The Group

A group of neglected men find solace in each other...not in a gay way...not that there's anything wrong with that.

The gymnasium of the James K. Polk Jr. High School was weakly lit by a series of severely under motivated fluorescent lights. A sickly pale glow filled the room, giving everything inside a slightly jaundiced look. It was a hot summer day, and the lack of properly working air conditioning inside the gym created a humid, almost sticky atmosphere that smelled faintly of rubber and BO. The bleachers against the right and left walls had been pushed back to form their own kind of rickety wall.

A cluster of metal folding chairs were arranged in a disorderly way on a large navy blue carpeted mat in front of the bleachers against the left wall. A few men were sitting glumly in a few of the chairs. Some were playing games on their smart phones. Others were pretending to answer emails while they secretly looked at risqué pictures of their favorite female movie stars. A long folding leg table had been set up next to the chairs. It was laden with 2 liters of soda with cups and ice, an assortment of candy and chips, and three boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. A heavy set fellow was slowly making his way down the length of the table, loading a small paper plate with as much food as was acceptable to maintain the structural integrity of the flimsy piece of molded paper. When he reached the end of the table, he stared at the large bowl of M&M’s and the partially open box of donuts. To maximize space and increase efficiency, he took a donut out of the box and dipped it top down into the bowl of M&M’s, coating the top of the fried dough. He plopped the new treat onto his plate and found a seat.

The heavy double doors of the gymnasium opened with a loud echoing of a releasing latch. None of the men already in the room paid any attention to the new comers. They were both in their late twenties. The one on the right had dirty blond hair, green eyes, and a t-shirt on that read FREE MUSTACHE RIDES. The man on the left had a dark brown hair and eyes, and wore the wrinkled, slightly tattered shirt of a man at the end of his pitiful ropes. They took in the men that were sitting sadly in the metal chairs with one part acceptance and one part horror.

“Jesus, this is depressing,” said Phil, the blond, turning to his friend. “Where are we, AA?”

“Not exactly,” replied Hank. “This is the Neglected Men Support Group.”

“The what?” Phil asked incredulously.

Hank sighed deeply. He knew Phil wouldn’t be particularly receptive to the idea, but he knew he had to try.

“It’s a group for men whose significant others have neglected them for books,” Hank explained.

Phil snorted a laugh. “Neglected for a book? What a bunch of a******s. These fellas must be a bunch of real winners. The term doormat comes to mind.”

“Don’t belittle them because you don’t understand what they’re going through,” said Hank sternly.

Phil put his arm around Hank’s shoulders in a chummy fashion. “Say it ain’t so, Hanky Panky,” he chided his demure buddy. “Tammy’s been holding out on you for a book?”

Hank shrugged Phil’s arm off of him.

“You laugh,” remonstrated Hank, “but this is your future, buddy.”

Hank set off toward the gathering place and Phil followed, hot on his heels.

“Wait a second,” Phil said. “Is that why you brought me here? You think I’m going to end up like one of these sad sacks? Look at that guy. He’s eating a donut covered in M&M’s. Actually, that’s brilliant, but the rest of these guys are pathetic. See that guys hat even says he’s a D-Bag. Why would you wear a hat like that?”

“Don’t ask,” pleaded Hank. “For god sake, don’t ask.”

They were close enough to the rest of the group to receive some half assed dirty looks from the other members. Phil paid them no mind, but Hank mouthed a sorry and the few that had the energy to look their way turned back without a response. Hank sat down in an empty seat and Phil plunked down in the one next to him.

“Don’t you see, it’s already started, Philbo Baggins,” explained Hank. “Sarah’s been reading a lot lately, yes?”

Phil shrugged. “So what? She’s read the first book of that Fifty Shades of whatever book. That doesn’t mean she’s neglecting me.”

