New York Nameless (Short Story)

Rain beating down on the double pane window in my musty, empty apartment. It is peace among filth. It beats the static noise of the television I hear next door. I can overhear the noise that is slightly louder than the rainy evening in New York. “For a limited time only.” Is what I hear and as I sit in my eroded leather rocking chair that creeks unimaginably, I can ponder the great wonders of the 21st century commercialism. It is like a circus. You are surrounded and encapsulated by a plethora of moving bright, enticing lights. Playful jingles that reek of sing-song rhythm-rhyme schemes of children songs that remain embedded in your mind for the rest of eternity. It’s a joke surely, but none the less on this rainy Monday evening I can’t help, but comprehend this deep intrinsic meaning behind those five magic words…. “For a limited time only.” It is funny how we think about desire today. For the most part we ask someone what their dream is, and it is to win a large sum of money to go buy all this stuff, but you never hear about what they do after that? Is that it? Buy the island, the yacht, the home, the numerous luxurious cars, the beginning of nothing? Is this it? The American dream handed to us rather than worked for? Maybe I just don’t understand, but someday perhaps, someday I will learn.

Tuesday, roughly 5:56 AM. The rain must have subsided throughout the evening. The silence before the storm. An uncomfortable moment in which you are awake, but never truly awake before the sound of your alarm goes off indicating that your day is about to begin. For some the noise is welcomed, for others it is despised. These are thoughts better left for sociologists or perhaps scientists. I for one enjoy my simple regular job. I serve others, but I am not controlled or ordered around by others. I am my own boss in some respects, but others would argue against that based on ownership. That’s quite irrelevant to me. I’m a counselor. I help others straighten their lives away. My attentive and great interpersonal skills can sometimes be the key to utopia for others. My friends call me Dr. Drake the Snake. I dislike it very much, but I can see the appeal in rhyme. I ask them occasionally at our weekly poker game what it really means, and I get the same response every time: “For an intelligent man Tim you should know better than to ask questions you don’t want answers to.” It’s fine because by the end of the night I’m walking out of Doug’s apartment with a wallet filled with cash I never had.

10:00 AM. I’m sitting in my office of a small counseling firm in New York. Traffic was as you could expect on a weekday morning in New York. Hectic and one hell of a ride. I feel like when you move to New York they should have a requirement for driving in this city much like the rides at amusement parks. “You must be this tall to ride.” I would think for driving they would measure your attentiveness in some way. This could be done easily; see how long you can sit in a chair without reaching for your phone to check your messages. Imagine…you’re driving, and you hear the soft sound that you have been conditioned to. The familiar jingle to remind you someone from somewhere cares about you to write you something and then the sound of a screeching halt of the brakes being slammed…the car crashing through a gate heading directly off a bridge into the water. The ding goes off once more before the car crashes into the water. It was probably an aunt or uncle sharing some message like: If you share this to 10 people god will bless you for the rest of your life. How ironic.

“Hello Tim! How are you?” echoed from one of my more joyful patients. “I’m fine Sam, thank you for asking and, how are you?” He replies with the line I despise, but none the less he can’t help, but repeat it each time I ask him how he is doing, no matter the circumstance. “If I was doing any better Tim, I’d be suspicious if you know what I mean.” He lets out a little chuckle each time he says it. I ask him what brings him in today, but I almost feel like I know the answer. Sam is a great patient in contrast to others. He is intelligent, with a dry sense of humor and is relatively good looking. He has one daughter and an ex-wife. Sam typically seeks reaffirmation of his actions. He worries a lot much like many people in the world. “I’m wondering Tim do you think that the world is capable of leaving us behind ya know? Like I sometimes have this feeling like the world is always moving forward and with each year I am getting left to eat someone’s dust ya know that saying?” I nod. I think for a moment but respond with haste: “Sam you are not alone. The world moves quickly as we advance further with technology and means of communication, transport and shift of work.” I can’t help but remember my agonizing undergraduate studies and lectures about industrialization and the fact that work is shifting in places like industrialization, but nowhere near as drastic…At least not for now. “These feelings you share are positive reactions to change. Perhaps there is something in your life that is changing. Your daughter Sam is maturing? How old is she again? Perhaps she is facing some transitions in life that have you worried.” He looks at me with this stunned face. It’s as if someone threw a paper ball at him while he dazes in class and he just awoke rested and refreshed. “Tim, you son of a bitch…sorry pardon my French. Are you a psychic or something? My daughter is about to finish high school and I’m just concerned about her moving out on her own and the harsh reality of life ya know Tim?” I don’t really know as I don’t have children nor that sense of worry. “Rest assured knowing Sam these are things that all parents endure, but communication is key much like me and you communicate to help uncover the various mysteries or riddles of life and emotion.” Sam responds with a smile and extends a firm yet gentle handshake as a token of thanks before exiting my office. I need a cigarette.

