off to go to work the next day. Others will crumble under the pressure and give up altogether. There were some things in my life that were worth continuing and some that I gave up on. I gave up on playing the guitar because I couldn’t move my fingers quickly enough across the frets. I gave up on playing Street Fighter IV because Abel kept getting cheap victories over me. I gave up on playing Magic: the Gathering because it became more about capitalism rather than the love of the game.

But when it comes to my creative outlets, mental health, and physical health, those are things I will never compromise on. These three things can’t exist without each other. I write for a living. I work on other creative endeavors for the love of art. I need a clear mind to do those things. And as far as physical health goes, I know my bulging belly will tell you otherwise, but I’ve actually lost a lot of weight in the past few months. I eat only three meals a day without snacking on sugary foods, I walk long distances whenever it’s nice outside, and I drink a lot of unsweetened iced tea. A lot! I haven’t kept track of how much weight I’ve lost, but I know I must be doing something right, because I can make it up and down the stairs without being overly winded. I guess there is life beyond childhood soccer and swimming. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: You know, Reina, there was once a time when I considered Squall Leonhart from Final Fantasy VIII to be my own personal hero. He had no emotional attachments, no unnecessary relationships, and he mastered the art of giving zero fucks.

REINA: So basically your hero was an angsty teenager?

ME: No, that’s not what he is!

REINA: He sounds like an angsty teenager, Garrison. I bet he listens to a lot of Linkin Park.

ME: Final Fantasy VIII came out a few years before the first Linkin Park album.

REINA: He still would have listened to them.

Streetwalker

Danielle Courtney looked stunning in her wizardly dress. The predominately black overtones brought out her dark side, but it was the green and purple flame patterns that struck fear into the hearts of overzealous men. And yet, she needed the attention of as many men as possible given her nightly profession, so her mysterious dress had a long slit in her left leg and a low-cut top as well. Her outfit alone told any potential client that she could make their dreams come true, but also their nightmares if they got too frisky. With black lipstick, flowing black hair, and red ruby high heels to complete her ensemble, tonight was the perfect night for some fun.

The cool and crisp evening had been one of clear streets and loud partying from within the bars and taverns. Danielle could easily scope out clients from within those bars, but given their inebriation levels and her limited magical abilities, the night might not go according to plan. She kept walking the streets in her killer heels until she spotted a rather muscular looking man standing at the corner with his brawny arms folded and his villainous smile concentrated on her.

As soon as Danielle got closer into the light, she could make out the man’s features much more easily: a black Mohawk, clean shaven beard, and pieces of meat stuck between his teeth. This man was a celebrity in this town. He was Ryan Brock, a barbaric warrior who spent his days hunting gigantic animals in the woods and bringing the carcasses back to sell as meat to the highest bidder. Clearly, Mr. Brock was looking for a different kind of fresh meat judging from his devilish grin, which struck a little bit of fear in Danielle Courtney’s heart.

“You look stunning in that dress. Hell, you’d look stunning no matter what you were wearing. I bet you smell good too. Let me ask you something, miss: how much are you?” said Ryan. There were several other ways he could have phrased that question that would have been less offensive. “How much for your services?” would have been nice. “Can I have some company for the evening?” would have been even better. But “How much are you?” really got under Danielle’s skin. Nevertheless, she had a job to do if she wanted to stay in wizard school.

The lady of the night smiled right back at her new client and said, “One-thousand gold pieces should do just nicely.”

Ryan laughed and said, “Goddamn, you’re driving a hard bargain. If I have to pay that much money, it must mean you’ve…done this before!” There he went again with another vulgar expression that made Danielle feel cheaper than the price she was offering. Nevertheless, he tossed her a sack full of gold coins and said, “It’s a done deal.”

Danielle opened the pouch and counted her money. All one-thousand pieces were there. “Very good, Mr. Brock. I trust your meat sales are doing nicely. Come with me. There’s an inn across the way we can stay at.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Ryan before he gripped his new woman’s hand tightly. “I’ve got an even better place to do this. It’ll be nice and secure and you’ll…get more business out of it!”

The wizard prostitute used her free hand to cast a spark spell on the barbarian’s hand, the sharp pain forcing him to release his painfully tight grip. Both client and businesswoman shook the pain out of their hands and got some blood flowing yet again. Danielle said in a stern voice, “Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Brock. I don’t care how much of a celebrity you are around here. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed in your so called ‘epic battles’. My rules apply to you as well as every other man who propositions me for business.”

Ryan Brock laughed out loud and said, “Alright, little lady. We’ll do things your way. But if you use any of that hocus pocus shit on me again, I might have to break more than your ‘business rules’. I’m not the kind of guy you can afford to miss if you throw one of them fireballs at me from your fucking fingertips.”

