Mayfly

"One minute was enough, Tyler said, a person had to work hard for it, but a minute of perfection was worth the effort. A moment was the most you could ever expect from perfection." ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

 

  

Is there anybody in there?

     A voice and a question. They bring me out of my thoughts and I wonder if I've been blanking again. I do that sometimes, stand somewhere, and I get to thinking. I have a tendency to just stare past every thing in front of me, separate from the world. Free. Truth is it's far from "blanking". It's closer to fulfillment.

     Says a lot about my life, doesn't it?

     I turn to say, yeah, there is some one in here. Sometimes it's a little crowded, as a matter of fact. My words are lost as my eyes come to rest on a girl behind me, her hand on the door knob of my next classroom. OUR classroom.

     At first I don't even see her, as though she is transparent, a blank space. Normally I look at some one and have an instant of recognition, comparing them to hundreds of people who have previously come and gone from my life. I can tell a lot about a person from the way they hold themselves, their overall demeanor, there attitudes toward life, towards me. Usually it's not good.

     The girl before me, however, is invisible. As my eyes focus on her I can see that is far from the truth. She is not empty, not hollow. There is something there. Something strong. I can't place it. She is no longer transparent but she remains elusive to my understanding.

     No, I say, hoping I haven't blanked again and spent several minutes just staring at her like an awkward fool.

     What time is it? she asks with no indication of resentment or judgment. Perhaps I'm just as elusive to her. Perhaps that's just my ego thinking. They say women can tell every thing they need to know about you within twenty seconds of meeting you. That's bad news, I think, and my time is up.

     I look down at my cell phone, push a button. The time comes up, illuminated by a neon blue screen deadened in the afternoon light.

     It's twelve ten, I say. Class starts at twelve thirty, and she pouts a bit.

     Guess I'm early. Are you in this class?

     She raises an eyebrow.

     You didn't even check? Her voice is soft, with a bit of a Texas twang to it. I've always been devoid of this twang for the most part, the only person to ever notice it some woman from Australia I met in a hotel hot tub somewhere in Arizona a couple of years back. I suppose I've worked most of my life trying to get rid of it, out of some misguided attempt to separate myself from my heritage.

     Nope, I say, shrugging. Just assumed. She smiles a little bit. Most of the time I have to bust my balls to be funny, even more so with females. This one just laughed at something only Carrot Top would find funny.

     I like that.

     She opens the door and we go inside. A strange smell hits my nostrils, of fish. Afraid it might be her, I don't say anything.

     Whew, that's better, she says. It's a hot one out there. Damn humidity. No one else in here. Oh well, at least I'm not the only one. You're pre algebra, right?

     I smile a little, embarrassed, and nod.

     Math averse, that's me, I say, and find a seat. Forty other chairs in the place and she sits right next to me. Not that I mind, but it is a bit unusual. Especially for someone as, uh, endearing as her.

     Guess I'm the same, she says, putting her bag on the ground. I feel like such a retard. I'm in college, but taking pre algebra. I did this stuff in the seventh grade. Not to mention I'm tired as hell.

      This last is broken by a yawn and she rubs her eyes.

     Too early for me she says. I raise my eyebrows and smirk.

 

     About now, she says with a chuckle. Its sound is infectious, and I try to hold back my own amusement.

 

     Eileen, I think, smiling fully now, unbidden, and reach out to shake her hand.

     Ah, Eileen. Pleased to meet you, I say and she laughs again as she returns the hand shake, I guess amused by the formality.

     So I guess you skunked out on the THEA, huh? she says.

     COMPASS, actually. Damn waste of money if you ask me. Twenty nine ninety five to tell me what I already know... she finishes for me.

     That you suck at math?

 

     She nods and says, same here.

     There is a silence after this. A rather awkward one. The conversation has been pretty decent up to this point. Now it just flickers out without warning. F*****g typical. I've never been able to hold up a conversation with a female. Not much of a talker.

     Quite unexpectedly, she saves it. At least now I know I'm not boring her to death.

     So what's your major? she says.

 

     Something for English, I think. Maybe medicine. Never really been good at much else. My boy friend is the genius in my life.

     And there's the kick in the nuts. Never fails. I should get up and leave, quote Kid Rock, say, "I had plenty friends before I met you, I don't need no more." But I don't want to be rude. Then there is that tiny stupid thought in my head that being friends with her is better than not knowing her at all. I know I shouldn't listen to that voice, but here I am getting conned like some destitute Dust Bowl era hillbilly with nothing but faith and the promise of deliverance to hold his head up, never mind the hole that has just seemed to appear in the bottom of his pocket. My inner voice is the Evangelist, and my heart is the sucker.

     We talk back and forth to each other, trying to kill time. I watch with subdued awe as she pulls out a red ribbon and ties her hair back with it. She looks...adorable. Pure. The girl next door type.

     God help me.

     More people come in, and I expect her to maybe get up and go sit with some one else as our small talk begins to wane. It would probably be for the best, for her to go now instead of me leading my self on only to find out later on she was just sparing my feelings, but I've become a nuisance and now she has no choice but to go for my balls.

     Maybe I'm just paranoid.

     She stays where she is, turning back to me from time to time. We share quips every few moments, and we laugh together. The teacher finally comes in and things are quiet for a time, but I can see her quivering next to me, trying to hold her composure. Something has struck her as humorous, and she fights to keep her laughter at bay. That strikes me as humorous, and now we're both quivering with bottled up laughter. We look at each other, and when our eyes meet, we can't hold on any more. We just let go at the same time, and I imagine how we must appear to the rest of the class, two loons sitting on a log, making racket.

