Consequences

When one thinks nobody is watching, they do things they might not do in public. But every action has an effect.

It was seventy-two degrees, zero humidity, cloudless, calm, and I had long gone off the deep end. I couldn’t decide between public masturbation, murder, suicide, or Instagram. I needed attention.

Three months ago I received a call from a man, the man who became my boss. “Welcome to the team,” he said. “By June 1st we’ll have your plane ticket.”

June 2nd, no ticket. June 10th, no ticket. June 15th, no ticket, no call, no email, no info. I had been nice about it. Hey this is Monty, your new employee, I had planned on coming to Brazil June 1st, and it’s a couple weeks past now, I’m kinda just sitting around at my parents house, so…if you could let me know what’s going on that’d be great. Nothing.

No obligations but to hate. No breeze, no humidity, no people to meet or things to do, life had stopped but the calendar turned on and on and I sat and hated and waited and nothing continued to happen.

I went to the bathroom and stripped out of my clothes and spit in my hand and worked myself up. I took a snap of my erect self and sent it to a girl who wouldn’t leave me alone a month before. All month, nudes and annoying messages. I was about to move out of the country so I wanted no part of her. Now I was about to go postal and I needed something, anything.

Forty minutes later my snap remained unopened, unwanted. I was fuming and had no friends within hundreds of miles and I wanted to kill myself. This of course was not an option so I went to a gas station to get as close as I could. “Marlboro 27’s,” I said. The cashier flipped through an auto magazine. He stared at a photo of a lifted diesel truck, licked the teeth inside his lips, read the first sentence of the article and flipped to the next photo. “27’s,” I repeated, much louder. He didn’t look up. I slammed my fist against the counter. A jar of pens spilled onto the floor. The cashier licked his teeth and flipped to the next page.

“Hey Earl,” the cashier yelled across the store. Earl pulled his pants up and stood up from a bottom shelf. “You see this new Ford has a spittoon built into the center console?!”

I started towards the door but changed my path, walked behind the counter, next to the cashier and the lotto tickets and tobacco products. He licked his teeth and flipped to the next photo. I took a carton of cigarettes and headed for the door. Walking backwards, eager for consequence, I stomped out. He never looked up.

Back at the house my parents sat on the couch watching television. “Can you f*****g believe this?” I yelled, “over two weeks and still not a call?” They didn’t look up. Mom bit her nails and Dad scratched his neck. A commercial blared. “F**K.” I lit a cigarette inside. I flicked the lighter over and over. A deep inhale, filling my lungs with tarry nicotine, and a cloud across the couch and my parents faces. Not a blink.

Dad’s wallet sat on the table. I grabbed it and took his credit card and waved it in front of his face. He lifted his hand slightly and waved me out of the way. I found an 11,000 dollar first class ticket to São Paulo departing the next morning and bought it with the card.

I took my overnight bag and went downstairs. My grandfather had been a great hunter, he killed many living things for fun, and my parents’ basement glinted in light due to overflow of knives and guns. I stuffed a few pistols and a rifle and a few knives into my bag and walked back upstairs to the living room where my parents continued to watch TV. Commercials blared.

HEADACHES?! DEPRESSION?! ANXIETY?! OVERWEIGHT? CANCER?! TOO SMALL OF PENIS?! BAD BREATH?! the television screamed, TRY SOLVE-ALL, THE ULTIMATE PILL CURE FOR EVERYTHING! Side effects may include headaches, depression, anxiety, extreme weight gain, shrinking penis cancer, halitosis, and spontaneous combustion.

“I’m leaving forever,” I said. My parents squinted at the seizure-inducing screen. “I’m going to murder innocent civilians. Mom, I’m lighting your garden on fire. Dad, I’m taking your fly rod.” Advertisements attract unfulfilled parents like porn does adolescents.

I sped to the airport, weapons in my backpack, refreshing my phone every five seconds to see who hadn’t opened my snapchat. I passed a cop " going ninety over the limit. As I passed him I stomped on the accelerator and looked at my phone and then into the rearview mirror. No pursuit.

At the airport I walked past everyone in line and ducked under the stile right in front of the metal detector. I swung my backpack off and kicked my shoes onto the conveyor belt. The security guard stood half slumped, bored and exhausted. She waved me through without looking me in the eyes. I stood at the other end of the x-ray waiting eagerly.

The backpack rolled through, as did the following bag. They both rolled onto the plastic. I grabbed the backpack and stomped on. An open food court sat on the corner facing three busy terminals. I unzipped the backpack as loudly as possible, flipped it upside down, and watched the guns and knives clatter on the floor. I looked around.

“I’M GOING TO KILL ALL YOU PEOPLE!” I screamed.

No one looked at me. They continued to look at their magazines and fill their faces with 12 dollar burgers and scroll through their phones. They scratched themselves and stared at strangers thinking no one noticed. I noticed.

I fell to a seat and began crying. Then I checked my phone. No notifications on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat. As I walked away from the weapons and into the bathroom I refreshed my email. My phone buzzed.Downloading 1 emails, it said. I stood over the urinal and couldn’t piss. I noticed my breath and the acid in my stomach. It was from him.

Can’t wait to work with you Monty, it said. Attached was a plane ticket. Immense relief. I took the best piss ever taken. I washed my hands and smiled at myself in the mirror. Then I fixed my hair and walked out of the bathroom and back into the bustling airport. A woman pointed down at the guns and screamed.