Everything Is Awful and You're a Terrible Person

by Daniel Zomparelli

  HAPPINESS IS HARD WORK

  Me

  My mom was showing me around. It was a party, but it wasn’t a party that had to do with our family. Someone had purchased the house. My mom was just there as the current house owner to make sure everything went okay. I asked her why she’d sold the house, and she told me, “I figure it’s too big for me and I should move closer to the hospital. That way I can be closer to you.” I was happy with this decision. She asked if I wanted to meet the new owner and then introduced me to my ex and told me he’d bought the house. He and his new boyfriend would move in. They would take my old bedroom. My ex walked up to me and told me he was going to gut the house and completely remodel everything. Then I woke up.

  Therapist

  Do you believe that dreams mean anything?

  Me

  Yes and no. Just feels like it has to mean something if my ex is living in my dead mother’s house.

  Therapist

  What do you want from these sessions? Why are you here?

  Me

  I remember when I used to like myself. Now, I don’t know how that feeling works anymore. I remember when I felt awesome about myself. Now, it’s like every thought I have about anything I do is so toxic. Yesterday at work, I thought about him and I went into paralysis: I literally couldn’t move my body.

  Therapist

  I want you to write a letter to your ex and say whatever you need to say to him. That is your homework for this week.

  ***

  Me

  We were sitting around my childhood home, and my ex was sitting across from me with his sister. I asked if I could use the shower and they both claimed they’d need to use it soon. I began to feel furious that they had taken over my mother’s home and screamed at the sister until I woke up in tears.

  Therapist

  You have to figure out how to remove him from the memory of your mother.

  Me

  I’m trying.

  ***

  Me

  There was this weird thing that happened last week. I was sitting there, and all of a sudden I had this feeling in my stomach. It was a deep gut feeling that I haven’t felt before.

  Therapist

  And what was that?

  Me

  I could be happy, and everything was going to be okay.

  Therapist

  That’s a good thing, no?

  Me

  It was right after that brief moment of happiness that I felt more dread than I have ever felt before in my life.

  Therapist

  Then that’s it.

  Me

  What?

  Therapist

  I think this should be your last session. I don’t think you need me anymore.

  Me

  But it was just a brief moment.

  Therapist

  Yup. That’s kind of how it works. I’m here to get you to that point. The rest is up to you now. By the way, did you ever end up writing that letter to your ex?

  Me

  I did.

  Therapist

  And what did it say?

  Me

  I want you to move out of my mother’s house. You don’t belong there.

  DATE: NOTALLICAN

  Ryan walked right into the front entrance of the house, which was large, with pillars three storeys high. The front door was open and led into a cavernous entryway. A voice echoed from another room.

  “I’m just in here.”

  Ryan went toward the voice. NotAllICan was preparing small canapés in the kitchen. Ryan stuck out his arm for a handshake. NotAllICan laughed and pulled him into a hug.

  “You’re much older than I thought.” Ryan couldn’t hold his irritation back.

  NotAllICan laughed harder than before. “Well, if that’s a problem, we can call it a night.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. It’s just, you look like your profile pictures, I just …”

  “I told you I was fifty-six.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I promised myself that I would say yes to anyone who asked me on a date.”

  “That’s a bit of a Russian Roulette, no?”

  “I guess.”

  “Has it been eventful?”

  “Definitely eventful. I feel like I’m writing a memoir called Bad Sex Date.”

  He laughed. Ryan really liked his laugh.

  “Let me pour you a nice drink, and let’s move over to the couch. I hope you like these canapés I made.”

  “You like cooking?”

  “Love it. Always thought I could be a chef if I wasn’t so focused on my dancing career.”

  “You were a dancer!”

  “Ballet dancer, to be specific.”

  “Well, you definitely have strong legs. Wait, you were able to afford all of this with ballet?”

  “Oh, god no. I switched over to business. I got into developing businesses and then selling them off as soon as they became successful.” NotAllICan rubbed Ryan’s back. Ryan felt an immediate rush to kiss. NotAllICan lifted him onto his lap and felt Ryan’s arms go up his shirt. Ryan felt like he wanted to bury himself in his body. NotAllICan picked him up and walked him over to the stairs.

  “I’d carry you up my stairs, but I’m not that strong.”

  Ryan laughed.

  NotAllICan was lying on his back, smiling up at Ryan who had just cum all over his stomach. NotAllICan laughed and Ryan started to laugh as well.

  “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know what happened there.” Ryan rolled over and grabbed a nearby towel.

  NotAllICan cleaned up and brought Ryan back downstairs. They finished up the leftover snacks and the wine.

  “Would you be okay if I stayed the night?” Ryan asked.

  “Well, that would break my rules. I don’t let anyone stay overnight.”

  Ryan felt a chill roll over his body.

  “No, no. It’s not you. It’s just a rule I have for myself. I really like being on my own. I spent a long time always trying to fit a relationship in my life and felt miserable, so to keep myself from dating, I just keep it simple.”

