After the cars emptied out of the street, and the bottles of beer were drained into the sink, I still didn\u2019t leave the party, and Maurice didn\u2019t kick me out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI need a smoke,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHave at it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We went into the garage. A shower curtain hung close to the door, separating a sink from everything else. We had to pass through the curtain to sit down. There was barely room for two chairs. My feet, at times, hit the car that Maurice was converting into a truck, and my elbows knocked against benches crowded with tools. I got the sense that one false move would bury me in muddy work boots, splintered baseball bats, greasy rags, and so much more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis must be what it\u2019s like to sit in someone\u2019s mind,\u201d I said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maurice nodded and blew smoke. \u201cYep. Mine\u2019s full of junk just like this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cReally? Like what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, you know\u2026my neighbor playing his keyboard too loudly, and my pants feeling tighter even though I eat less, and someone obstructing my path no matter where I turn on the street. Get it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d I said. \u201cBut what\u2019s wrong with that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI should be smarter. It\u2019s the same crap every day, every week \u2013 variations of it. And no matter how much I try to ignore it, this stuff bothers me. It\u2019s petty.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe you don\u2019t need to ignore it. Maybe you should accept it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAccept it?\u201d Maurice scoffed. \u201cHow can I accept, you know, tighter-fitting pants when that means I\u2019ll have to waste money on more? And what does that say about my health? Of course<\/em> I have to live in a time when everything I eat makes me fat, with all the highly-processed sugars. I can\u2019t escape it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maurice went on for quite a while, I must admit, and I simply nodded along, maintaining eye contact. At first, I was interested in hearing what he had to say about his weight, since my own had troubled me at times, but then Maurice kept talking, raising his voice, punctuating his venomous thoughts about himself with drags on his cigarette. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When Maurice got so angry that I thought for sure he would hit me, just for a release, an idea flashed in my head: Tighter-fitting clothes allow for a wardrobe change, a makeover, a style upgrade, a new you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Not too long after, to my astonishment, Maurice stopped seething and, in a very relaxed manner, said nearly the same thing: \u201cBut I can buy some pants that are more stylish. I haven\u2019t gone shopping in a while, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wasn\u2019t sure what to make of it, so I sat quietly as Maurice shifted to another topic. Now he was going on about his keyboard-playing neighbor. As he plumbed the incredible depths of his anger towards the music, a thought crossed my mind: The neighbor has a cat. I bet he plays midnight lullabies to his little kitty.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n In a short while, Maurice said, just like before, \u201cBut I\u2019m going to believe that my neighbor is serenading his cat, and that they dance to the music like cartoon characters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I was curious, then, if the pattern would hold true when Maurice broached another subject. This time, he was telling me how much he hated walking around his neighborhood. Sure enough, when his vitriol towards pedestrians and cars alike reached a fever pitch, I thought: You live near so many people. You can\u2019t feel alone. And you can see new places when dodging traffic.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n As if on cue, Maurice said, \u201cBut I like taking different paths because I notice new businesses and parks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n After that night, I always stayed at Maurice\u2019s house after the cars emptied out of the street and the bottles of beer were drained into the sink. <\/p>\n\n\n\n While I sat next to Maurice behind the shower curtain in his garage, he talked, and I listened. And with everything he mentioned, he always reached what I had come to describe as \u201cthe turn,\u201d or that moment when his anger was completely exhausted and he found a way to accept his situation. Because I would say the solution in my head, and not too long after Maurice would say the same thing, I thought that I might have some kind of hidden power, such as telepathy or reverse mind-reading. But ultimately, I realized that Maurice and I were simply more alike than different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Since we made such a perfect combination, I never considered that Maurice and I might not sit in his garage like we usually did. But there was an evening when I didn\u2019t hear the solution in my head and Maurice never said one. I was preoccupied with something that Maurice had said recently: \u201cYou\u2019re not much of a talker, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The question repeated in my head as he spoke, rattling my understanding of the garage. I kept wondering if now would be a good time to interject. But I never took the leap into the conversation. Instead, I felt a resistance that was impossible to overcome. I opened my mouth. I shifted around in my chair. But I never said a single word. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I eventually stopped hearing Maurice, to the point that I had to ask, \u201cCan you repeat that?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNever mind,\u201d he said, stubbing out his cigarette. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We had been sitting for less than an hour, but I understood. Off nights happened. I left him alone and looked forward to our next meeting. <\/p>\n\n\n\n When the night came, I noticed a figure behind the shower curtain, like a killer in a movie, which was one of my worst fears. I pleaded with my eyes to Maurice, hoping he would tell the person to get out, that the party was over, but he said, \u201cScott\u2019s sitting there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The shower curtain was thin and clear, yet it was frosted enough to obscure the body. I could only see a pair of blue eyes, so striking that they would never allow this man, Scott, to truly hide. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I waved at him, but he didn\u2019t wave back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Maurice started talking about his neighbor again, I felt like I was competing against the blue eyes, so I listened as intently as I could. However, something happened that I could have never anticipated. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Right at the point when I imagined \u201cthe turn,\u201d a throaty \u201cHa-ha!\u201d pierced through the shower curtain, sailing past me and striking Maurice like a knife to the heart. He paused, assessing the blow, and then continued speaking with a twisted grin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf my neighbor isn\u2019t going to respect me, then I\u2019ll return the favor. I\u2019ll bang on his walls all night. I\u2019ll tap on his bedroom window.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEven better, I\u2019ll dust off my old keyboard and play the song back to him, one wrong note placed in front of a correct one, confusing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m not going to live my life always wearing headphones. I\u2019m not going to drown out the world over one asshole.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I kept waiting for \u201cthe turn,\u201d but Maurice continued, sinking deeper into his rage, and all the while, the \u201cHa-ha!\u201d grew louder, longer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIsn\u2019t it funny?