The Final Day of Summer

A short story about some guy, on the day the title denotes. There's also coffee.

Sometimes I think about probability, maybe that's not the right word. I guess the way things go. Odds. That's a better word. Sometimes I lay back thinking about the choices I've made and how any number of things could have gone slightly different and changed not just how that situation ended but my entire life. It's the butterfly effect, chaos theory at it's golden point. The product of too much free time, broken dreams, and unpredictability.

It's the kind of thing I think of often when I first wake up in the morning. It's the part of the day where I have to convince myself to put my foot on the floor. It's not easy, I do it every day somehow. I tell myself today is the day I'm gonna do that, today I'm going to accomplish something great. Reality is far more bleak than even the bleakest of human fantasies however. A PlayStation controller and a belly with an every growing diameter are my only companions.

But it's hard to think of these kind of things when a tiny little box keeps ringing inches from my face.

I smash my thumb against the answer key.

“What?” I probably sound more crotchety than usual.

“B***h get up.” Kevin's voice surpasses the acceptable decibel level my eardrum allows.

“No!”

“No to your no! Get your a*s up. I'll be over in ten minutes.”

“Like hell you will.”

“I'm in my car right now.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm tired. We'll do something some other time.”

“B***h there ain't gonna be no other time!”

“Sure there will.”

“You've been saying that. 'We'll do it another time, do it another time.' Well this I don't know if you've noticed this from under your rock but this is the last day of summer, okay? Not only that, this is the last last day of summer, as in after this we get to go to college and work our asses of for a s****y job so we can pay for s****y clothes and food for our nagging wives. So get your lazy fat a*s out of bed.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

“I'm almost there.”

“Okay.”

Click.

Now he obviously doesn't expect me to be awake. Of course not. In fact I'm asleep already. Maybe not quite asleep. It's that weird half way state between sleeping and awake that's more blissful than sleep itself, it'd be nice if I could hold that a bit longer.

Knock knock Bang!

“F**k.”

I wobble out of bed nearly collapsing on the floor as I do so. Uncoordinated feet propel me to the door of my room and from there down a short hall and before long to the front door.

I stand hunched over in a pair of boxer shorts with one of the legs wrinkled up nearly to my waist. My friend pushes his way past me into the house. He places his a*s on the couch.

“Get dressed.” He says nothing else.

It's hard to see when your eyes aren't entirely open but nimble fingers attached to dexterous hands have a way of finding socks and clean underwear, although thanks to legs belonging to a drunkard putting said items on can prove to be a challenging feat, and when you're laying there with a couple of socks in your left hand and your undergarment around one ankle one can quickly discover how soft and welcoming to that puddle of drool that forms during a deep dream your carpet actually is.

The door opens. I hear screams and see from my eye's corner Kevin throwing hands before his face.

“For f***s sake man! Cover your shame! And then with the rest of your clothes huh?”

“Yeah...I uh...”

“Hurry it up you little wank!”

The door slams slightly; mildly.

“I'm not a little wank.”

The undergarment finds its own way up to my crotch and the navy blue jeans and lightish red nearly pink t-shirt materialize on their own by the powers of I Really Barely Put Any Attention Forth.

My gelatin legs bumble into the living room. Kevin says some words. Then my legs follow Kevin's scent into his car. Did I lock the door to my house? I don't know.

“We gotta wake you up.” Kevin says looking at my head which rests against a transparent piece of baked sand.

“Do we?”

“I'm taking your a*s to Starbucks.”

Red, yellow, blue, white, and other colourful streaks pass before my eyes in one long blur, sometimes faster sometimes slower but at the end of it all a black liquid in a white cup sets before me on a dark green table.

“Drink.” Kevin's orders bounce through the nitrogen, oxygen mix of gas between us not unlike a sergeant yelling at soldiers in boot-camp.

“Oh but Dennis I no longer desire the power to save my friends.”

“Shut the hell up before you ruin that game for everyone.”

It's black, large and warm, any guess what it is? Tar, asphalt, burning gas, a black man's c**k? Nope coffee, provided it tastes like those things mixed together into one delightfully caffeinated beverage. Coffee, is a deceitful substance. Its scent promises rich, deep, lasting flavour and who are you to question it with taste and smell working in tandem? Well maybe you should question it because the sweet smelling product tastes like smeg.

