Sticks and Stones

"All men were created equal." Now there's a pretty lie. Some people run like the wind. Others sit in a wheelchair. Some have brains like supercomputers. Others are dull as dishwater. Some talk circles around you, others always say the wrong thing. And some very few... are like me.

It started when I got laid off. The boss was rambling about how sorry he was, when the words just came to me: "It wasn't an overdose. Jim switched the girl's coke for white heroin." No idea who Jim was, but let me tell you: the look on the bastard's face was better than any drug. I stood up straight and smiled, and got promoted instead. That felt even better.

That evening, I told my girlfriend she'd always been right: "Your dad wishes it had been you and not your mother, when that truck broadsided you." I don't know why. We were fighting about doing the dishes, and the words came again. Still felt like I was on top of the world. It always does.

That's why I live in a cabin now, somewhere in the woods of Eastern Europe. Nobody comes here, except the old woman from the obchod with the groceries. I'm always waiting by the door. "If the hospital calls your son, and tells him you're dying, he'll hang up. He'll tell his friends it was a wrong number." She just smiles her toothless smile and mumbles cheerfully unintelligible Slavic nonsense.

It's good to have a civil conversation.