Hank gave another long sigh. “Don’t you get it? Fifty Shades of Grey is the marijuana of the new adult genre and E.L. James is the dealer. It’s a gateway book. Sure, she’s only read the first one so far, but she’ll be through the second within the next couple of days, and the third even faster. And after that? She might move onto Colleen Hoover, or read Beautiful Disaster. Heaven help you if she stumbles upon Kellan Kyle. You’ll never see her again.”

“None of what you just said made any sense to me,” said Phil flatly.

“Oh, it will, friend, it will,” Hank said ominously.

Phil eyed Hank suspiciously. “Wait a second. Has Tammy named her vibrator after a character from one of these books?”

Hank gave his friend a look that said how’d you know. He corrected himself quickly and answered with a brief, “No.”

“Oh, s**t,” Phil laughed. “What is it?”

Hank huffed. “The Lord.”

Phil looked at him, disgusted. “Don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.”

“That’s nothing,” another man cut in. He was sporting a mopey look of embarrassment. “My wife calls hers The Hulk.”

Phil twisted his face in a silent mixture of revulsion and contempt.

“Dude, gross,” he said to the man who looked surprised as if no one wanted to hear the name of his wife’s sex toys.

“Quiet,” Hank admonished them. “The meeting is starting.”

Hank turned his eyes forward and Phil followed suit. There was a small podium standing in front of the gathered neglectees. A middle aged man was standing behind the podium fumbling with a stack of papers as he tried to organize them. He was wearing a mustard yellow button up shirt under a brown sweater vest. His thinning hair was combed to one side with an expert part. In this man, Hank saw a leader, a confidant, a friend. Phil, on the other hand, saw the most bland, boring man on the face of the planet. His face was so plain it was almost featureless, and his eyes barely looked open.

“Welcome to another meeting of the Neglected Men Support Group,” the man said in a tone not completely unlike Eeyore’s. “We’ll start tonight’s meeting by discussing the upcoming event in Jackson Park.”

The man stepped around the podium and handed the stack of papers to the closest man sitting in front of him. The man took a sheet and passed them on.

Returning to the podium, the leader of the group said, “This fishing trip is open to anyone, but please let me know if you plan on attending so I can make enough chicken salad sandwiches for everyone.”

“If I fall asleep,” Phil whispered to Hank, “wake me up when this guy has finished droning on about chicken salad and fishing. He’s even talking about boring crap. Good lord.”

“Quiet,” Hank hissed back.

“Next on our agenda,” the leader of the group continued, “is the welcoming of new members. Anyone who hasn’t attended a meeting before is more than welcome to come up and introduce themselves.”

Hank looked expectantly at Phil. Phil, in turn, protested silently, widening his eyes so Hank knew he meant business. Hank, of course, stared back blankly. It was the trademark stare that Phil had come to know and hate over their friendship. He didn’t even bother fighting it this time. Phil knew it would be a lot easier to just go along with it and get it over with.

“Sure, f**k it,” he said, standing up. He sidled his way out of the row of chairs and walked to the podium.

“The floor is yours, brother,” the leader said in dulcet tones, offering the podium to Phil.

Phil gave him a sarcastic nod and a wink as he stepped up to the podium.

“Hey, everyone,” he said to the room. “My name’s Phil.”

“Hi, Phil,” everyone, including Hank, said in unison.

“Not really sure why I’m here,” continued Phil. “My friend Hank back there brought me because my wife just started reading that Fifty Shades book.”

“Poor b*****d,” one voice said from somewhere.

“So young,” said another shamefully.

Phil ignored them. “I’m not neglected. My wife read one book. In fact, just between us, I feel like she spends too much time with me. It’s kind of annoying. I was actually glad to get the space when she started reading.”

The leader of the group stepped up next to Phil and put his arm around Phil’s shoulders much the same way Phil had done to Hank only minutes before. That was friendly though, this had a sadness to it that seemed infinite.

“It’s okay, Phil,” the leader said. “We all felt like that at first. I’m Gideon Cro…Robert. I’m Robert.”