\u201d Maurice eventually asked me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSure,\u201d I replied, not knowing what else to say. Of course, I wanted to tell him \u201cthe turn,\u201d that he and his neighbor should play together, but I couldn\u2019t get it out. I couldn\u2019t bear a \u201cHa-ha!\u201d directed at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fortunately, my response provided a release. Maurice then said, \u201cI guess it\u2019s nice to have a musician living nearby.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I wished that the night could have ended right then, but Maurice ventured into another topic. He was still upset about his tight-fitting clothes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Once another \u201cHa-ha!\u201d burst into the air, my thoughts drifted from Maurice to my fear of the shower, or more precisely, my fear of someone ripping open the curtain and mercilessly stabbing me. The physical pain, no doubt, would have been awful, but the worst of it would have been standing there naked, completely at ease, and then being attacked suddenly. Letting my guard down felt dumb, na\u00efve. Then I was reminded of something Maurice had said on the first night: he thought he should have been \u201csmarter\u201d than he was. Being smart, in his case, meant ignoring petty annoyances. Yet, for both of us, we wanted intelligence to shield us. Instead of learning how to react, we wanted to avoid reacting altogether. Such numbness felt like the ultimate power, but it was impossible to attain. We simply had to cope. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Maurice was now talking about his body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou can see the fat here,\u201d he said, pulling the skin on his jawline. He then patted his stomach. \u201cAnd this gut. All thanks to Corporate America. Addictive, sugary food.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s either burgers or hardboiled eggs \u2013 that\u2019s my choice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere are plenty of choices,\u201d I blurted out. \u201cThere\u2019s a whole produce section, straight from the earth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maurice froze. I froze too. What had I done? I thought. I wasn\u2019t supposed to say \u201cthe turn.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A \u201cHa-ha!\u201d broke the silence, but even that felt off: more rote than cutting. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Still, it allowed Maurice to respond: \u201cThey\u2019re covered in pesticides, so they\u2019re not any better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou wash them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd they have been genetically engineered.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s natural breeding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Each part of \u201cthe turn\u201d spilled out of me. I didn\u2019t have a chance to check any of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can taste the chemicals,\u201d Maurice said. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not natural to have apples that never turn brown.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t know what else to say, so I remained quiet. Maurice shifted topics, and for the rest of the night, only the \u201cHa-ha!\u201d followed his words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n During the next meeting, I spoke only once, right at the end. The blue eyes had returned. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The \u201cHa-ha!\u201d reverberated in my head, repeating so much that I couldn\u2019t help but rip open the curtain and say to the blue eyes, the face, the person: \u201cEverything is real<\/em> funny, huh, Scott?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n This moment was perhaps the equivalent of a stabbed corpse rising from the shower tiles and asking their killer why they were attacked. There was nothing to be gained from the killer\u2019s response, only from the catharsis of having questioned evil, of having asserted oneself. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is,\u201d Scott replied with a big grin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Maurice agreed. \u201cLife is just one big, fat joke. Nothing more, nothing less.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I knew then that the garage would never be the same. But I didn\u2019t know where I would fit into it, if at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next time we met, Maurice launched into a tirade about walking at the market. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGroups clog the sidewalks,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd any time I try to pass them, I manage to step into the one hole that catches me off balance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Immediately, I turned to the curtain and asked, \u201cHow do you deal with crowds, Scott?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t,\u201d he replied, laughing. \u201cI always step into a hole when I try to pass someone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cScott knows about the hole,\u201d Maurice said. \u201cYou probably step into it and have a picnic. Isn\u2019t that right, Charlie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI slow my pace in crowds.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot everyone has time to waste.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell, you sure waste a lot of time complaining.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The room went silent. I waited for a \u201cHa-ha!\u201d that never came. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Maurice took a long drag of his cigarette. \u201cLook who\u2019s talking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat? Me?\u201d I replied. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou love hearing this stuff,\u201d Maurice said. \u201cYou live for it. Don\u2019t pretend that you\u2019re better than us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut it\u2019s always the same. Don\u2019t you get tired of it? Don\u2019t you want to get over it? Isn\u2019t there something better to worry about? And if not, isn\u2019t there a way to be happy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo,\u201d Scott said, laughing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I turned to the shower curtain, then back to Maurice. \u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d he said. \u201cAnyway, if I\u2019m not complaining, then I\u2019m spending all my time convincing myself that there\u2019s no problem. But the truth is, there\u2019s always a problem.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I didn\u2019t reply. <\/p>\n\n\n\n For the rest of the night, I sat quietly, listening to Maurice go on and on about walking, about the omnipresent hole. He never said \u201cthe turn.\u201d He simply wore himself out, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes. The only other sound in the garage was the \u201cHa-ha!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ha-ha!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ha-ha-ha!<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ha-ha-ha-ha!<\/p>\n\n\n\n The same thing happened in the meetings that followed. I didn\u2019t say a word. I just sat beside Maurice while he talked and Scott laughed. I was helping Maurice in some way, I told myself. I was helping Scott, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ryan Bender-Murphy<\/strong> received an MFA in poetry from the University of Texas at Austin and currently lives in Seattle, Washington. His fiction has appeared in 3:AM Magazine,<\/em> Blue Mesa Review<\/em>, Four Way Review<\/em>, Maudlin House<\/em>, and Red Rock Review<\/em>, among other publications. Find him on Instagram at ryan.bender.murphy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After the cars emptied out of the street, and the bottles of beer were drained into the sink, I still didn\u2019t leave the party, and Maurice didn\u2019t kick me out. \u201cI need a smoke,\u201d he said. \u201cHave at it.\u201d We went into the garage. A shower curtain hung close to the door, separating a sink … <\/p>\n
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