Everything Is Awful and You're a Terrible Person

by Daniel Zomparelli

  I woke up, my bed soaked. I went to get a glass of water and saw that you were still on my couch. You were looking out at the grey Vancouver sky from my window. You looked at me and said, “Tropical Bill Murray would wear cargo pants.”

  “I heard once that Bill Murray crashed a bachelor party and hung out with those guys all night,” I replied.

  “I heard that he attended this random kid’s ice cream party.”

  “I heard that one time, Bill Murray joined in on a couple’s engagement photos.”

  “What if it was Bill Murray?”

  “It’s not,” I said.

  I could hear the wind pressing against the window.

  “You ran out of hope.”

  “To be honest, I never liked Bill Murray in the first place. I heard he’s not that great of a guy.”

  DATE: SMALLTOWNBOY

  Ho.

  I hope you meant hi.

  :p

  TONGUE-OUT SMILEY FACE

  ;p

  What does that mean?

  I dunno, like ;p I dunno

  Uh?

  It’s like, I said something and it’s weird so ;p

  Well I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

  ///

  We had been travelling down the road for a couple of hours. Long past any city, just mountains and smoke from forest fires enveloping the sky. He finally pulled off a ramp for a stop at Dairy Queen. I let my arm hang out the window.

  “You want anything?” he asked.

  “No.” I pulled my arm from the window and into my lap. “Maybe an Oreo Blizzard.”

  He parked the car, zipped up his pants, and let out a fart before getting out of the car.

  “Thanks, because you couldn’t have waited until you left the car.”

  “Whatever, my farts don’t even smell.”

  “The worst part is that you believe that.”

  ///

  Therapist sat back, smiled, and waited for the conversation to start. It took a few minutes before she gave up and began asking questions. “So, why are you here?”

  “Um, I guess because I feel weird, or I don’t know if I feel anything, honestly.”

  “Well, that’s something.”

  “I don’t really get how this works.”

  “What do you want out of this?”

  “I guess … not to feel weird or something.”

  “Okay, I guess that’s a start. Maybe we can talk about what feeling ‘weird’ is to you. Are you with someone, are you single?”

  “I think I’m with someone.”

  ///

  He came back to the car and passed the Oreo Blizzard over to me. I began to swirl it around, attempting to find the spaces where mostly vanilla was. We drove out of the small town of Princeton on the way to Kelowna. I slipped in a few naps during the ride.

  When we pulled up to the ranch, there were already several people drunkenly swerving around the house. He giggled and passed me his phone. There were several photos of me sleeping with my mouth open and him putting things in it.

  I laughed, punched him, then got out of the truck. My brother was puking into a bush while his girlfriend screamed at him. You could tell she was just as drunk as he, but her version of vomit came out in the form of verbal abuse. We walked up to them, and she continued to berate him without hesitation. “You’re a fucking fat drunk asshole,” she said, “you drunk, fat asshole. Hey, guys. Get off the fucking ground and get to our tent, you dirt bag.”

  She waved us off as she pulled him out of the bush that was now covered in his puke.

  ///

  I woke up and reached to the nightstand to grab my glasses. They weren’t there, but I kept reaching over until I felt something soft and warm. I kept my eyes closed, knowing what this familiar softness was.

  “Can I have my glasses back?”

  He lowered his voice. “First, you must give professor penis a kiss.” I rolled over to see my glasses placed on top of his penis, with his pubic hairs parted to the side. I tried not to laugh.

  “Well, it is the head you think with; it might as well have glasses and a doctorate.”

  “Give professor penis a kiss.”

  I grabbed my glasses swiftly, hitting him harder then expected. He dropped to the ground, laughing in pain.

  ///

  Can I come over?

  :p

  Is that a yes or a no?

  ///

  When I arrived home, he was lying on his belly, eating Nutella, and watching Yo Gabba Gabba. He was high again.

  “How was work?”

  “I was fired.”

  “Oh …”

  He turned off the TV and turned around. He had been crying.

  “Didn’t know Yo Gabba Gabba was such a dramatic show.”

  He set aside the Nutella and rubbed his hands together awkwardly. “Can we talk?”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  He sat there with his eyes watering, which quickly turned into heaving fits of tears. “I just don’t feel the same way anymore.”

  “Oh, you have feelings now, you fucking asshole.”

  “See, you turn into a bitch every time I try to talk.”

  “Stop crying. Stop fucking crying. You don’t get to cry and break up with me, that’s not how this works.”

  “I’m sorry.” His crying became uncontrollable.

  “I’m supposed to be crying. Stop crying. Stop it!”

  We sat in silence for several minutes. He continued to sob. He finally looked up and stared at me with moisture outlining his eyes.

  “How come you never cry?”

  “Because I’m not sad, asshole. I’m mad.”

  “I’m worried you don’t feel anything except anger.”

  “You think that everyone has to fucking feel everything? Look at you. You can’t even watch a children’s show and you’re looking at me like I’m a monster? You just broke up with me!”

