Date: Wed, 6 Jun 2007 20:25:55 -0700 (PDT)
From: Adam Scott <oneniftywriter@yahoo.com>
Subject: Man Incomplete, Chapter 2

The next morning, I got John out of bed at a reasonable hour and out
the door with a minimum of fuss.  I told him I'd call, but I probably
wouldn't.  He had been very good in bed (especially for a beginner)
but I'd let the alcohol cloud my judgment; I knew it was a sexual romp
and nothing more.

I'd felt lately that the occasional sexual encounters I'd had were
just random acts to satisfy a sexual need that didn't need
fulfillment.  They happened at random times and involved various
people.  Even worse, they usually left me feeling guilty that I hadn't
been more careful and often remorseful that I'd resorted to a casual
fling instead of something more meaningful.

Either way, it was over.  I showered and returned to bed.

Later that day, my dad called and told me I should come see him.  A
police officer had left a note on his door that my driver's license
and tag had been suspended.

I drove the 25 minutes to my parents' house and read the letter.  I
had neglected to pay a speeding ticket in another state, which had
been forwarded to my home state of South Carolina when it had reached
delinquent status.

"Do you have the money to pay the ticket?" my dad asked.

I sighed.  "The ticket, yes.  The fees to get my license and tag
reinstated?  No.  On top of that, rent is due tomorrow and I doubt
Brad has his half of it."

He looked at me for a long moment.  "I can help you with the
penalties, but you have to pay me back.  You're on your own with your
roommate, though."

I nodded.  "I know.  I'm ok with the rent, but this whole situation is
getting ridiculous.  Even on his days off, Brad doesn't do anything
around the house and I'm tired of cleaning up after him and his pets.
And he's hardly helping with the bills at all."

My dad put his elbows on the table and looked at me for a moment
before saying, "You can always move back in here if you want."

"I know," I said quietly.  "But I hate to take that step unless I have
to.  I can't keep running to you every time I need help.  I'm 26; I
should be able to do for myself." I walked to the refrigerator to get
some more tea.

"You're too much like me," he said.  "It doesn't have to be a
permanent move, but can you save money and get caught up."

Leaning against the counter, I took a drink of my tea and said, "I'll
think about it."

On the drive home, I took the long route to enjoy the scenery.
Nearly everywhere you look during the spring months, there are
established trees, flowering shrubs and color variations that provide
ample reason to settle in this area.

Taking the long way home also gave me time to think.  I would save
money if I moved back in with my parents, yes, but could I give up my
independence just to do so?

It was an idea worth careful consideration.  There was no reason I had
to decide today, so I turned up the volume on my stereo, rolled the
windows down, and danced the rest of the way home, grateful that my
parents were so willing to offer help when it was needed.

When I pulled into my apartment complex, I noticed Brad's car parked
in front of the building and felt a little guilty.  If I moved out,
what would he do?  He had less money than I did.

I pushed those thoughts aside when I got in the apartment.  Brad was
dancing around the living room to a Madonna CD, clad in clothes I'd
never seen before.  He turned the stereo off and gushed, "Look at what
I bought today!"

He turned in a circle to display a new pair of shorts and a t-shirt
from Abercrombie & Fitch.

I nodded when he finished turning.  "Nice."

"I know, and I got them at such a good price!"

I scrunched up my face and cocked my head to one side.  "Really?  How
much?"

He tugged at the shorts.  "The shorts were $15 and the shirt was $20."

The more he talked, the more disbelief I felt.  I hadn't bought any
new clothes in months, simply because I hadn't had the extra money to
spend.

That didn't stop Brad, though.  "Ok, so, what - forty dollars, with
tax?  Not bad.  Do you have your rent money?"

He grinned sheepishly.  "All of it except forty," he said with a
nervous laugh.

I closed my eyes as he said it, wishing he'd said he had a gift card.
I was getting mad.

"Ha-ha, haaaaa," I mocked.  "So even though you have barely enough
money to scrape by on, you felt it was necessary - no, wait, probably
vital - to waste money on clothes you don't need.

"You have a whole closet full of clothes, and we're a month behind on
the rent."

With a stubborn look on his face, he announced, "I'll have the money
on my next paycheck!"

"Your next paycheck doesn't come for another two weeks!"  I was
getting loud and didn't even try to restrain myself.

"I don't try to tell you how to spend your money," he said.  "You
shouldn't tell me how to spend mine!"

"You don't have to tell me how to spend my money.  What little bit of
money I make I put toward the necessities.  You know - rent, power,
food," I shouted, ticking off on my fingers each thing as I said them.
"You need to find forty dollars.  Right now.  I'm not paying it for
you, even if you'll `have it back'," I said in a mocking tone, "in two
weeks!"

I stomped to my bedroom and slammed the door.  A few seconds later, I
opened the door and tossed his dog, Sadie, into the living room.  "And
keep your fucking dog out of my bedroom!"

                            * * *

The next day was Monday, which in itself was horrible enough.  Adding
to it that I was still mad that Brad was - well, stupid - and that I
woke up late, I was in a foul mood by the time I arrived to work.

I work in the marketing department for a retirement community;
surprisingly, I love it.  That morning, though, even my favorite
coworker, Vanessa, failed to improve my mood.  Vanessa was 5'5",
weighed roughly 300 pounds, and had an infectious laugh that never
failed to make me smile.

