Five Years Old
Just a couple of days ago, I was restin’ on top of a hill lookin’ up at the sky above. It was just me with some clouds and a cool breeze—me, myself, and I. And, I was tryin’ my best to think like I was five years old all over again but for the life of me I couldn’t remember when I was five or the things that I used to think about when I was five. I even tried closing my eyes softly to pretend but I couldn’t do it. It was as if five never happened. Yet, I continued to look up at these fluffy, exploding, and majestic clouds pass over me waiting for a flashback of somekind. The flashback never flashed or backed. Although, with each passin’ cloud I thought to myself perhaps these clouds are just cyclin’ pass me not like time but more like every one of my sewer babies that cycled pass me when I showered. For the record, sewer babies are procreated when one masturbates in the shower—cycle of life. But I digress. Ordinarily, one would be smilin’ and playin’ little games like what does that cloud look like—a dragon, Mickey Mouse, a crystal castle or bunny ears. But not me. Instead, I started cryin’. And my tears weren’t those so called happy tears that happy people talk about. These tears were from a much deeper, darker place—cocaine hangover. What I saw with every passin’ cloud was a hand wavin’ goodbye to my youth.
At 34 years old, one would think I would have it all figured out by now. Money, success, a house, a new car, and maybe a little Junior runnin’ around the house playin’ tag. In addition, a HD flat screen with a blu-ray player all inside my IPhone. No….not me. I have been couch surfin’ for a couple of years now just because I could. Friends would ask, “Why are you couch surfin’?” And I would respond, “Because.” And I guess that was always a good enough answer because no one rebuttal led. I had a job once but I could never figure out how to clock in so I quit. So I moved on to a more suitable job for my lifestyle. I became a drug dealer. A drug dealer of the worse kind. Most of my money went into my lungs or up my nose with very little profit but lots of great times. As I bungeed back to the past, I guess that’s why nobody ever got mad if I over stayed my welcome because we would party, and all was forgotten the morning after. Clever? Not really.
But what was cool about couch surfin’ was the free cable. I became a big fan of the Hills and 16 and Pregnant on MTV. Also, I became a big fan of Cribs on MTV. Immediately, after my friends would leave for work I would look through their fridge and make some tacos or heat up their frozen pizza, and I would watch a marathon of Cribs on MTV. I always thought those kind of folks were cool with their big houses and fancy whips (cars). I was envious. But I started thinkin’ those people are probably in a more miserable state of mind than me. And sometimes I would cry for them as I waited for my food to be ready because they probably didn’t have the time to cry for themselves. Anyhow, once the alarm to the oven would sound off I would change the channel, wipe away their tears, and enjoy my friend’s pizza. Something about watchin’ ESPN and eatin’ my friend’s food made everything better after watchin’ Cribs.
Then one day I had an awakening. I had an ex-girlfriend slap me in the face with some words of reality. I stayed over at her house one night and instead of sleepin’ in the guest bedroom like I always had done, I sneaked my way into her bed in the bare too. I was horny and hadn’t had sex in a long time. I thought maybe she would offer me a sympathy fuck. For old time sake. But not tonight. She was not happy. She threw off the covers and kicked me out of her bed. “What the fuck, dude?” She paused with anger steamin’ out of her ears and nose. “You really think I’m going to sleep with you. You got no job, no car, no ambition, no lust for life anymore, and you dream all day about being a kid when all you do is act like a kid.” She paused again. “You got a college degree. You’ve seen the world and in my eyes you’ve even conquered the world with all the goals you’ve accomplished. I don’t get you. Shit….show me some effort and maybe I’ll give you a hand job. But until then get the fuck out of my house.”
Shell shocked. I replied, “Sorry, I’ll just go now.” I didn’t know what else to say, especially since I’ve never seen her so pissed. So I spun around and put my clothes back on slowy with a little swagger. I was hoping to seduce her but judgin’ by the look on her face it wasn’t workin’. But, she was still lookin’. And before I stepped out of her place I looked back at her for one last time. I asked, “You got a dollar for the bus?” And that was the last time I ever saw her again.
So the next morning, I woke up in the dog house of one my best friend’s backyard. He had a really big dog named LuLu and a even bigger dog house, and both the dog and the dog house kept me warm that night. That dog house kept me warm many a nights when I had no place to go. At any rate, with flea bites on my ass and neck, and dog saliva all in my hair I decided I was going to make a change. Not like Michael Jackson because he molested little boys by getting’ them drunk and loaded on pills. I couldn’t do that because little kids drunk and pilled out was a waste of drugs and a good time—babysittin’. I went for a walk and ended up at another friend’s place to take a shower and eat some of his food. I went through his closet and put on some of his clothes because mine were really dirty and stinky, and placed my dirty clothes in his hamper for him to wash for me unknowingly. I was cool like dat. I left his place thinkin’ what to do next? This life, this pattern of living had to stop. That’s when the greatest idea hit me. I’ll rob a bank and run off to California, and shack up with my Cali folks. I haven’t couch surfed there and they would love to have me around.
Subsequently, I never made it to a bank. Never made it to Cali. Shit….I didn’t make it to the next block. Just as I was walkin’ across the street to catch the bus to hit up another friend’s place who had a gun and who wasn’t home to convince me not to rob a bank, the second best thing ever happened to me. Into my second step onto the cross walk with the right of way signal flashin’ at me, the bus I was about to catch passed a red light and blasted me like some thirty, forty feet in the air at impact. I don’t remember much after that. Needless to say, when I woke up I found myself paralyzed from the eyes down (I have no sense of smell or taste). Worst of all, I never know when I piss or shit on myself. Not to fresh and not so clean. As a result from the accident I became rich. I got a multi-million dollar settlement mostly because the bus driver tested positive for crystal meth, and now I live in a big pimped out house with several motorized wheelchairs that look like those same whips I saw in Cribs. Also, I bought me an IPhone with a blu-ray player and surround sound speakers built inside of it. Furthermore, if I don’t answer my phone on Sundays (the day I had my accident) I’m probably at Palazio with those same friends who let me couch surf all those years. Since I’m on the subject of friends, those same friends I just mentioned don’t have to work as hard like they use to because they now have their own establishments going (I gave each of them some money with the settlement). And guess what? My friends and I get to act like kids again—five year olds.