It’s lunch time. I need a smoke. It’s a nasty habit but it helps me cope with the magnitude of negative things that come into my office. Insult to injury, but there is a peacefulness in smoking a cigarette outside New York to the noise of numerous horns, vehicles driving by and the footsteps of many unknown who walk the streets. It’s a moment where I reflect on nothing more than the environment around me. The whole city is riddled with advertisements. I ignore the aspect of it because I’m enjoying my cigarette far too much. It’s one of those days where you enjoy being at work, but you’re pre-occupied with something else. You don’t know what it is, but its lingering over you. Street spirits I suppose…either that or I’m losing my mind, it is probably the latter, but duty calls. I return to work and it’s an average day. Meetings with various patients that simply remind me of how interconnected we all are, but at the same time remind me of how exhausting talking can be no matter how much I enjoy it. I’m finishing up some paperwork and can still hear the sing-song rhythm of that commercial I overheard from the neighbours. Du, du, du, du, da, da, da, du, du, du, du, da, da, da. The unknown…for a limited time only. It’s haunting.

Tuesday evening means it is poker evening at Doug’s. We play Texas Hold Em. A popularized poker game which is now broadcasted yearly on ESPN and titled “World Series of Poker” Who would have thunk it? A world series of gambling. The sport of gambling, but many argue poker is not a game of luck, but a game of people. Deceit, lies, truth, composure, sweat, eyes masked with sunglasses to hide copious amounts of blinking or body movement of any kind. That’s what the good players notice anyways. At Doug’s the game is just an escape to be with friends alike and chat at the table and make it interesting by simply wagering money. Otherwise we could just meet at a coffee shop, but there is something more deep and intrinsic that men share when wagering money. Conversation is barbaric, but entertaining. The game is consisting of 6 lads. Doug the host has been a long-time friend since high school. A funny guy who is a womanizer. He often shares stories of the woman he would bed. A real swinger, who can’t seem to help himself. Trent is a consultant for some counseling firm. He takes care of some analytical stuff for clients at my work. A solid guy, reliable and great guy overall, but he is also my toughest opponent at the card game naturally. The analytical pain in my ass; pun intended. Richard, Steve and Charles are the remaining players. They are mainly friends of Doug’s, but I’ve grown slightly fond of them over the course of many weekly games. They are easy money and awful liars.

“What kind of nutjobs did you get at work today Tim?” Doug asked. He always insists that I disclose details of my patients as if they are some movie like characters in which he can relate to as if they are modern day Patrick Bateman from the cult hit American Psycho. “Doug piss off, you know I can’t discuss that…shut up and play your hand you amateur.” He looked at me grinning knowing he is just trying to get under my skin, distract me from the game. I’m already distracted because I can’t stop the advertisement jingle is lingering in my head and I’ve had two ice cold beer. Du, du, du, du, da, da, da. A knock of knuckle to wood is heard…as Richard checks in the middle of the hand. The table follows suit and the flop is dealt. “OWWWWWW” shouted Trent. Trent the charismatic bastard; he is teasing us. “Oh yeah Trent? The flop hit ya that good? Fuck off ya mook. We know you Hollywood” exclaimed Steve. Steve is an outspoken guy, hell all of Doug’s goons that go out frequenting the nightclubs are goons. They are funny guys, but very brazen and outspoken. I suppose woman are interested in that scene. I wouldn’t know as I spend my time watching documentaries constantly. I’m sitting on a pair in my hand and the remaining 2 7’s that could have increased my hand have hit the board. Well at least one of them did giving me a three of a kind on the second of fourth round of betting. I know I am good here and now is the time I play the role of the snake. I slither silently among the table as my prey show their presence in the jungle of poker. Much like in nature the fool will emerge in the jungle and get bit by a snake if they are not careful. Sure enough, the fool this evening in this hand is Doug. Poker is like life. You don’t show your intent immediately. You sit idly by and realize what you have. You don’t showboat it as it will only end up biting you on your naïve ass. The narcissistic are bad at poker and the composed play symphonies around them. I cold call his large bet which shrugged off the other players and it is just me and Doug. I flip my cards over showcasing 777 and he hesitates for a moment. You can tell that a piece of him is infuriated. He thought he had me but, he only conjured that up in his head much like all the various lies he tells woman, but this is poker…this is life and you’re not going to fool me. He kept quiet which is abnormal for Doug, but I know he’s angry.

