Shell Game

"Sit down" I said a little more harshly that I had intended, but I had had a rough day, and the person I was "asking" to sit down had contributed to that in no small measure. I was really not in the super sparkly mood to play nice. With them or anyone else.  I received a slightly arched eyebrow at my tone, and my command, but I figured if that was the worst reaction I was going to get, then things were going to go smoothly. I knew better, but hope springs eternal.  I decided to just go ahead and press my luck, after all it was going to fall to shit anyway, might as well get it over with sooner rather than later. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" She looked puzzled, and replied "about what?" I smiled "well I'm not too concerned about the state of the nation, or the condition of the pork belly market, so just in general, is there anything you'd like to tell me?" "No" she said and shook her head. She has the great ability to shut down when faced with conversations she deems "unpleasant" and we had had several of those recently. So many that I began to call her shutdowns "going turtle" she didn't like it, but she did agree that is what she did.

"Well, since you've gone turtle again, I suppose I'll do all the talking. I hope the acoustics in your shell are good enough for you to hear me clearly, because I don't plan on saying this more than once, and I want to be clear." Another nod, this one briefer than the first. Another way of showing her retreat into her shell. The shorter the nod, the further back she had gone. It was a simple, but efficient way of trying to avoid things, and she had been doing it for years (and not just with me). I was in no mood to play turtles, "I'm in no mood to play turtles, so I am going to try to make this clear. The crux of the reason I've asked you here to talk, even though I know you won't do much talking, is that I have grown weary. Weary of hearing a set of things coming out of your mouth on a daily basis, and then watching you perform acts (well I don't get to see them, but you understand my meaning) that are the polar opposite of what you say." She actually opened her mouth to respond, but I wasn't in the mood. "No, for once stay in your shell." I said as I put up a forestalling hand. "I've no great desire to be interrupted at the moment, and plus I've been practicing this speech for a while, and it needs to be said, and today is the day I'm going to say it. You don't exactly owe it to me to listen, but it would be the decent thing to do, and if you have any shred of decency left, which I am beginning to seriously doubt, you'll just sit there and listen." She flushed red at that last bit, and I could tell she didn't like it, but then again her recent behaviour had lead to my doubts to begin with, and she knew it. She knew she could sputter some attempt to justify herself, but that I wouldn't even bother to listen, so she kept her excuse to herself. Better that way.

"Certainly words, and actions don't always have to march in lock step with each other, and we all say a lot of shit that we don't really mean. Especially in the 'heat of the moment', and we've had a lot of moments." I hoped she knew how I meant that, because it wasn't meant to be kind, she was a relatively clever lass (at one point at least), and I saw the anger flare again in her eyes, and knew that my point had been made. "But your actions and words aren't even going the same direction, they aren't on the same path, and they have two, very different destinations." I won't waste my breath, or insult your intelligence by sketching out the words, and the actions of which I speak. You know what you say, after all you are the one saying it, and you know what you do because again, you are the one doing it. The doing is a bit vague at times, and I wonder if you don't think I'm clever enough to catch on to it, but rest assured I am. After all this time you of all people, should know that. I am going to pretend, for my sake, that you do, and you either don't care or you somehow think that your actions and words are reconcilable. They aren't and that is the reason for this little tete a tete."

"Of course your problem, whether you know it or not (or care which I'm not sure you do), is that the fellow you would want to hear your words and see your actions is dead. That Romantic fool that you took for a merry ride has shuffled off this mortal coil, and I am here as his replacement. You knew that, I told you that, and yet you didn't deem it necessary to change your words or your behaviour. Pity that, because it makes a significant difference to me. You know which one I am, I've told you that too, if you were paying attention, and I think you were, you know I'm the Rationalist, and I am a different kettle of fish from that fool the Romantic. I killed him, this you know as well, I've told you that too, it wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly the pinnacle of my career. I took very little pleasure in the act, but then again I also do not mourn the daft bastard. He had to die, in order that I might live, and in the game of "it's you or them" I pick them to get the short end of the stick, or in this case the pointy end of the knife. Putting the knife into him was necessary, and watching the light fade from his eyes was the price of keeping myself alive, it had to be done, for the greater glory of us all."