  “Doesn’t that get lonely?”

  “Sometimes. But I go on lots of trips, and I have a few best friends that I see often. They provide all the emotional support I need. And, well, men like you provide the other part. And I’m thankful for both.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, now I feel disposable.”

  “I don’t think of it that way. I think of it like a way to fill my life full of love and lovely people. Some are just for a brief moment, some are for longer than that. I’ve been in relationships before and failed them very quickly on. Maybe you’re more like me. What were you looking for?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, honestly.”

  “I’ve never figured that out, and that’s what scares me most.”

  LIKE BUFFY

  “Remember that time we went around telling everyone we were brothers?”

  A faint sound came from the phone.

  “And then, finally, when everyone believed us, we kept making out near the pool? Strangely, some of them seemed cooler with the idea that we were incestuous brothers than gay men.”

  ///

  “Today I went shopping for the first time in two years. Remember how I used to wear out my clothes to nothing? Just strings and waistbands? I figured I would buy those nice jeans everyone is wearing, those really skinny ones. I found a good pair, bought them, and asked a friend if they thought they were too tight. They said no, so I went back to the store to return them and get a tighter pair. When I pulled them off there were all these wrinkles and marks on my skin from the pants digging in. I mean, I know I don’t look like those guys with the nice bums, but I guess these help a bit. You never cared what jeans I wore.”

  There was a muffled sound in the receiver.

  “You would like these jeans.”

  ///

  “I’m je
alous of you. The way you fall in love so easily.”

  ///

  Rain rustles in the background.

  “When you left, I didn’t know what to do. I just drank every day until it was the next.”

  The phone is silent except for the faint sound of short breaths.

  “I’m sorry either way. Anyway, we’re all going to Lindsay’s tomorrow. I hope to see you there.”

  ///

  “Stephen caught me masturbating last week. It was really embarrassing. The weirdest part was that he was mad because I left the dog in the room. I wasn’t even thinking about it—his dog always sits in my room. What does a dog care if I masturbate anyway? He treats that dog like it’s a human being that he’ll have to take to school one day and then visit the counsellor when the dog is all, ‘I have all these weird repressed sex problems because I used to watch my uncle masturbate.”’

  He hears the phone being hung up.

  “Oh, c’mon! I’ve told worse stories!” He throws the phone across the room.

  ///

  “Caaaalling all my bad bitches,” he slurs into the phone.

  The phone is hung up.

  “Whatever, asshole, you used to love that joke.”

  ///

  “You’re always here, but I couldn’t find you tonight. They kicked me out of the bar. I don’t even get why. I didn’t even have that much to drink. I’m fine. They don’t even get it. You weren’t here. I’m still outside. They kicked me out, I don’t get it. Bunch of assholes. I’m here. Where are you?”

  ///

  He attempts to hide the slurring in his voice. “You ever feel like sometimes you’re just making it all up? Like, none of this is real, and we’re all just inside our own heads? Like, all it will take is a single snapshot in time, and you’ll realize that the entire existence you created is just a delusion? Like that Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode. Joss Whedon is like the Stephen Hawking of our time. No, wait, Stephen Hawking is the Stephen Hawking of our time.”

  ///

  “I’m starting to forget things about you, like the way you memorized lyrics so easily, or the way you flared your nostrils when you were happy. I forgot what your voice sounds like. Everyone says I should stop calling you, but I know you, the way you ignore linear timelines and narratives. At least, I think I remember that about you. Are you even there?”

  ///

  “I’m not supposed to call you anymore.”

  ///

  “I thought of you today. I was leaving work, and I was crying, and this homeless guy asked me for money but I didn’t have any. I was crying so hard, he gave me a hug.”

  ///

  “Sometimes I feel like maybe I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I’m like, walking around fighting demons in leather suits, and like, no one gets me.”

  There was a muffled sound in the receiver.

  “You’d be Angel. Or Spike. Or that military guy nobody liked. Sometimes I feel like you’re that military guy nobody liked.”

  ///

  “They say I shouldn’t call you anymore.”

  ///

  The sounds in the phone were muffled; change clinked against the receiver and barely audible noises rose and lowered.

  ///

  “I’m worried you aren’t real.”

  ///

  “I thought about tongue-out smiley faces and thought of you. I … I can’t call you anymore. I’m going to try again, so I can’t call you anymore.”

  ///

  There was static on the phone and music playing, but it was too faint to hear.

  HIS BIRTHDAY IS NOT MARCH 7TH

  1.

  I’m going to die young, I tell Therapist. She gets mad at me when I say this, says that I can’t predict that. I tell her that I am going to die young and that I will probably never fall in love, because statistically speaking, it’s impossible—based on the fact that I will die young. Therapist says that anxiety is the reason I feel this way, and that it’s not actually true.

