Defining Madness: A Love Story - Part 1
Interior Perspectives
Welcome to my little corner of the internet! I’m so glad you’re here. Below you’ll find part 1 of my episodic short story Defining Madness.
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From the Journal of Xavier Solus
July 12th
I wouldn’t say I’m being haunted 📖 [hawn-tid] adjective - Visited by a ghost at regular intervals 📖
No, that’s too strong a word to use at this point. I don’t believe in ghosts anyway.
But I am being watched by something.
It’s true that I’ve been looking for a companion. You know, someone I can spend time with. Someone that will argue with me about the proper way to squeeze toothpaste out of the tube.
This isn’t what I had in mind.
July 13th
My therapist 📖 [ther-uh-pist] noun - a person who helps patients overcome psychological problems 📖 said I should start writing down my thoughts and experiences to see if it helps me process things better.
My first inclination was to buy an actual journal but I prefer the precision of a computer. Besides, it’s been so long since I’ve written in cursive that I’ve forgotten how to write some of the letters. Like a capital Z, for instance. That one always throws me off. I’m not sure why I would need to write a capital Z but I digress 📖 [dih-gres] verb - to move away from the initial point in speaking or writing 📖.
Nothing strange has happened today (no watchers… watching me), but I have a blind date tonight. Those usually provide a few interesting moments.
Wish me luck.
July 14th
Women are contentious 📖 [ken-ten-shes] adjective - prone to causing arguments 📖 harpies 📖 [har-pees] noun a fearsome beast from Greek mythology. Part bird, part woman📖.
July 15th
Four days in a row! OK, you could argue that yesterday shouldn’t count, but an entry is an entry. You may have guessed that the date went horribly, which would be an accurate description.
It didn’t start off that way though.
I used a firm handshake while saying hello, and there were slightly flirtatious undertones 📖 [un-der-ton] noun an unstated meaning or quality 📖 in the way she smiled. Her shoes were ridiculously high though, like high to the point of making it difficult for her to walk at any rate faster than a crawl. I was prepared to let that slide since we all make mistakes. We had drinks and breadsticks at the bar while making small talk about the weather and how terrible movies are these days. I’d kill for a new Goonies.
Once we got to the table she asked me if anything interesting had happened recently. That was a good, probing question that allowed room for conversational growth. I saw a lot of potential in this relationship, so naturally I told her about my visitor. My therapist says that vulnerability is important when you’re trying to connect with someone. Erica, my date, asked me to explain.
“Oh, do you mean someone is visiting you from out of town?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “I mean there’s something in my apartment. It watches me. Don’t know if I would call it a someone…” I thought for a minute before adding, “I guess it could be from out of town, though.” I took a bite of breadstick to signify the end of my explanation.
“Oh,” she said again as she idly pushed a meatball around her plate with a fork.
Things inexplicably 📖 [in-ek-spli-kuh-blee] adjective unable to be easily explained 📖went south from there. An uncomfortable silence descended upon the table. She picked at her plate and kept looking off into the distance. Maybe something was watching her too?
I tried to move the conversation to other topics, but she deflected my questions with one-word answers. We had shown up to the restaurant with the shared hope of meeting someone new, but now we were just strangers eating in the same room. I could feel my frustration threatening to boil over by the time the check came. Still, I offered to walk her home. I’m not a caveman.
“I’ll just call a cab,” she said. We still have those in New York.
That was the last straw for me. You would not believe the number of times I’ve had someone tell me that. I should be used to it by now, but it still stung.
“Good luck flagging down a cab in those shoes,” I said under my breath. Erica walked away. I wasn’t sure if she had heard me, and at that moment I didn’t really care. I know, it wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but I was close to livid 📖[li-vid] adjective extremely angry 📖 at this point, mostly at myself. The night had started out so promising!
I further regretted my words when I got a phone call later that night. It was my sister, Vicki. She had set the date up for us. It turns out that Erica had heard what I said.
“Xavier, why are you such a jerk?” Vicki asked. “When are you going to learn to not be, well, yourself? At least not on the first date?” It wasn’t the first time we had had a conversation like this. I can feel myself getting angry again as I type so I’m going to walk away for a while.
Ok, I’m back.
In other news, the watcher is back too. I felt eyes on me again last night, but by the time I got up and turned on the lights the feeling was gone. Maybe I should set up a camera in my room.
Suggested music for Part 1: Album of the Year by The Good Life
Part 2 will be out soon. You know I can’t quit you
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