toothpick

a short story, unfinished.

The day I signed my lease at my apt, was the last time I ever really felt like I was free.  In order for me to explain, I will have to back up a couple days in order for you to understand reader, but what I am about to tell you is not a pleasant story.

There was a knock on my door.

(I had been keeping to myself that evening.  I was thinking of playing a game or two, maybe pick up the guitar and strum for an hour.  I hadn't really thought about what was going on in the evening other than maybe wind down from a semi-stressful day at work.)

Sitting in my chair, I got up thinking no reason to worry, a neighbor perhaps.  I gazed through the peep-hole from my door, and to my surprise I was right!  A neighbor I had seen before who seemed friendly.

Clarence was his name.  A younger man by appearence though at the age of thirty-eight.  Nearing his fourties, he was a very social type.  Every time I saw him, he would greet me, and I am sure greet anyone else, but let's face it he was slow.  He was disabled, and from accidental causes.  Unique in his own way, he was hit by a garbage truck driver while riding a bike at the age of 6.  His face and body maleformed for the rest of his life; but from appearances, he was always nice and talked to most people walking by.

"So why not open the door?", I thought.  No harm done.

"Hey, buddy!" He stuttered, "uhm...hmm I was wondering uhmm if I could maybe uhm..." he battled with his tongue and lower vocal chords to even mutter certain noises from his mouth.  "My cable is out," he explained, fidgeting as he continued to switch his hands from one pocket to another, "And I was uhmm wondering, maybe I could use your phone!?"  

I had seen him like this before.  Though it was always within a couple bodies distance away, and I would either be leaving my apt, or I would be coming home late.  When I was coming home late, it was either from work, or certain recreational activities.  So it was usually short, small-talk.  I never thought I would be doing him a favor anytime soon.  At least so I had hoped.

Being a nice gentleman I said 'sure'.  Not only did I let him use my cell-phone; but I let him inside of my apt.  

My apt wasn't the cleanest of places at the time.  I hadn't cleaned in over a week, and my Sunday weekly ritual of cleaning had come and gone.  It was a Thursday.  

He had a seat on my futon, as I lent him my phone.  I was almost curious to see if my phone was loud enough to hear what she was saying; because I knew she was going to have as hard of a time understanding this poor fellow as I did.  

The phone conversation was long.  They both seemed to be confused as if it was a dog speaking to a cat.  She would say something as plainly as: "Well sir it's because you haven't paid your bill," and he would sputter off something like : "What?! Uhm what do you mean? Uhm well uhm I tried to turn it on and it's not coming through uhm..."

I felt bad for him in a way.  It seemed like he was really trying hard; and all the time.  After the phone call he continued to explain his troubles and woes, of people getting upset with him, or yelling at him.  Even people flat out telling him to leave their store and to never come back.  A heart-breaking story of the handi-capped.  

In another way I did not feel bad for him, and that was his attitude towards life.  As he continued on with his stories, his points of view were not jaded, and not bitter; only defiant.  He had somewhat of a stigma that seemed to create this ego of: The world owes me something.  This was never a point of view that I agreed with; but being a man who mostly listens and doesn't tell much, I listened.  For a while.

The break in one of his stories, he asked for a glass of water.  This is something that I offer to anyone in my home, but because of the scenario, I didn't think he was going to be staying very long.  So of course I abliged.  

He started to ask me some questions, as most people do usually.  Especially after they notice I haven't said much in the conversation; but I answered his questions.  They weren't particually difficult ones.  In fact they were very simple.  How was your day?  Where do you work?  What do you do there?  My answer always being: Great, and I hate my job, let's not talk about it.

Normally I don't feel like people are intruding; but when I get that feeling, it makes me uncomfortable.  This was one of those times.  It had been nearly thirty minutes, and he was still at my apt, with no more sign of needing to use my phone.  

There was another break in the conversation, and I grew butterflies in hopes of an exit.  

"Can I have a tooth-pick?"  he asked.

My heart raced.  I could almost start to feel sweat coming from my arm-pits.  My stomach turned, and as I looked at him; I thought of something...  "What does he want a toothpick for?  What will he do with it when I give it to him?  What if he tries to use it on m-"

"I love tooth-picks!" he explained.  "Sometimes you know?  You get stuff stuck in there and you never know, where it's coming out of.  I always have tooth-picks at my house 'cause I use them all the time!"  

Before I could let him finish, I got up, and ignored my thoughts; but as I even walked towards the kitchen, my sense of safety in my own home felt as if it was being compromised.  

"I have a lot of tooth-picks dude." I joked, "I have so many I don't even know what to do with them honestly..."  Grabbing a tooth-pick from a dispenser that I had, I casually brought it to him.

My heart raced again.  "This is it."  I thought.  "This is the moment of truth."  I reached out my hand to give it to him... "If he even flinches, I will f*****g kill him."  

"Thanks buddy!" he shouted, as he slammed the pick into his teeth like a gold-digger.  I was relieved.  How rude of me to think.  "How harmless is it to ask for a tooth-pick?"  I foolishly thought.

He continued on with his mutterings.  It was difficult for me to understand him most of the time so I would smile and nod usually.  Waiting for the right time, I sat for what seemed to be almost an hour.  Until a moment arrose.  Thankful that my time had come; he had explained he needed to go for a cigarette.

"When I come bac-" he stuttered.

"No, no that won't be necessary," I explained, even before he could finish, "I have some things to do tonight, and well, look at the time right?"

I will admit that I indirectly had made this statement almost every fifteen minutes.  Though this time I was more direct, because I felt as if I was getting angry.  My time alone after work was dwindling.

He created a look that resembled sad; but I had to be stern.  This had gone on long enough.  

I rose up to my feet, and escorted him out the door, and that was that.  

At least so I thought.

The next morning, I was awoken by a knock on my door.  Rolling over to see my alarm clock, it was an hour before I even had to get up to get ready for work.  "Nine in the morning? I thought.  I rolled back over to sleep, thinking nothing of it.  

The same night again.  It was almost deja-vu.  "What could he want this time?"  I wondered.  I walked towards the door.  With my radio on and my computer game playing in the background, I didn't notice how loud it was until I opened the door.  It was quite in the halls.  

"Hey buddy!" he smiled.  His hair was slightly more relaxed, and he was wearing more casual clothing.  "What are you up to, huh?"

I awkwardly stood in front of the doorway, stand-offish.  

"Oh 'just got off work a little while ago man, you?"  I slouched slightly.

"Uhm I was just wondering, uhm maybe you want to hang out?" he scratched his head peering into the hinge-way of my door, "What're' ya' doin' in there huh?  Playin' a game or somethin'?"  He smiled looking at me self-invitingly.

"Yea man, actually I am."  I said quickly.  "Yea I don't think so man I got some stuff to do, " I explained.

He looked down, "Well hey uhm," he reached in his pocket emptily.  "I got somethin' for ya, I'm just gonna go smoke and then-"

"No." I said.  "I gotta go man, but hey take care alright?"  I went to shake his hand.

He grabbed onto my hand, and shook it respectively; but something was strange.  I couldn't let go.  He was still holding onto my hand.  Time froze.  

Author's Note

Re-read it a couple times, might be some grammatical errors. Any reason to continue story?