  She asks me if I’ve gone on any dates recently. I tell her about one guy. He’s nice, and we’ve gone on several dates. I think they are dates, but we never call them that. If a date isn’t called a “date,” is it a date? She doesn’t answer my question.

  She asks how we met, and I tell her that I joined an online dating site as she’d suggested. I put in all of my preferences, completed several quizzes, took photos of myself, and posted them on my profile. It took me several weeks to finish the profile because I kept deleting it. She tells me that it sounds like I’m making progress.

  Therapist asks why I haven’t asked him out on a formal date. I explain to her that he appears to be happy, and I don’t want to change that. She gets upset and asks if she can smoke in the room.

  2.

  He asks me if I want to stay at his place and watch movies. I ask him if this is a date. He doesn’t hear me, so I just mumble something about liking movies.

  3.

  He has this thing about birthdays—he doesn’t like to celebrate them. Therapist says that this could be from childhood trauma, but it’s probably nothing and that a lot of people don’t like birthdays. I ask him when his birthday is, but he won’t tell me. I ask him if it’s March 22nd, and he says no. I note in my phone memos that his birthday is not March 22nd. I thought it was March 22nd.

  4.

  I ask him if he is happy, and he says he’s not sure. He asks me if I am happy, and I say I’m not sure—I don’t really know if I’ve been the “happy” that everyone means when they say the word. I know I’ve felt joy, and I’ve felt many moments of joy chained together to form happiness.

  His birthday is not March 3rd; I know this because his friend told me that wasn’t the date.

  He asks me why I fear being happy. I tell him that I will probably die young. He laughs hard and touches my hand. I ask him if this is a date. He says it is. I apologize to him for being weird. He laughs again.

  I ask him if his birthday is the same as any celebrities’, and he says yes, but doesn’t tell me which.

  5.

  I go through my memos and put in all the dates his birthday is not. It’s almost March, so I start to panic. What if I miss his birthday?

  He makes me dinner. I ask if it’s his birthday today; he laughs and says no. I ask him if, when he laughs, that feels like happiness. He frowns.

  He tells me he doesn’t feel happy the way other people seem to. He tells me that it’s like there is a giant balloon of sad attached to him. Sometimes the balloon is very big, and it feels like it’s lifting him away because he’s too depressed—it seems as if the world is very far away and there’s no way for his feet to reach the ground. He says sometimes the balloon is small and he drags it along; he feels good, but it’s still there. The balloon is always there, he says, it just changes size and sometimes it’s easy to go anywhere, but sometimes it’s hard, and the balloon traps him in his room, too big to fit through a door. Or it’s so large that it feels like he can’t get back down to the ground. He feels all alone, floating in the air.

  6.

  I stop answering his text messages and phone calls. Therapist asks why. I explain that I have a gut feeling about this. She says that my gut isn’t always right. I tell her that something is wrong, and I think I should stop talking to him before things get worse—two sad people will probably make things worse for each other. She nods but she says she isn’t sure she agrees. I cancel plans with my friend Ryan. He leaves me several texts asking if I’m okay. Ryan shows up at my apartment with candy and says I can’t spend all week in my bed again, and he makes me take a shower. When I get out of the shower, Ryan tells me that I’m not going to die. I laugh. This is one of his tricks to get me to stop thinking about death. Ryan tells me I shouldn’t give up on the guy just because of a “gut feeling.”

  7.

  His birthday is not March 7th.

  8.

  He shows up at my house. I ask him to leave, but he asks why I haven’t been returning hi
s calls. It is now March 3rd. Today is not his birthday. He asks to come inside, and I make us tea. He’s upset and explains to me why I should work with him on this. I get upset and ask him to leave. He doesn’t.

  He tells me that he hates his birthday because it always made him feel too visible; people would shine too much attention on him, and it made him feel small.

  I touch his hand. I think about how big his hands are. I imagine myself as a three-inch person who could crawl into his hands and fall asleep. He would walk me around the world; I would see the mountains and the ocean from his hands. He would let me sleep on his neck at night. He would let me float away with him and his balloon.

  He asks me why I stopped answering his calls. I tell him that I will die young and that I probably won’t fall in love. That sad people shouldn’t fall in love with sad people. That we will make each other sad and that we can’t help each other.

  I ask him if he thinks two sad people can be happy. He doesn’t respond. I ask him if I made him happy, and he says that it’s not that simple. I touch his face, and he pulls me into a hug, his soft belly pushing against mine. I tell him I like the way he feels in a hug. I tell him that I love the way depression has rounded his body, so perfect for a hug.

  He kisses me for the first time, on a day that isn’t his birthday.

  I ask him how big the balloon is, and he says it’s dragging behind him. I say that I will try my best to make the balloon small for as long as I possibly can, but that one day, he’ll probably float away from me.

  DATE: MONSTER

  Monster knocked at the door. He was early. Ryan wasn’t ready and snapped, “You’re so fucking early!”

  “Hello, it’s me, from the dating phone application,” Ryan could hear from outside the door.