The leader extended his free hand and Phil shook it.

“We’re here for you, Phil,” Robert continued. “Even when things seem hopeless, like your wife loves her books more than she loves you, we’ll be here.”

Phil looked around the room uneasily. “’Kay,” he said, and walked back to his seat next to Hank.

“Did that guy just get his own name wrong?” Phil asked Hank in a whisper.

Hank shook his head. “Not really. Gideon Cross is the leading male character in the Crossfire series. His wife calls him Gideon in bed.”

Phil looked astonished. “That’s fucked up.”

Hank just nodded.

Robert invited another member up to share their story. The heavy set man stood from his chair and walked to the podium without leaving behind his plate of food which had diminished only slightly since the meeting started. As he launched into a story about finding himself so desperate for his wife’s touch that he was getting aroused by Jane Lynch in an Old Navy commercial, Phil leaned in to whisper at Hank.

“Is this a f*****g cult?”

Hank looked at him in anger. “Of course not. It’s just a group of guys who are there for each other when they need someone. It’s a support group.”

“Sure it is,” Phil said sarcastically, patting his friend on the shoulder consolingly. “If anyone asks me to drink some Kool-Aid, I’m going to pass.”

Hank shook his head.

The rest of the meeting wound on for what seemed like eternity to Phil. There was a healthy amount of uncomfortable stories that all seemed to end up veering toward masturbation, and more than a few man tears shed. Overall, it was one of the better meetings of the group, according to Hank. Before everyone left, a group hug was suggested and Phil declined participation in the most polite way possible, which consisted of him laughing and saying, “F**k no.”

Hank drove Phil back to his home on the other side of town after the meeting. Neither of them spoke in the car. Hank was quiet because he was deep in introspection of his recent book related marital troubles. Phil was silent because, frankly, he was more than a little creeped out. He was also seeing his friend in a new light, and that was a little disconcerting as well. In end, Phil decided to shake off the creepy feeling the Group of Pathetic A******s had given him by having a beer or two and blowing s**t up in a little online death match. Virtually killing avatars controlled by thirteen year old kids always cheered him up, especially if he was drunk.

Hank put the car in park in front of Phil’s house and turned to his friend. “There’s another meeting next week. If you decide you want to come, let me know.”

Phil nodded his head slowly. “Roger that, Ghost Rider.”

He stepped away from the car and walked to his front door. Inside the house was quiet. A jet black tabby cat darted from one room to another. Phil bounded up the stairs to find his wife. He had to at least say hi before diving into the world of online death and destruction. He found Sarah lying in bed, still wearing her pajamas even though it was three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. She was so consumed in the book she was reading she didn’t even look up when Phil announced himself.

Phil didn’t recognize the cover of the book she was reading. It definitely wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey. The word Thoughtless was scrawled across the top of the cover in an elegant typeset. He walked to the side of the bed and kissed Sarah on the top of the head.

“New book?” he asked her.

She nodded.

“What about Christian Grey?”

“I’ve found a new man,” Sarah said jokingly. “A better man.”

Phil chuckled insincerely. “Better than Christian Grey? I didn’t think that was possible. What’s this one’s name?”

“Kellan Kyle,” answered Sarah. She was being distant, and unusually cold toward him. She was never like that.

Suddenly, Hank’s words came rocketing to the front of Phil’s mind. He muttered something about an octopus or possibly a ficus and left the room. He plopped down onto the couch downstairs and stared at the blank flat screen mounted on the wall in front of him. After what was possibly a minute or possibly twenty, Phil pulled his phone out of his pocket and he texted Hank.

I’LL BE THERE

He sent the message with a sinking heart. Within moments, Hank replied.

WELCOME TO THE GROUP, BROTHER. I’M SORRY

Reviews

[Marie]

I didn't realize this was funny at first, and then it was very funny.
A man who can't make a woman forget a book is a loser anyway...