I recoil as the liquid thermite caresses my tongue. The cup falls from my hands to the edge of the table and twirls down to the floor. A puddle of liquid beans appears, a recyclable cup in its centre.

“Great job.”

A silver container of white cloth on the table. A few of these are grabbed by my hands both left and right. I smear them across the floor like a child with some crayons and a living room wall. The liquid sloshes around on the floor and a small percentage absorbs into the cheap napkins that are now beginning to shred.

A ditzy blonde with a ponytail and green hat and apron finds her way before me. Another similar looking individual with a mop too appears. The mop wielder disguises the fallen cup of liquid while the ditzy blonde offers me a new cup. I decline.

Kevin and I sit in his car. It's stuffy, the heat is greater than the coffee cup and the smell is far more foul.

“Alright you finally awake?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Good.” His foot depresses the brake and he shifts into drive. “I'm taking you to the mall.”

I don't respond. I'm sucked into the seat ever so slightly as the car presses forward. Fingers tap upon the glove-box and the window sill. My hand slides through my hair. The sun points to my face and the car turns. The sun burns my arm. The car enters the highway and I'm sucked into the seat a bit more than before. My compatriot and I exchange no vocalizations.

Grey. Endless. The road rests before the tires awaiting our crossing. The edges fray off into bits of broken rock and grow into a lighter grey, this gives way to a sudden change of green for so long as the sun continues to shine at the grass.

It seems that Lewis and Clark found their way to the mall, and with that the engine is killed, the key placed in a pocket, my seatbelt ripped off and I fall from my chair.

“Why?” The word stumbles past my lips in the manner of an inebriated ninja.

“You're boring and I'm here to ensure you don't waste all of your summer.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.” He slaps me on the back. “You're gonna have a good time whether you like it or not.”

Panes of glass slide to either side as we approach. Hordes of humans shuffle about to get a pretzel, out of Hot Topic, towards Abercrombie, away from American Eagle, to Apple, money is lost in all directions, or gained, depending upon which side of the spectrum you're on.

In times of stress ancient man required food. In such times an alert was given via the stomach. A pain shoots through the spine and a low rumble not unlike an earthquake sounds. It was required of ancient man to sharpen a stick and slay something. Modern man must endure the escalator and line at the food court, though the alert system remains unchanged.

A dead cow packaged in bread, vegetables, and some paper aligns before me on a plastic rectangle set upon a larger wooden rectangle. I sit by the larger rectangle.

“What exactly are we even supposed to do here.” I interrogate my friend.

“I dunno man. It just seemed like a place to go, seemed like something to do.”

A low rumble bounces across the table towards my ears. It originates from my friend's pocket. He stares at a screen for a short period.

“Well I know what we'll be doing later at least.”

“What?”

“Party, I'm driving your a*s there.”

“I can't wait.” My voice is monotone.

Dexterity is man's key to survival and with this gift the paper unfolds before me. I rip apart the object with enamel.

Everything in this store is white. The products are white, exempting the screens, the employees are all white, even the customers are white. Kevin grabs a large thin rectangular screen with a button on one end.

“I never did understand why these things sold so well. I personally always thought they were kinda ridiculous. Maybe if they supported flash they'd be worthwhile, I don't care much for Apple though, I'm a Linux fanboy.”

“Kevin, nobody gives a damn.”

“Oh cool it's got Fruit Ninja.”

“That's great.” I hold my hands flat in the air. “See my hands.”

“Yeah.”

“In my hands are all the f***s I give.”

“You're a comedian.”

There's something monotonous about this place, to a deadly extant. Something about it makes time seem slow, and yet it makes you appear to be in the future. Despite the gift of the future all the inventions seem mundane and mind dulling. The inventory is sub par.

While my friend is distracted by the mundanely exciting object my feet venture out of the store of futuristic monotony. My body sets itself on a small bench not far from the only way in or out.

The fingers curl inward, the finger of my other hand rest upon the fingers of the first hand. My chin rests upon this platform. I do not see her, yet she sees me as after sitting their only a short time her voice drifts into my ear.

“Hey.” She says.

“Hello Suzy.” I reply. My head doesn't turn but my eyes drift somewhat towards the source of the sound. A glimpse of ebony hair and skin enters my vision.

“What are you doing here? I can't believe you actually left your house! Speaking of which you're more pale than usual.” This one's tongue knows no restraint.