"The pity, at least for you, is that the Romantic wouldn't be having this conversation with you. He would tear himself apart trying to reconcile your actions and your words. The logical inconsistency of them would drive him mad, and he wouldn't rest until he figured it out. The problem for him is that he would NEVER figure them out, he wasn't that clever, another reason he had to die, and he would continue to bash his head against that brick wall until he was brain dead. He would desperately want to believe your words, and to be fair, they were sweet words, words he wanted to hear and sincerely wanted to believe. But, you knew that didn't you? After all, that's why you said them. He wasn't too complicated our Romantic, he confused easily, and wanted to believe those honeyed words. He was mad for sweets, and your words were like a jolt of sugar for him. One thing you and him had in common was that you are/were (in his case) cowards. Yours is the cowardice of avoidance, his was the cowardice of belief. Two very distinct types, but cowards nevertheless."

"No, sadly for you, I am here now and I quite simply don't give a fuck. I will not allow myself to give a fuck. Giving a fuck is what got him the knife in the ribs. It's a hard life to not give a fuck. People actually expect you to give quite a lot of fucks in your day to day life. It can be exhausting to try to pretend to give a fuck, I mean I'm not exactly a savage. I do, on too many occasions than I want, find myself pretending to give a fuck that someone's child is ill, or that the elderly gran of another has passed away, or that someone's dog finally learned to not shit on the Persian rug. Yes, a lot of my day is whiled away pretending to give an actual fuck about mundane things. Therefore, when you coming waltzing in here with your words saying X and your actions saying Y, I can't be bothered to give an actual fuck. I will not lose precious hours of sleep pondering the difference, I will not worry myself sick about which one of the two to believe, I will not skip meals because I pondering which is really "true" X or Y.  As far as I can tell, the only person who gives a fuck about me is me. Therefore, as the self-appointed custodian of my own mental health, I am not going to play this game just to keep things going."

"It is up to you to figure this mystery out, if you mean the words, that's just grand. As I said they are lovely words, and if I thought you meant them I might actually consider believing them. Notice I said consider, for that is the best I can promise (and it is dependent on your ability to convince me you mean them), and it's probably better than you deserve. Or, if on the other hand, your actions are the true indication of your character (or lack thereof) then you and I have nothing further to discuss. You can stop with the pretty words, and take yourself (and others) straight to hell.  Either way, it's your decision. I am pretty certain I know the answer, but I will let you have the final say in the matter. Call it my one act of kindness. Because, sister I am not that kind, and you made a murderer out of me. The vengeance that I took in your name was not a pleasant sight, and if I gave a fuck, it might actually haunt me, but we have covered that ground already. Also, I am not certain that my vengeance is finished, but that need not concern you overmuch."

"Well, that's about all I've got. I know it's a lot, and I don't expect an answer right now, or maybe ever, knowing you as I do, but somethings just have to be said out loud for their own sake. You can make of it what you wish, or you can ignore it in its entirety. I am not hard to find, nor am I difficult to talk to (at least in my opinion) you should know your own mind, and I would appreciate the benefit of you sharing it with me. I figure (because of course I do) it's the least you could do, and like most people in this world doing the least you can do is usually what people pick to do." For the briefest of moments she looked like she was going to say something, then she just nodded her head, got up, said "you are wrong on so many levels", and walked out of the room. I've not seen her since.

35degrees 8' 12" N 89degrees 59' 24" W

"I am not your enemy" my companion said as they tasted the cold, frothy beverage that I placed in front of them, and then let out a satisfied sigh" I glanced at them, a person I had known the better part of a decade, and wondered how much of what they was telling me was anywhere in the neighborhood of the truth, or were they just telling me what they thought I wanted to hear, and would say it was true regardless? I struggled not to give a detailed lecture on the Manichaeism temptation, the one that decrees that "if you aren't my friend, then you are my enemy." That temptation is just that a temptation a very alluring view of the world. Either you're with me or you're against me. It makes the world very black and white, divides it clearly between good (my side clearly), and evil (their side clearly).  It makes it very simple, and very easy to place objects in their place. That is if objects will just stay in place, funny thing about them is that they tend to move about.