     We manage to get ourselves under control before the class starts. Eileen is tired, and I see her nodding off during the course of the class. I try to keep her amused, succeed mostly. When she doesn't laugh at my so called wit I wonder if I crossed the line, but she usually returns with some wit of her own down the line.

     Paranoid.

     An hour and a half through the class, we go outside for a break. Some one mentions the fishy smell. We're on top of the cafeteria, some one says, allaying my earlier suspicion. Eileen rolls her eyes and looks at me.

 

     Especially if they decide to make something with eggs...

     I walk a bit away from the crowd to smoke a cigarette, and she follows. Surprised, I offer her one and she wrinkles her nose. Great, I think. Here comes the lecture.

     Something hits my face.

     Damn bugs, I mutter from around my cigarette as I light it, words punctuated by puffs of smoke.

     Love bugs, Eileen says. They're in season.

     She points at a pair, connected at the thorax as they fly and mate.

     You hardly ever see one by itself. See, they're doing it, and their doing it... she snickers. Millions of little bugs just going at it all around us.

     I smile a bit.

    Must be nice, I say. To have that kind of freedom. Bugs like these, that's probably all they know. Like Mayflies.she asks, eyebrow raised.

     Mayflies?

     Yeah. Mayflies. They hatch, fly up into the air, find a mate. Afterwards, the male dies, and the female goes to lays her eggs. Then its lights out for her, too. Then it starts over. Hatch, mate, die. It's their entire life. Driven only by instinct. They don't know why, and they don't make up stuff to explain it, either. They just do it. Simple as that. No pretext, no agenda. No pain or betrayal. No jealousy or denial. They don't experience all the crap we do. They just do it, and it's all they know. Hm. Kinda makes me jealous.

     I look over at Eileen for the first time since starting my little speech about Mayflies; expect her to maybe have toned it out. Instead she looks at me with wide eyes. Great. She probably thinks I was hitting on her. She'll go now, disgusted. Instead, her lips slowly curl into that smile I've already come to know and love. I can't believe I only met you an hour and a half ago, I want to say. I don't of course. Not much for that romantic crap.

     Somehow I don't think she's that big on it either. Yeah, she probably likes candle light dinners and a bed of roses like any other girl, but I doubt she goes for the corny talk. There's something more to her. I still can't place my finger on it, but its there, somewhere behind those brown eyes with a bit too much eye shadow. Not enough to make her look whorish, but just a tad too much. They blink under dark hair with hints of red shining through. I find that funny. Most girls die their hair to get it red, not to cover it up.

     Eileen is complex to me. She has substance.

     Its time to go inside, she says, and I put out my cigarette to follow her.

     We sit through the rest of the class, sharing a few more witty remarks throughout and trying to bottle up our laughter, failing for the most part. Laughter. Our entire time together has been laughter, pure and simple. No pretext, no agenda. So far, it's all we've known.

     The class ends and we say so long, see you on Thursday. Thursday comes. We say hi, but that's it. We've both introduced ourselves to other people in the class, and sit with other people. I throw her a smile every now and then, but that's it. Each class sees us conversing and sharing laughter less and less. Time goes on, until the semester ends. The last day of class I approach her, tell her it's been swell. She says she'll see me around. She doesn't, though. We never see each other again on that campus. She becomes just another passing face, some one else with which to compare future meetings with other people. It's sad, I think.

      I do allow my self to love again, to be hurt again. It is my flaw: I fall in love too easily, always knowing where it is going to lead. I suppose I find pleasure in that pain. It makes me feel alive. Once more I wish I were like the Mayflies, able to do one simple thing, to know only one simple, good thing before it's all over, no pain, no denial. But I'm not. I'm only a man. Born to know pain and denial along with love and laughter.

     Years pass. I lay in a hospital bed at the age of 45, lung cancer. Damn cigarettes. Hm. There's the denial, that it's not my own damn fault. I take a deep breath and wince. There is the pain. I stare at the ceiling, letting the holes blur, and thinking about my life. I lay dying, staring. Blanking.

     I never married, never had kids. I just sailed through life, working, trying to survive for no reason at all. Driven by instinct. Everything seems empty, all but those short two hours when I loved a girl named Eileen, with a red ribbon in her hair, laughing as though every thing was right in the world.

     Just laughing.

     Is there in any body in there? says a familiar voice. It's older but I know it. I look to see a red headed nurse enter the room. Her hair is tied back with a black ribbon. The skin around the eyes is now wrinkled, but the eyes themselves are just as radiant as they were twenty something years ago.

     Yes, I say. Sometimes it gets a little crowded, as a matter of fact.

     Her lips curl into a smile, and she laughs. I keep her laughing as she does her rounds, and when she finishes and heads toward the door, she turns to me and asks if we’ve met before.

     I am like the Mayfly, I say.

     What? she asks, as though it is the silliest thing she’s ever heard, and making me feel as though I am just a silly old man.

      Nothing, I say, content with her reaction. It probably isn’t even her, just my damn fool’s hope. It’s better this way, I tell my self. I won’t be around much longer anyway.

      She shakes her head and exits the room, the last person I will ever see. My breath grows shorter with each moment into the darkness of night, and I die having known only one good, simple thing, a Mayfly borne on the wings of a cruel and complex world, and my last thought is that it was worth it.

     So I guess we get to smell what lunch is everyday before hand. That oughta be fun.

     Dunno. How about you?

     Yeah.

     I'm Eileen, by the way.

     Damn, how late do you usually wake up?

Author's Note

I don't ask for much, just be honest, yet constructive.