“50 years is a long time to be alone. It’s even longer if
you’re with somebody. But I don’t really know. I been alone too long to know
much of anythin’ anymo’. I like it that way, but I cain’t even tell. Sometimes
I think I got comp’ny, but I’m jus' staring at ma reflection in the mirror.
Sometimes it’s jus' a spoon. If the spoon’s clean. I cain’t remember the last
time I washed ma spoons though. I never have guests to share ‘em with. Except
that one guy, who talks at me. He even
talks over me. But I like what he says. I like how he thinks. Sometimes he even
smiles, jus' fo’ me. But I cain’t never be too sure if it’s a friend, or if
it’s jus' me. I don’t think I care. Caring’s too diff’caught. Most things are,
to be 'onest. I’m jus' happy to git things off ma chest. To anyone who’s lis’ning.
If anyone’s even lis’ning. When they do, they never say much back. So I git bored,
and head to the kitchen. Stick ma head in the fridge and look for food that
ain’t even there. It’s never there. But I look anyway. I like it that way. I
don’t go hungry and I don’t go lonesome. But nothing’s ever there. 50 years is
a long time to be alone. It’s even longer if you’re with somebody. That’s why I
killed ma dawg. And I loved that dawg. But it always wanted feeding. Petting.
It never said much neither. It’d maybe bark, but it’d run round and cause all
kinds of fuss and trouble. I preferred what the other guy had to say and had to
do. He gave me no worries at all. If I
turned ma back he gave me peace. Let me go to sleep if I could. I always tried,
but the thing you find with sleeping is that it’s always a lot harder to do
than you’d think it’d be. You wanna close yo' eyes and go, but that ain’t never
the case. I done too little with ma days to sleep anyhow. And I done too much
that it keeps me awake thinkin’ of ‘em all. I don’t care anyhow. I git alon’
fine with all the sleep I can manage. I git comp’ny too. Like that one guy who looks jus' like me. He’s
ma fave’rite. Always got good things t’say. And he don’ judge me for killin’ ma
dawg. I tells ya. 50 years is a lowng time to be alone. But I wouldn’ have it
any other way.”
He just kept on like that for hours on end. He’d do it if
I was listening or if I wasn’t. He didn’t really care. I don’t think he noticed.
He stunk pretty bad and so did his place, but I kinda liked that about him. He
had character. It was alluring. Sometimes he’d get annoyed with me and chase me
out, but I’d come back. He often left his door open to me, to anybody. He
didn’t have much in the way of things and so he didn’t care about security.
He’d just sit, or sometimes he’d stand, and he’d holler all this crap at the
walls. He would keep on like that for hours on end. Just hollering anything
that came into his head. He had that accent too that made him sound like a dumb
hick. A bastard of incest. He sounded like a bad actor who had never been to
the south but was never gonna let that stop him from doing his best impression
of a cowboy or a Nascar driver. I didn’t think much of him, but his house was
warm and he never did me any harm. I liked his dog too. I liked his place and I
liked his dog, but he would go on for hours, just rambling. Eventually I’d grow
tired of him and when that happened I’d just spread my wings and get outta
there. I had better shit to smell.