I doubted my present drinking buddy had ever heard of Mani, the founder of the religion that leads to the temptation that bears his name, and I very much doubted they wanted to hear me fill in the blank space on their map of knowledge on this subject. I am not pedantic, but have been told that I would be a better person if "I learned to keep my mouth shut." "In fact, I would like to think that I am your friend." I nodded, let out a sigh, and figured that the "mouth shut" theory wasn't going to work this time. After all, only so much of a conversation can be carried on when all one person does is nod and smile, or grunt and grimace. The nature of the word conversation mainly implies that two people are going to be, at some point, talking (hopefully not at the same time, but that is how a lot of my "chats" with people end up going).  I took another long sip of my beverage, mainly in order to give me time to think of a reply, but also because it was fucking delicious, and replied (as laconically as possible) "I know that." I figured the fewer words I supplied in this conversation the better, for multiple reasons. One, I wasn't exactly sure I believed them, and therefore I couldn't be sure how much of what I said was going to be reported back to my actual enemies (of which my companion is very well acquainted). Two, I also wasn't sure I wanted to have this conversation, after all I was just here to get slightly drunk, and wake up tomorrow with a headache, but with no regrets about what I had said to them. Or worse get very drunk, and not remember what I had said to them, and worry how much of my theory on Mani, and his temptation I had shared.

However, I could tell that three words weren't going to be sufficient to finish this conversation to their satisfaction. Pity that, because I wasn't really prepared to reopen the wounds that they wanted to discuss, but Custer didn't exactly didn't get to pick the ground for his "last stand." I had hopes this wouldn't be quite that bad of a disaster, but when I'm involved, one never knows how badly things are going to go.  I did feel some sense of regret that we were having the conversation in the first place, after all my actions (to be fair I was acting in concert with someone) were what led us to the point of having to "clear the air" with this conversation. I never figured it would get this bad, but that is what I get for not expecting the worst to happen. If you expect the worst, you are rarely disappointed, and usually (if the worst doesn't happen) can be happily surprised. Sadly, in this case the worst (or at least it's first cousin) had happened. No one died, but a lot of trust, belief, and companionship were grievously, perhaps fatally, wounded. Those smug bastards that have a saying for everything will tell us "that time heals all wounds." What they leave out is that time also deals wounds, serious ones that hurt like the dickens, and feel fatal at the time. Time has to pass for them to heal, and it decides its own pace, and when you are wounded, time's march seems to be a crawl.

 I decided to try a simpler, more widely known approach. I bought them a shot, and hoped they got to the state of drunkenness that allowed me to just talk about sex, sports, and nothing of any particular importance. Sadly, I was wrong, they seemed to be trying to make a point about this "friend/enemy" thing, and cheap liquor wasn't going to sidetrack them. In fact, I think it might have made it worse, it made them more determined to talk about it, and neglect a perfectly good looking fellow barfly across the way trying to get their attention. One had to admire their determination while rolling ones eyes at their inability to spot a clue when it was placed in front of them. They were well into the "we've known each other a long time, and we've seen a lot of shit" portion of the friend speech, when I finally cracked, and put up a forestalling hand. I wasn't prepared to trot out Mani and his temptation, and therefore figured a more popular (if slightly different) world view might explain my theory on the situation.