Tuesday 11:00PM, raining again. We are getting tired and the game is coming close to an end with only 3 players remaining. I’m drunk and I’ve been defeated. Perhaps I am more alike Doug than I imagined because I fooled myself thinking I could win the game of poker while under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. I can’t quite recall what I drank, but I can still hear that god forsaken jingle and I’m trying to understand something deeper beyond the jingle and the words “For a limited time only” but I can’t comprehend them. It’s fuzzy which is due to the alcohol. I can hardly keep my eyes open as the lads continue the battle. Trent is in position to win, but I am exhausted, drunk and I smell like an ash tray. I need to get back to my musty apartment to complete the evening ritual: documentaries, and another night of rain beating down creating music on my windows.

I arrive home to my empty apartment. It’s the same as it was yesterday evening. Raining, dampness and alone. Just me, my television and access to infinite amounts of documentary films. Documentaries are reality television where reality television series are anything, but reality. It is people making films to help people, not to entertain them with game-show like qualities, challenges or competition. It is people making movies about people or things. A visual thesis paper without putting in the work, but instead observing and listening. It’s fantastic because I sure as fuck do not miss the days of writing thesis papers in university. Robotics meets writing.

For a limited time only. That’s the way life goes. A luxurious car appears in my driveway. A model only available in limited qualities and for the 2017 year. After that it is gone. A fragment of my imagination. What if it wasn’t advertisements? What if we had ads about life? We didn’t get showered with shit that we don’t truly need, but things that can help us in life? For a limited time only, you can achieve your dreams. Wake up from your life slumber chasing material objects that symbolize nothing. It’s an illusion. A very good optical illusion, but a car is not your dream. It is an object that is deeply personified based on advertisements and conditioning. Conditioning that has occurred your entire life. Is this a dream? What? ZING ZING ZING ZING, the alarm rings as if some evil ape is banging a gong in my mind. Hangover and reality awaits me.

Act II

Wednesday, 7:00 AM. The morning stings of mistake. I perhaps was a bit over-zealous in my consumption of alcohol last night, but perhaps there is something happening that I am not aware of. Is it the jingle? It seems like, so much oddity has been occurring or running through my head since Monday night. First the eavesdropping of the neighbours tv program or advertisement, now a dream of which I can’t help but think of and here I am: battered from over consumption of alcohol, on a shuttle adorned with advertisements along the walls and seats. Countless amounts of information being transcribed with no intention at all, but to sell you something you don’t really need. I can’t help but relate to this dream I had and think of just how much stuff I and we are subjected to daily. A vehicle with a plethora of technological features that seem absurd even for the tech savvy. I mean does anyone truly need a “hot stone massage” in their vehicle as they commute? Truly? I suppose when taken in certain contexts what do we really need? I don’t know, ill find out. Patience is virtue or, so they say.

“What the fuck is going on Doc?” This patient Mark is one hell of a mess. He is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. He has no threshold. He speaks as he feels regardless of how inappropriate that may be. “I’m good Mark, thanks what brings you in today?” He is fidgeting excessively; more than likely high on some form of speed. “Well Doc, I think I’m making some good progress. I see these people, a million-fucking people out there wandering the streets in the malls with their fancy clothes. They all look the same ya know? They’re just moping around from store to store. Most of them aren’t even smiling and if they are it’s usually like this nervous-like smile ya know? Where it seems like you’re laughing only because you know it’s a joke…not because it is funny. Doc I’m not a good guy you know this.” “Mark before you continue you are a good person whether you want to believe it or not. You just have conflict with chemistry alongside many others which you are trying to recover from.” It’s not really a lie because he is trying even though I suspect he is high currently. People fuck up, sometimes we need to fuck up before we can learn anything. “Doc I think I’m onto something deep man. You know like life is this big empty canvas and we are just all just brushes. We want to paint our own picture doc but some of us just don’t know how so we copy others. I don’t want to copy nobody anymore.” I’m speechless honestly. It’s a rare occasion in which I can’t find some shit to say to someone almost immediately, but at this very moment Mark has said something that has hit very close to home. “Mark that is a very astute analogy (he has to be high, it’s brilliant) that I think that Is great sign of progress in recovery. You see others and maybe you align that with your addiction with other addicts so perhaps you want to change everything and go your own way. A new way that leads to infinite possibilities.” Mark smiles and licks his lips among other weird facial or hand gestures which reinforce my notion of his intoxication, and exits my office.

This causes discomfort for me. It is abnormal. The routine of things has been shaken to the core and I’m not myself. I am struggling with what is happening to me. I speak to my superior in the rare chance I ever must and mention to her that I simply cannot continue through the day and if we could reschedule the remaining patients or route them to another counselor. Thankfully this is a rare occurrence for me, so it is of no issue. I proceed home with haste to not watch documentaries, but to light a smoke and contemplate myself and the surround environment. So much intrinsic thought can drive a person mad or to enlightenment. It’s subjective to the persons perception of set thought. A glass half full, a glass half empty or in my scenario currently—10 pounds of questions in a five-pound bag. The bag is overfull, and I don’t know if that is good or bad.

