I had a good time watching all the girls strip down to tank tops and get sweaty in the warm spring sun. I don’t think I’ve seen that much living female flesh in a year. I started to get a little lippy and flirtatious I’m told towards the end of the day, and I guess Mallory and Gilbert got me up and into bed to keep me out of trouble. I get sassy with the females when I get into the sauce.
I woke up this morning with chest pain, head pain, a powerful stomach ache, and a bucket filled with puke to show for all my trouble. Conspicuously, I also woke up naked. I’m really hoping Mallory stripped me down, because if I got undressed by Gilbert… That’s just fucking weird. Old man hands all over me. I like Gilbert, but eww.
Mallory’s hands all over me… Now that’s an entirely different matter.
I’m sure she’d be all wet and wild thinking about getting her mitts on my bruised, battered, beaten, and drunk ass. I personally think I’m like the definition of unfuckable right now.
Alright I guess this is as good a time as any to discuss my mental shortcomings. I mean, I’m on topic.
So when I woke up this morning there was a can of fruit cocktail on the bed stand, a spoon, a small bottle of Pedialyte, and a post it note with a short message on it written in an obviously feminine handwriting.
The note said this: “The best cure I could manage for a hangover. Hope you like the trim.”
Alright, so…
Like, what the fuck did that mean right? And obviously I was in a state of general uselessness having just woken up, and double the useless because I was hung over to boot. I sat there reading the fucking note trying to figure out if I’d gotten laid, when I figured I’d resort to the tried and true method.
Weiner sniff test.
Now obviously I can’t put my nose on my cock, because if I could, I wouldn’t be pining for vagina and complaining about the state of the fucked up world I live in. All of these journal entries would consist of; “sucked myself off again today. Saw some zombies outside. Later. –Adrian”
The official Adrian M. Ring weiner sniff test consists of an exploratory hand into the nether regions that is subsequently sniffed for the tell tale odor of vaginal residue, and/or jizz crusties.
Sadly, I failed the sniff test. I smelled like sweaty balls. However, when I gripped my junk, I put two and two together. I got a whole different kind of haircut while I was passed out.
Here’s a rare moment Mr. Journal. One where I realize that I am indeed, dumb as a fucking door hinge.
If I had a camera running right now, you’d see me shaking my head slowly in sad, dejected frustration. Ayep.
I’m gonna go out on a limb here, and say that I think Mallory may be willing to jump my bones. I am kind of excited by this. The more I think about it, the cooler she seems. I mean, she’s got a great story, she’s pretty good looking, she’s funny, and she’s got attitude, which I am totally cool with. I hate pushover chicks. Tough is sexy.
When I finally shambled downstairs I was all alone. There was a note on the kitchen counter near the microwave for me from Patty saying that the crew was downtown again looting, pillaging, and trying to procure more fencing for campus.
I spent the day fantasizing about just how exactly Mallory got my crotch shaved without everyone else catching on. I also played some Playstation. Poorly.
Humorous how the thought of getting laid can entirely ruin your train of thought. I can say that with extra emphasis because I stopped after typing poorly just above and sat here thinking about sex for five minutes before picking up again. Cue the lol.
When everyone returned safely, and un-shot, unlike my last trip downtown, we had a good old family dinner together. Everyone was very attentive to my needs due to my injury, but they were merciless to me regarding my drunken exploits on the day they are now calling “drunken fence day.”
I can’t remember much of anything, and based on their subtle accusations, I apparently was quite an ass.
Protip: painkillers and Blue Label can really hinder your decision making abilities.
When everyone settled in for the night I went to the only person I felt I could trust with my Mallory dilemma.
Abby.
I don’t know why I thought she was the one to ask about this, but I went to her, and now I need to ride the consequences train. To greatly summarize a painfully awkward conversation, I basically asked her how much of an ass I was to Mallory yesterday, and whether or not she thought Mallory was hitting on me.
The entirety of Abigail’s response to me, was a minute long slow clap. Then she walked away wordlessly.
I am so digging that fucking icy hot out.
I think I’m stupid. The more I think about it, the more I come to the same conclusion over and over. I am fairly sure that Mallory has been into me, and I have been missing all the signs that she has been sending me. If I could research my family history I'd put money on my parents being cousins.
And in retrospect, I think there have been a lot of signs sent my way by her.
What the fuck do I do now? I’m all nervous and shit. It doesn’t help that I feel like I got into a kicking match with a goddamn donkey and lost badly. First nana, now me. I am almost a hundred percent sure this chick wants my shit, especially after she handled my manly parts and still left a flirty note. If she wasn’t interested in handling them again, there would’ve been no note.
I guess Mike will be here again on the 8
th
for a visit for more water, so I guess my course of action is to use this time to get healed up, and then say some nice things to the big guy upstairs and hope Mallory makes the trip, and I regain enough testicular fortitude to talk to her.
Why the fuck am I so nervous?
Out of practice? Do I really like her and I am again too stupid to realize it? Or is this a Cassie guilt thing? Fucked if I know.
Just took two Percocets and an Ambien for the night. This sleeping upright thing is fucking with me badly. I hate sleeping sitting up. Medication for the win. I need to be careful though. I’m popping pills like Skittles on Halloween here, and the last thing I need after all this bullshit is to get hooked on something. I’m gonna check that medication desk reference tomorrow to see what pills I can rotate to try and avoid any addiction issues. Worst case, I go cold turkey, and deal with the pain.
Something occurred to me earlier just as I sat down to write this. I even went back and re-read what I wrote the other day because I was unsure of my memory.