"You watched enough westerns to know the general idea of the Wild West, so I will try to explain my theory in that context. The good guys wear the white hats, and the bad guys wear the black ones. That's the general conception, of course like most general conceptions it's wrong. I mean sure it's true of the Roy Rogers western, but even the cowboy world isn't that simple. You don't ride around in a white hat on a white horse saving the day from clearly defined (by their headgear) bad guys, and get the damsel in distress to fall madly in love with you, and maybe cook you dinner. That's not how any of this works. In the real world the "bad guys" aren't that well defined. Few of them are all the way bad, just like you (the hero of your own story) aren't all the way good. If you're honest (with yourself at least, lie to others, but try to be honest with yourself) you might realize that good and bad is a situational kind of thing. In someone's story, I am the villain, the bad guy that doesn't love his mother enough, and probably kicks dogs for fun, and I need to be the one "eliminated." This isn't as simple as the world where the "only good Indian is a dead Indian." That's just a dream world that some fellow who has never sat on anything other than a carousel horse dreamed up at some desk in some posh office in an urban jungle."

They nodded, and didn't reply, so I figured they had decided to let me ramble, and I decided to oblige them. "This isn't the world where the barkeep" and here I motioned to the fellow behind the bar, a fellow of long standing acquaintance, and a few shared drinks, "doesn't just take your order of whiskey, and place a whole bottle of it in front of you, and wait for you to drink it down like a good boy. That world isn't real, sure he will give you whiskey, but in measures he pours not you. That is probably symbolic of something, but I am not clever enough to figure out of what. Certainly no one wants to be the villain, no matter how good we look in black we all want to be the good guy. The guy with the strong jawline, strong chin, and an even stronger sense of morality. No one really wants to tie the damsel to the railroad, and wait for the train to slice her into neat halves, no one wants to shoot the teller of bank we are robbing for the sake of a few dollars (and out of greed). No one really wants to have to shoot the sheriff or his deputy. No one wants to be a tool, and become a cardboard cut out or a poorly drawn picture on a wanted dead or alive poster in the post office. Generally circumstances quite beyond our control decide the "good guy/bad guy" dichotomy, and we are just left to play the part to the best of our ability, or to try to convince the "director" of this passion play that we have been grossly miscast as the villain."

Another nod, and another sip was their reply, and I wondered if they were listening out of habit, or listening in order to remember and repeat. At this point I was no longer sure I cared. I had had enough of that whiskey, and it was possible that I was talking to myself, and they just happened to be sitting next to me. It didn't matter overmuch then, and if it did later, well that was a problem for sober me.  Sometimes you are the only audience you need, and that audience needs to hear what you are saying out loud for a change the running monologue in your head needs to be spoken aloud sometimes. I continued with my monologue "The one thing you don't want to be my friend is the little kid in the western." They arched an eyebrow "little kid?" "Yes" I replied. "You don't want to be the little kid that always somehow wanders away from his or her loving mother and winds up in the street standing between the two gunfighters about to settle their score the only was the West knows how. That is not the place for you, or for anyone, sure you hope the good guy won't shoot the kid, but if he doesn't will the villain shoot him for hesitating? You also like to hope the bad guy won't shoot the kid, but fuck he's the bad guy, he didn't get  that hat because he loves kids, apple pie, Jesus, and his mother. He got that black hat for a reason and it wasn't a gift from the benevolent society for all his (or her no need to be sexiest, you ladies can be villains too) good works."

 "Shooting a kid, on the way to shooting the good guy might just be what our villain would call the price of doing business, and if the good guy wants to play by some code of honour or a set of rules that they put into place for themselves, then more the fool to him. Just because you follow the rules, doesn't mean the rest of the world has to (there are rules, and there are RULES), or will. Certain people are basically above the rules, and the sooner you learn both that, and that you aren't one of them the easier your life will be." Finally, I began to realize they were still listening, but not really hearing what I had to say. I had reached the tipping point of giving them too much to ponder, and not enough time in which to ponder it. Knowing we to 'exit stage left' is a very difficult art to master, but it has to be done on occasion, and now was the occasion. I called for our tab(s), paid the friendly bar too little for the drinks, but over tipped him a ridiculous amount, sat down my, now empty, glass, and gave them one last parting gift. "Tomorrow you will have a massive headache, and will regret this night of boozing. But remember those drinks, think of them as individual moments in your life. Treat them like a relationship, sure it ended in pain, but you drank them all of your own accord, and enjoyed ever drop on the way. And in this world of shit, that's really all you can hope for. Bon chance."