7

7

Trampling over mounds of paper, clothes, and books, Darius trekked to his closet and began laying out his outfit for tomorrow.  He laid a colonial-style white shirt and a green and blue ascot tie on his desk chair before returning to his closet to choose pants.  Tastes and styles battled in his mind, but his decision narrowed to a pair of black, Brown University sweatpants, and a pair of white suit pants.  To help with the decision, he envisioned walking past himself in public and the impression it would make. The hanger for the white suit pants clanked against the rail.  The sweatpants served three primary purposes: displaying his college; contrasting the dressy nature of his top half, thus embodying casual-approachability; and comfort for the constant up and down of his duties.  A satisfied smile contorted his face upon stepping back to admire the outfit. Allegri's Miserere, his ringtone, started behind him and he waited to attempt the high C before answering.

“I really do hate answering the phone, you always interrupt a classic.” He laughed.

“I need to rant.” Annie was on the other end.

“Oh, I really must be getting to bed, duty awaits tomorrow.”

“No.  I listened to your all your problems earlier, it's my turn now.”

“Ugh.  Fine. You have ten minutes.  Just know that I will not be listening with pleasure.”  The bed lowered as he sat on the edge.

“It’s Jack,” She and Jack had been together since high school, and outwardly, they appeared to be the ideal.  They fashioned their lives into the sitcom portrayal of a relationship and were even happy together for some time.  

“Ok…”  Darius was already impatient.

“He is just so detached, I can't get him to talk about any emotions or problems.  He always claims he’s busy and just keeps avoiding talking about things. It’s like I'm the only one who cares if things are good between us.  He just isn't the same as he was.” Her voice was shaking.

Darius waited for her to continue.

“Tonight, I was supposed to go see him, but he said he wants to get ahead of his work.  He used to drop everything for me, but now he just works. And I understand, it’s important for his career and stuff, but I still matter.”

“Well, Annie, you see, when humans have pleasurable experiences, their brain releases dopamine, which, in turn, forges a mental association to the event that caused such pleasure.  In your case, you have associated the Jackson to the pleasure you felt at the onset of your relationship. Having experienced such pleasure, you have been seeking it once more, and unable to deliver an equivalent amount of pleasure, Jackson cannot satisfy you any longer.  The initial pleasure experience was powerful enough that it cannot be matched by any future experience with said man, you will always only ever be a junkie chasing the ever-elusive dragon.” Darius was satisfied with his advise.

Looking through pictures of her and Jack, Annie had stopped listening to Darius half way through to reminisce.

“But he’s so good to me.  Were just so perfect together and I could never see myself with anyone else.  I really just want to marry him.” She smiled looking at the pictures.

“Yes! Perhaps you could exchange vows in front of that stone wall that Jackson has built between your hearts.”  Darius was irritated that his explanation wasn't taken as law.

“But If we married, I don't know if it would get better.”

“Ah, she is capable of reason!”

“But we would be so close if we got married, we would be one.”  Her mind drifted to a wedding ceremony with everyone they knew and a child-sized cake.

“Annie, I have to go.”

“Oh, o-ok bye…”  She could barely finish before he hung up.

Darius began feverishly searching for his idea book and found it beside an empty box of tissues.  Ink filled the college ruled lines with theories and explanations. He scribbled his ideas with passion, pausing to look at the phone he had just hung up.

“D****t Mee Maw!  You kick me out!?”  The phone flew through the air, into the wall.  Turning back to his notebook, the room had turned red and his hand blurred with the pen. Nearly thirty pages of notes were filled before he crawled to bed that night.