“Kevin dragged me out here.”

“Oh my god, Kevin's here? Where? Did he leave you? Why would he do that you're not that boring, I mean you're pretty boring but not that boring!”

Silence is golden...

“He's in the Apple store.”

...the back of an iPod is silver.

They reemerge. Kevin's voice is the first heard.

“Yo, we're going to the water park. You're coming, because well, I'm your ride.”

“Get up!” She pulls me forth from my seat and leads me by the hand like a child through corridors of overpriced goods on sale and obese Americans fulfilling their patriotic duties.

In the lot of parked cars we separate from our female compatriot. The red paint of Kevin's car fades in the sun. It envelopes us and the engine reanimates. The automobile is guided back to my home. As Kevin doesn't trust me to return I wait in the humidity and ultraviolet rays as he rummages through my belongs eventually emerging with waterproof shorts and sunscreen.

Chlorinated water is an unforgettable wonderful scent, and not unlike coffee it too posses a flavour akin to smeg.

“Damn Suzy is hot.” Houndog Kevin is pleased with the view.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Yeah he says. You know if you're gay it's alright I've no problem with it. Make it easier for me to grab chicks anyhow.”

“No.”

“God you're boring.”

Fingers bundle around my hair and press down. My entire body bends, eyes shut not as a conscience decision but as a reflex. Air intake stops and just after that in a period of time that the human mind cannot perceive my nose taps the water and the rest of my head plunges in chasing after it. The fingers loosen their death grip and my body reacts like a spring being released.

Water flings out of the pool, it glides over my hair, through my hair, onto Kevin, around Kevin, and countless other directions.

“M**********r!”

“That's what I like to hear! Nice to hear some emoti-”

We're forcibly removed not only from the pool but the entire water park as apparently rough housing including and not limited to the dunking and or tackling off a friend combined with profanity are prohibited by water park regulations.

“I can't believe you two!” The groups only remaining female expresses displeasure on the highest level at our forceful removal. “Why did I agree to have you morons take me?”

“To save gas baby.”

“Shut the hell up Kevin!”

“Whoa calm down.”

“Shut up! I'm staying. I don't give a s**t. Come pick me up in an hour or two.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“I don't care.”

Kevin places the mobile communication device in his pocket.

“Well now what?” He places forth an inquiry.

“I don't know.”

“S**t.”

We enter his car. The key turns in the ignition and artificially cooled air is released. Fans causing the rapid movement of air is the only sound. All other noise is absent as our muscles remain motionless. Brainwaves move slower.

When I awake sometime later I'm being shaken by Suzy. A portion Sol hides behind the tallest building and a haze of purple replaces the familiar blue in certain patches. A croissant floats in the sky.

“Party.” The word trickles past my teeth.

“Not yet. We're gonna go get some burgers and then we're going on a beer run.”

“We're not twenty-one.”

“I've got a fake ID.”

“I see.”

The wheels spin and the car lurches forward. Taillights before us headlights behind us. We sit still in the queue of cars but the light from the vehicles never stops moving.

Dried out, unseasoned, spongy, and questionably edible. My partially consumed burger flies over the top of the baked sand and metal.

The tongue with no restraint enters the liquor store. It's not supposed to be in there. It is not allowed. But it has the proper papers. The tongue returns shortly after its departure, alcohol placed on the floorboards.

Perhaps I'm not meant for this sort of thing. I run over the events that placed me here, on this coach surrounded by under-aged drinkers, red solo cups, backwards baseball caps, wet skin and soaked clothes, smoked green shreds, rattling thuds of bass, and some guy snorting something crushed up and blue.

I could have stayed home, here I feel more alone, surrounded by human bodies, I've never felt more isolated.

Blue.

Red.

Blue.

Red.

Repeat.

A sole of half inch thick rubber digs into my spine, metal circles around my wrists and I'm flung in the back like so many others.

Sometimes I think about probability. I wonder what the chances are of any random given event. What are the chances of the events that lead up to that event? If one of those precursors played out differently, even in the slightest of ways how would that effect ones final outcome? Sometimes I wonder what the odds are of so little over so long, and then so much over so short. Sometimes I wonder about the time of day, and from a phone peaking out of the pocket of the crying girl with brunette hair and pale skin the numbers read 11:59.