Electric Anxiety - Chapter 2: It Can Be Done Tomorrow

Early 2006

The ride home was cold and lonely, as it frequently was for him, the bitter winds rippling across his face, whipping his hair to and fro. The engine tripping through the gears, his mind slipping in and out of consciousness. She encompassed his every thought, yet he knew he should not give her that right. He knew he had to be able to feel happy without her, yet the only thing that seemed to make him happy was her, with her goofy voices and her lovely smile. He had just seen her moments before, and now he glanced at where she had sat and noticed the void, and the void within his heart that she seemed to leave. Glancing at the radio he noticed it was still on the independent radio station that played eighties music from seven to twelve every weekend night, but now it was post-midnight, and the world was changing before his eyes. Now back to its usual independent music programming, “Years” by Mike Ruekberg, began to play. Feelings began pouring out of his empty heart, encompassing his soul, his sanity, his salvation; she was his soul’s scavenger, his soother of his senses, his supreme saviour, if not then he must be eternally damned to a death of dynamic disaster. She was his entire being, his entire essence a temple to her and all that she represents. She was his good luck charm, she was his warning alarm, she was the one that kept him away from harm. But was he what she was to him? Could he be her everything? Could he ever be enough for even himself, much less her? Without her, in his empty shell, he was a pathetic obsessive miscreant not worth a moment of her attention. But with her he was a giant amongst mere mortals, he was a desirable, divine deity in the midst of celestial, corporation corpses. She was his superior, supernatural, supreme saviour though, she made him invincible and incredible, but what did he do for her? Why does she use her superpowers to help the miserable wretch that is our hero? Oh, brothers and sisters, do not you fret, his luck was not all one way but mixed in a yin yang of instant karma. While on the one hand he was the luckiest man alive for being with who he was, but on the other hand when he was not with her he was the unluckiest man the moon had ever had the pleasure to shine down upon.

            His countenance conveying his mixed emotions as a solitary tear swelled up in his right eye, slowly breaking over the barrier of his lower eyelash and slowly creeping down his right cheek. He glanced at the clock, twelve thirteen, it had only been nine minutes, yet his heart was already running on empty. He set his cruise control at two miles below the speed limit and began to think back on the memories of the night he had just experienced, letting himself daze out in the midnight air with its serene ways. Lights blurring into bright lines upon the canvas of his mind, the street and sky his backdrop, his tear his paint brush. Yellow light, he hit the brakes. Red light, he stopped, shifted to neutral just for something to do. Looking out his window, somewhat subdued, his heart bleached blue, his green eyes weeping witlessly, his mind wandering, pondering. Green light, he pressed resume on the cruise control quickly coming back up to speed, quickly trying to regain his calloused composure. His turn was coming up so he pressed the brake pedal, and turned the steering wheel, turning onto a local highway that passed his neighbourhood. The engine letting out its usual sputter as it normally did to protest the cheap gas being put into it. It reminded him of his heart.

“Snap out of it ole man,” he said once more in his fake lower Liverpudlean accent, “She’s just a dame, nothing more. A good bloke wouldn’ let a lass like her preoccupy his mind, so snap out of it. She’ is nothin’ special.” But deep down he did not believe it. Twelve twenty, read his car’s clock, as he glanced once more at it as he pulled up to his house and parked on the street as close to the curb as possible.

As he got out of the car he noticed the grass needed cutting, but in his lazy state he said as he did every time he noticed it, ‘it can be done tomorrow’. As he got to the front door and inserted his key, he noticed something was askew. It was probably nothing but all the same, he had an odd feeling. He entered the house and everything seemed to be fine. He proceeded to his room with its blue painted walls, remembering the experience it had been to paint it. He walked over to his record player and put on the Velvet Underground & Nico, quickly dropping the needle at the beginning of the song Femme Fatale. He then plopped down in his water bed, letting himself sink in and then listening to the words to the song:

“Here she comes, you better watch your step

She's going to break your heart in two, it's true
It's not hard to realize

Just look into her false colored eyes
She builds you up to just put you down, what a clown

'Cause everybody knows (She's a femme fatale)

The things she does to please (She's a femme fatale)
She's just a little tease (She's a femme fatale)
See the way she walks

Hear the way she talks
You're written in her book

You're number 37, have a look
She's going to smile to make you frown, what a clown
Little boy, she's from the street

Before you start, you're already beat
She's gonna play you for a fool, yes it's true
'Cause everybody knows (She's a femme fatale)
The things she does to please (She's a femme fatale)
She's just a little tease (She's a femme fatale)
See the way she walks/Hear the way she talks”

He began to weep, but the weeping turned into sobbing, all these tears he was crying pouring out of his eyes. Crying for her to be there with him, crying to feel her touch, crying afraid the song was about her, crying because he missed her, crying because he was without her, crying because he loved her, crying because he needed her, crying for her to make him happy, crying to feel her magic touch turn his coal to something more. Diamonds, diamonds were her soul, diamonds is what he felt. So much pain, and so much anguish. He had to get his act together, to get over her, to get to where he could make himself happy, to get where he could thrive alone, to get where he could exist beyond her, to get where he didn’t need to feel her touch or need her to be with him, to get where he could feel like an immortal without her assistance, to get to where he could be the one to make another feel like a ecstatic golden angel. He had to get his soul of coal and turn it into diamonds, like she had. He didn’t know how yet, but he knew a few things for sure, he was not going to lie around sobbing for any woman ever again, he was going to be his own person, and if he was he would have to start right now. Well… ‘it can be done tomorrow’.