Danielle tossed the bag of money back at her now former client and said, “You know what? I don’t need this shit. I’ll find another client, probably one who isn’t anywhere near as disgusting as you!”

“Bitch, you’re in the wrong business if you think you can cherry pick your own clients,” said Ryan. “Hell, I don’t get to choose who I fight most of the time. They just come to me looking to throw down and if I don’t give them what they want, they’ll leave me bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Except you don’t want any part of that, because you’re too much of an arrogant bitch.”

“Here’s the deal,” said Danielle while folding her arms in contempt. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. If you come after me, I’ll have no choice but to…”

“But to what? Throw some more sparks at me? Give me a break, woman,” said Ryan while cracking his knuckles and slowly approaching the lady of the night. “This is going to be a cakewalk. I don’t normally get the chance to fight a magical bitch like you. But trust me, pumpkin: this won’t last eight rounds!”

Danielle kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot in the other direction, but Ryan was monstrously athletic and caught up to her with so little effort. He bear hugged her kicking and screaming as the two of them went into a dark alley together. Danielle had to think of a spell to cast quickly, but she was only a novice at what she did and had a limited range of what she could cast.

Ryan threw the wizard on her back hard against the concrete, taking the wind out of her while the barbarian smiled evilly at her from above. “You want to say no to me?” he said. “We’ll see how those two little letters work out for you from here on in.” With Danielle still trying to regain her breath, the warrior laid on top of her and held her arms down with almost crippling force.

And then…her first idea for a spell came to her. She obviously couldn’t use her arms, so she shot lightning bolts out of her eyes, burning a hole in Ryan’s forehead. After he got off of her and danced around holding his wound in pain, Danielle thought she had it all figured out, that she would just get up and run away from all of this.

She was able to stand up after catching her breath, but at that same time, Ryan had said, “Just kidding!” and stopped hopping in pain. He removed his massive hand from his forehead and revealed that the ashen wound didn’t even penetrate his skull. It looked more like a cigar burn than the result of a magic spell.

Danielle clenched her fists and her teeth tightly knowing she was in a fight for her life. Orange energy swirled around her as she got the inspiration for another magic spell. Ryan continued his arrogant posturing with his sarcastic facial expression and hands on his hips. It would appear he would pay for his mockery when the wizard threw a rainstorm of fireballs, lightning bolts, and glacial spikes his way.

A multi-colored magical aura formed around Ryan like this deadly spell was going to consume him completely. Danielle continued to throw energy until she was so exhausted from doing so that she fell to her knees and panted heavily. She didn’t want to look up to see if her magic had actually worked this time. She just knelt down on the pavement and sobbed to herself.

She had even more reason to sob when she felt an ashen, yet muscular hand on her shoulder with the same gravelly voice that said, “That was a hell of a light show, honey. But you forgot one important thing. In order to cast a spell properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!”

With a mixture of tears, trauma, and darkness washing over her, the next few moments were a blur for Danielle Courtney. She seemed to stay in that state of numbness for eternity and she had no illusions about what Ryan Brock was doing to her. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was the longest period of misery she had ever experience. She may have had sex for a living, but being raped and molested was not part of her resume until that night.

Danielle finally came to hours after the dirty deed had been done to her. She was sore all over and her beautiful dress was torn to shreds. She was bleeding heavily from her groin and sobbing hysterically as she saw the remains of what was once a delicate flower. Even though Ryan Brock was gone and couldn’t hear her, she said in a slow whisper, “You will pay for this. You…must…die!”

The broken prostitute crawled on her hands and knees and painfully dragged herself over to where Ryan dropped several bags full of gold coins. Except he didn’t drop them on purpose. Danielle actually had a plan in mind. In her magical flurry of madness, she aimed most of those projectiles at his sash and belt, where the money was kept. He had more than one-thousand gold pieces on him. In fact, carrying that much money could have counted as strength training.

Ryan took off without ever knowing he left that much money behind. And now it all belonged to Danielle, who swore to herself that she would spend the money not only on wizard school tuition, but also for advanced and doctorate classes. By the time her studies were over, she would be the most powerful wizard on the planet. Then and only then would she be able to exact her revenge on the ultra-powerful Ryan Brock.

Learning magic of such a high degree would take years. At first Danielle didn’t think she could handle that much schooling. But after tonight, her focus was tighter than ever. She would hold the image of Ryan’s disgusting face in her mind for as long as she was attending classes. That was her motivation to graduate: knowing one day she would be a powerful enough wizard to rain Armageddon flames down upon the one man who ruined her life. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell was waiting patiently for Ryan Brock.