  “Do you even like me?”

  “Sure! Of course I do.”

  “No, but like, do you actually like me? Tell me something you like about me.”

  I couldn’t come up with anything. There was something. My mind went blank. I grabbed my stuff and walked out of the door. He yelled something about picking up his stuff tomorrow. I threw him the middle finger—“Feel this.”

  ///

  We set up our tent near the water. The creek slowly streamed past us. A slight breeze passed under my shirt, and I hugged my arms against myself to keep warm. He pulled me in and covered my body with his, protecting me from the cold. He was twice my size. Sometimes I felt like I could hide under him. Sometimes it felt like the weight of his body would push my shoulders into the ground.

  We grabbed our cooler full of beer and whiskey and headed toward the bonfire. The party was in full swing. We took shots of whiskey to catch up.

  I stood next to the bonfire. My brother was asleep on his girlfriend’s lap. I pulled out a beer and stared into the fire. In the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a man in deep red flannel, far back in the forest. I looked up and he was gone.

  My boyfriend was already three beers in when he came to the bonfire. He had shotgunned two in just a few minutes. His eyes were glazed, and he began to grind up against my body. “You’re funny,” he slurred.

  He pulled off his shirt to show me a scratch from drunkenly climbing the rocks, then he pulled down his nipples. “Look how angry my nipples are! Angry nipples,” he mumbled. “Kinda looks like you.”

  ///

  Sometime I close my eyes and I can turn into wallpaper. I hold his hands, and it feels like an ocean is splitting our bodies. I think about what it would be like to let go.

  ///

  When I got to his apartment, he was on his belly watching Dora the Explorer. He was high again.

  “Fuck, I wish I had a magical backpack and, like, a map that told me where to go.”

  “You have an iPhone. You literally have a map that tells you where to go.” />
  “Why do you always have to shit on everything?”

  ///

  It was too dark to see, and I had lost the flashlight. I was soaking wet from the downpour. I could feel a familiar salivation in my mouth. My throat felt metallic, but my stomach felt like acid was swirling around with chunks of processed beef. Thinking about the burgers we ate didn’t help.

  I began to spit excessively, trying to get my mouth to stop salivating. It became too much, so I ran to the sound of the river and threw up over and over again. I felt the cold stones between my fingers. As I spat out the remnants of vomit, I could hear them gently splash into the water. I lay down and put my head into the freezing creek.

  I could see a light bouncing down the hill toward me, shining in my direction. It looked like there was a small town in the middle of the forest. I blinked and it was gone. I felt someone’s hand slip under my body and lift me up just as I blacked out.

  ///

  He called me later that night, apologized, and asked if we could work things out. I paused for a moment and said, “Sure.”

  “Can you come over?” he asked.

  I showered, grabbed some clothes, and headed over to his place.

  When I arrived, he was already in bed, pitching a tent and giggling. He reached from the bed, pulled me in. “You want to role play?”

  I tried not to laugh. He reached under my armpit and I collapsed. He knew I couldn’t stand being tickled. After that, it was moments before my clothes were ripped off and we were having what he referred to as “porn star sex,” aggressive thrusting for a camera that doesn’t exist.

  “Oh, there’s this move I wanted to try. I saw it in a porn last night.” He lifted my body and placed me on my head so that my neck was crunched.

  “This isn’t very comfortable,” I gurgled through clenched teeth.

  He finished, rolled over, and began to make fake snoring sounds. Bursting into laughter, he pulled me in and tightened his grip into a suffocating cuddle.

  “Okay, you get three minutes of cuddle action.”

  I leaned into him.

  “Ugh, you’re like an oven.” He rolled over.

  ///

  When I woke in the morning, he was already off to work. I pulled on my shorts and shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. I looked around to find my Post-it notes everywhere, most of which had cute things written on them like, “for my babe” or “one coupon for snuggles.” But the rest had “do not touch” and “can you please take your stuff home next time.”

  ///

  We packed up our tent. The ranch was quiet and covered in dew. My parents sat on the patio sipping from mugs. We sat down, and they poured us coffee.

  My parents began to complain about the neighbours, Sally and Mark. They had a very impressive garden and more dogs than any family should have. My parents were certain that Sally and Mark had trained the dogs to shit only in my parents’ yard so that they had to clean the dog poop and the neighbours’ garden would be untouched. I stopped paying attention to their ramblings when my mother interrupted my thoughts. “Are you still taking your anti-depressants?”

  “Mom, I never took anti-depressants,” I replied.

  “Oh. Weird. I don’t know why I thought that.”

  We slipped past my brother, who was passed out on a lawn chair. After a quick breakfast at the diner in town, we drove back toward Vancouver. We didn’t talk much. He mumbled, “I guess this means I’m not getting any road head.”

  ///

  “You can’t shut down every question I ask you.”

  “I just don’t know how to answer these questions. I don’t know.”

  “Well, you came to me for therapy, so you have two options: you can either start looking for answers or disappear.”