The night comes with haste as I smoke away the day. It reminds of the lyrics of a famous Doors song in which Jim Morrison recites: “I light another cigarette……learn to forget.” It is Soul Kitchen I believe and what a fantastic track it is. What was I hoping to achieve? I really don’t know and now part of me feels weakened by the moment of confusion, leaving work abruptly. It is uncharacteristic, and I wonder now what my colleagues are thinking. “Has Tim gone mad? Does he have a drinking problem?” Among various other rumors.

Thursday 12:05 AM. It is still raining and I’m having difficulty sleeping. I’m staring at the white ceiling with slight cracks from maturation. The shift in temperatures over a long period of time perhaps have caused them to crack, but I’m just gazing at it just to take a break while I try to decipher what Mark said. I hear a jingle again. Du, du, du, du, da, da, da. Not again I think to myself. I’m so preoccupied already with my life and meaning that this shit must occur again? I go to my living room and light another cigarette. Learn to forget.

Act III

Thursday 7:00AM. I call in work and inform them that I am not feeling well. I can’t comprehend what my colleagues think, but I simply cannot focus. How am I to guide patients if I myself am one. I need to speak to someone and not someone from my place of work. How ironic; the therapists become the one in need of therapy. I’m sure there is some cynical wise ass out there who would enjoy this thought alongside the others who believe mental therapy or psychiatry causes more problems than it cures. I find a clinic just off Queens and managed to get myself in. I used a pseudo name because most counselors typically know of one another. We are sort of competition even thought we don’t think of it in that way. I book my appointment under the name Francois Dillanger. Even as I said it to the secretary I felt foolish. It sounds like some French western film star. The Charlemagne of French western films. In any regard I was early naturally for my appointment, soaked and still confused.

“Greetings Francois, how are you? What brings you in on this rainy Thursday evening?” He is slightly overweight. It is the first thing I noticed, but his office smelled heavenly and was very rustic in nature. It was adorned with modern furniture and various books. I almost thought for a moment it was all a charade just to set an image or precedent. This is a modern and hip space in which we can all relate to. Nobody is left behind…much like the claims in which Sam was worried about. This place invoked the very opposite for me. It felt as if I have been left behind. “I’m a tad confused…sorry I don’t know your name.” It is Peter he replied. “Thanks, Peter. Yes, I am having this reoccurring dream or jingle that is played in my head. It has a very familiar rhythm that sounds like du, du, du, du, da, da, da and I overhear this 5 word phrase: For a limited time only. I then gaze at various advertisements and people among the streets. They are driving fancy vehicles, frequenting stores smiling and doing relatively the same thing, but I can’t help but wonder is this because they are following one another. I also try to understand what that means when paired with this jingle and phrase. It all seems so like robotic and unified. Unified as if we are all one, but all different, but I don’t see the difference.” The therapist stares at me for a moment before responding. I almost broke my cover because I was about to synthesize Mark’s painting analogy, but I knew the jig would be up if I am talking about referring to another person as a patient. “Francois this is not uncommon. It seems that you are dancing with a sense of confusion among desire. You feel that you should desire more than what others share with you in life but, we are all cohorts of each other. We all are similar because we are similar so in that sense when we desire cars, wealth, love, and success then we are connected because it is natural way and thought of life.” A light hit me as the paper ball hit Sam in our session figuratively. I have more in common with Mark and Sam than I could ever imagine. I have been left behind, left astray and painting the same painting as others have painted. A masquerade of recreation exercised by following the blind. “Interesting Peter, I think you are onto something. You’ve been quite helpful, that is about all I must ask. Thank you again, you have given me a lot to think about.” He smiles and opens the door for me as I exit his rustic office.

Thursday, 2:00 PM. Peter is full of shit. I was leaving his office and noticed his vehicle. A brand-new Mercedes Maybach S-600. The licence plate reads Pete 1 in a parking stall that is reserved for staff of the clinic. His office was luxurious, rustic and riddled with material which symbolize success, but is it success I wondered? Is any of that success or is it just possessions? Possessions we accumulate to establish accomplishments? I think for an eternity or, so it seems. I hear the jingle once more…du, du, du, du, da, da, da for a limited time only. I think of all the shit that I’ve been listening to my whole life. Passively listening and observing. A life long journey of fabricated non-sense. The car, the wealth, the mansion, the yacht…all of the American Dream. It’s an illusion to the true beauty that exists. The beauty that existed all along that has been masked and I have been consumed by objects rather than life itself. The nature of the world, the desire of sensory exploration, the discussions with my patients, the people, the trees, the nature, the animals, the sun, the moon, the clouds, the rain, the snow, the dirt, the ocean, the lake, the spiders. All of it…. for a limited time only du, du, du, du, da, da, da and I light another cigarette….learn to forget.