I told her about my argument with Brad and she responded with
appropriate sympathy.  "Honey, you need to set him straight.  You
gotta live your own life and he needs to support his."

"I know!  I know, and that's what irks me.  I feel trapped.  We have a
lease, plus half the furniture is his and I don't have the money to
get a place of my own right now."

She looked puzzled.  "Suzanne hasn't hired you yet?"

I shook my head.  "I have to finish the contract with the temp agency
before she can hire me.  Until then, I'm making a fraction of what the
company will pay me.  On a positive note," I said with a shrug, "I've
had some kick ass overtime working so much lately."

She pursed her lips and I went back to my own office before she could
start a lecture, probably comparing my troubles to her daughters.  The
sympathetic ear had helped and I was feeling a little better.

By Saturday, I had nearly forgotten the argument.  I'd worked almost
fifty hours and needed a break, plus Brad had paid the forty dollars
with two twenty-dollar bills whose origins I did not question.

Brad and I had tickets for a Gwen Stefani concert with our friends
Wayne and Heath.  I had refused to drive; let one of them be
responsible for once and drive us home.  I planned to enjoy myself as
a treat for working so much over the past few months.

And besides, my license was suspended.  I had no doubt police patrols
would be heavy near the arena after such a large concert.  I wasn't
prepared to risk losing my license after having been drinking.  I
couldn't work without being able to get there; I couldn't survive
without a paycheck.

Helen and her friend Anna met us at the outdoor pavilion using tickets
Anna had scored through her work as a graphic designer for a
sportswear company.  I was glad they came; my roommate and the two
guys were some of my best friends but I don't always feel I'm on the
same wavelength they are.

Halfway through the concert, the party was in full swing.  Crowds of
people in various attire and of various backgrounds milled around the
lawn area, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and dancing to the
music.  Wayne and Heath had produced a joint that Brad promptly helped
himself to.

Two songs later, they wanted to leave.  "This early?" I asked, looking
at my watch.  "But I haven't even heard the one song I wanted to
hear!" I said.

"Heath says he's ready to go," Chad said, looking over his shoulder at
the boys and shrugging.

I gave a weary-sounding and overly dramatic sigh.  "Leave it to
Heath," I said loudly, "to ruin everyone else's fun so that he can go
smoke more weed."  I said it in a joking manner, but realized as I
said it that I sounded as annoyed as I felt.

As I turned to the girls to say a grudging goodbye, the song I'd
wanted to hear came on and I quickly turned back to the boys.  "We'll
leave after this song, I promise!"  They didn't look happy, but
returned to their beers while I danced with the girls.

After the song, I said my goodbyes and followed the boys back to the
car.  Heath unlocked the door and being the tallest, I took the
passenger seat.  Wayne got in behind me and we chatted for a minute
before I noticed Brad arguing with Heath, trying to wrestle the keys
from him.

We got out to offer support and eventually, Wayne got the keys.  I
thought about my refusal to drive, but realized that if I were the
most sober I should offer.

So I did, reaching out my hand to accept the keys.  Wayne had tried
all week to talk me into driving and I assumed he'd be happy to hand
over the keys.

Instead, he looked at me and said, "Hell, no!  I'll be damned if
you're going to drive!" before getting into the driver's seat.

I got into the car, shocked at his reaction.  "What was that all
about?" I asked.

"Can you drive, Adam?  Oh, no, Adam can't drive," he said.  "I've
asked you four times this week to drive and you have repeatedly said
no.  I'm so fucking tired of hearing about your god damned suspended
license."

"I -" I said, but stopped without completing the sentence.  It was a
stupid argument.  I sat in silence, thinking during the 45-minute
drive home.

Thinking about the many times I'd offered to be the designated driver
when we went to bars, just to make sure everyone made it home safely.

Thinking about the money I'd loaned Brad over the past two years that
I'd probably never see returned.

Thinking about the support I'd given Heath when he went into rehab for
an addiction to pain medications.

Thinking about the efforts I made to include Wayne in our activities
when he and Heath broke up for four months.

Thinking about how petty and selfish it was for Wayne to yell at me
about not wanting to drive.  It didn't seem to matter that I couldn't
afford to lose my license, nor that I was always trying to do what I
thought would help them when they needed it.

He had to drive, so his fun was ruined.  That was all that mattered to
him.  Having fun was all that mattered to any of them.

So I sat in silence, thinking that my friends weren't very good
friends.  They certainly weren't doing much to prove it, if they were.
The more I thought about the past few weeks, listening to the pounding
music Wayne was playing at top volume, trying not to think about how
he was crossing the dividing lines on the interstate with no regard
for other cars on the road, the madder I became.

When we got back to Wayne and Heath's apartment, I got out of the car
and into my own to leave without saying a word.

None of them called or texted me that night to see if I was ok.  No
one seemed to be worried about me being upset.  I took careful notice
of it as I sat on the couch in my pajama bottoms, stewing over my
friends and my life, neither of which were what I wanted them to be.

The next day, I called my sister for a long talk.  I then sent Brad a
text message: We need 2 talk.



Feedback appreciated!  Please send your comments to
OneNiftyWriter@yahoo.com.  Thanks - Adam Scott