  ///

  The first time he broke up with me, I called an ex-boyfriend to come over. This is what I did after every breakup. I would call my previous boyfriends, have sex with them, then beg them to leave immediately afterward. Daisy chaining. That’s what my therapist called it. As if I was in some unstoppable loop, chaining one ex to the next, looping in and out, back and forth, some loops much stronger than others.

  ///

  “I’m worried I don’t feel anything.”

  Therapist nodded.

  ///

  We checked into the motel, quickly took a shower, and got into bed. He looked at me with that look which meant he was either about to fart or to say something that would hurt me. “Can you sleep in the other bed tonight?” I stared at him for about a minute without saying anything, kissed him, and jumped into the second bed. He flicked on the TV and we watched Clueless until we fell asleep.

  I woke up to the sound of scratching. I looked over and saw him sitting in front of the mirror with his head down.

  “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t respond. I felt dizzy. “Are you okay?” I shook my head to clear the dizziness, but he got up and walked toward the door.

  “Please don’t go,” I yelled. He opened the door, turned around, and looked directly at me. When his eyes finally locked onto mine, his body lifted and he floated up into the clouds.

  I was screaming when he finally hit me in the head with a sock. “Would you shut the fuck up! I’m trying to sleep.” I’d been hallucinating again.

  I threw the sock back at him. “I was having another nightmare, asshole.” I left the motel room. It was very late and we were in the middle of nowhere, so there wouldn’t be any place open to go to. I walked for a while, going further into the forested area than I should have. I saw a light flickering, and I could hear music. It was coming from a small pub in the middle of the forest. There were only a couple of people inside. I walked up to the bar and sat next to a man who was fiddling with his phone. He had on that deep red flannel shirt I had seen the night before. Just underneath his hands was a small daisy chain.

  “Did you make that?” I asked.

  “No,” he smiled. “Someone made it for me. How did you get here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s usually how it happens.”

  His body was twice the size of mine. He ordered me a beer. It felt as if one sip was all it took for me to finish it.

  “You were at the party. I noticed you before,” I said.

  “Yeah, that party wasn’t for me. I’m local to this place. Too many city people coming in makes me feel uncomfortable.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Not you,” he chuckled, “you’re fine. Was that your boyfriend with you?”

  “Um, kind of. I’m not sure what we are. I guess.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Another beer arrived as soon as I was finished. Another arrived after I finished the second. He had a deep laugh and his eyes looked like charcoal. The beer went down fast, but my body felt light. I wasn’t drunk, but my head felt loose.

  He set his hand on my thigh and whispered, “I can give you anything you want.”

  I felt like I was floating. We walked over to a small cabin nearby. When he turned on the lights, there were small collector’s toys everywhere, tiny plastic dolls from every cartoon I could recall. They covered every free surface. A tiny Dora the Explorer looked down from on top of the television.

  He told me to grab us some beers from the refrigerator. I accidentally opened the freezer and noticed Oreo Blizzards lining the back wall. I shut the freezer, opened the refrigerator, and found cold crisp beers perfectly filling the entire interior.

  “Why do you have so many old Blizzards?”

  He laughed. “I never finish them, but I always feel bad throwing them out.”

  When I turned around, he was wearing nothing but his underwear. He pulled me toward the small bed that sat right in the middle of where a living room should have been. Itchy wool sheets covered the bed. It took him no effort to lift me, and then he gently laid me down.

  “I can give you anything you want,” he whispered again into my ear. I felt his hands slip away fr
om my back. My body floated above the bed. The lights began to bounce around the room.

  “I want this.” I pulled his hands toward my neck. Just as his hands clasped my throat, I disappeared.

  ///

  “I was thinking about the tongue-out smiley face, and I thought of you.”

  you came back to life. you looked the same and talked the same, but something felt wrong. it wasn’t until i was driving out of an underground garage that I realized it would be impossible for you to come back. your body has been decomposing in the earth for over two years. you said that as long as you took three pills a day your body would stay together. my landlord was telling me that it would be impossible for you to be alive. i asked you to tell me what you used to make me for dinner every time I played soccer. you said pizza, and i knew it wasn’t you. you would remember the time i ate pizza and vomited throughout the night, which was why i wouldn’t eat pizza until i was eighteen. you would remember this.

  SEX DATE

  1.

  Therapist rested her head on her hand, smiled, and said, “You know, I think you’re done talking about this guy.” Therapist was determined, so I stopped. Therapist said it wasn’t about him. Therapist reapplied her lip gloss, placed her hands on her lap, and asked me about work.

  Earlier in the day, I’d had an interview for a new job. Therapist said my job was making me upset so I applied for new ones during my work breaks. Therapist asked me some questions to prepare me for the interview, like, “When was the last time you think you failed yourself?”

  I recalled being in grade eight, attempting to perform in a talent show when I panicked, forgot all of the words, and then began to dance off stage. Just then, one of the older guys yelled out, “faggot.” Therapist was upset that I wasn’t taking this seriously. I told her that I always feel like I’m failing myself.