When I got shot by that guy, he said, “We’re home,” not, “I’m home.”
Who is we, and where are they? Is there a family downtown that is now minus a dad, minus a gun, and on their own, all alone?
That thought will keep me up tonight.
I hope the medication is stronger than my imagination.
-Adrian
May 3
rd
I met a man in my dreams the other night. His name was Doug Manning, and I had killed him. I know that sounds weird, and you might think I’m crazy for saying it Mr. Journal, but it’s the honest truth.
I haven’t had any strange dreams in quite some time, and it has been nice. Other than my overall chest discomfort, I’ve been getting fairly good quality sleep at night. No weird dreams have contributed to that.
The night I took the Ambien I sort of… came to in my dream. Lucid is the word I think. The dream I was having at the time was half a nightmare. I was back in the house downtown that now serves us as a safe house, reliving the day I was shot, and I became aware of the dream right at the point where I saw the man’s silhouette in the mudroom.
Unlike what actually happened, the man walked into the kitchen, and was ear to ear smiles instead of scared shitless and pointing a weapon at me. I felt my heart race, and my palms get all sweaty, but in all actuality, he wasn’t threatening at all. The man with the ratty, dirty beard, and the worn clothes walked up to the other side of the island across from me, and produced the revolver he shot me with almost with a flourish, like it was a magic trick.
He spun the weapon on his finger a few times like an old fashioned gunslinger, and sat it down on the Formica countertop in between the two of us. I was frozen solid. I knew I was dreaming, but it felt so real, and I was sort of confused as to why everything was happening different than what I recalled in my memory. It felt like going into your head to recall something familiar to you, and finding a much different memory than the one you expected to find there. Unnerving.
That’s when he started talking, and I knew something… more was happening.
“Adrian, my name is Doug Manning. I had to make an effort to speak with you. I don’t know how long we have. I hope you don’t mind too much that I’m bothering you like this.” His voice was clean, calm, and apologetic. I imagined he worked in marketing, or maybe management. If he cleaned up, I could totally see it.
I shook my head at him, smiling, “Okay Doug, um, aren’t you dead? Aren’t I dreaming? How are you talking to me?”
Doug looked up at the ceiling, then back down to me and nodded twice, “Yeah Mr. Ring you are dreaming. And yeah I died the other day. That’s kind of what I’d like to talk about.”
I don’t know why, but I got defensive, and a little paranoid. “You’re here to fucking haunt me aren’t you? Punish me for killing you right? Like I need more fucking guilt over killing someone that didn’t have to die.” I recall now that I unconsciously put my hand on the Glock in the holster on my thigh. As if a gun would help me fight a ghost in my dreams.
“No, no. It’s not like that at all Mr. Ring. Quite the contrary. I needed to tell you that I understand what happened, and that I had as much a role in my death as anyone else did. I wish things had gone different, especially now that I know…” And he cut himself off. I don’t know why he did, and for whatever reason it didn’t occur to me to press the issue. I won’t lie Mr. Journal, I felt a lot of relief about what he said.
“Doug the last thing that I wanted to do that day was shoot anyone. But after you shot at Patty, I had to take my shot. I couldn’t risk you hurting her. I don’t think I could deal with another person I care about dying on me.”
He held his hands up, saying sorry with them. “It’s completely understandable. To be honest sir, I think dying the way I did will turn out to be for the best. But that’s too long story a story for today. I needed you to know that I fully understand why you shot me, and I want you to know that I forgive you.” Doug looked at me with eyes so sincere I couldn’t help but FEEL his honesty. It was as palpable to me as the warmth of the sun’s rays on my skin.
I choked up. It felt so good to hear someone forgive me, even if it was for something that I knew I had to do. I think about it now and I wish I could talk to all the people whose deaths I had a hand in during my years as a trigger puller in the sandbox. I’m sure most of them wouldn’t forgive me, but I wonder deep down inside if we could share a warrior’s moment with one another. Sometimes you want to know what’s in the other guy’s head.
I nodded at Doug because that’s all I could manage for a bit. I did the whole macho bullshit and staved my emotions down inside to prevent me from crying. I felt like I had to represent strength for whatever reason. Doug just nodded, I think he knew.
“Thanks Doug, I think I forgive you as well. I mean I hold no ill will, and I understand you were scared, and things went badly. I wish it had happened differently and I’m sure if it had, you wouldn’t have shot me. I’m not angry, and I hope you really do understand.”
He nodded again. Then his eyes drifted off, glancing over the things in his house. The house in my dream at least. I knew he had more on his mind, so I pressed him gently, “Doug is there something else you want to talk about?”
Doug licked his lips, and nodded once more. He took a deep breath, and told me what I knew all along, “My family.”
“Yeah. Where are they? Do you know? I had a feeling Doug, I’m so sorry.” I was dangerously close to cracking again. The thought of his family being abandoned like that was not pleasing. Imagine that.
Dad doesn’t come back. Ever.
Doug rubbed his eyes to hide the crying, and after a minute, he gathered himself. “I know they’re not dead. When I went into the house that day they were hiding in our truck down the street. If I didn’t come back, they were supposed to try my wife’s sister’s house. They might be there.”
“Where is that?” I focused on his words, I wouldn’t risk forgetting this when I woke up.
“114 Park Street here in town. Right off of Main. Green ranch with an attached garage, on the left side of the street.” Doug looked hopeful.
“We’ll look for them Doug, I promise you. What can we do for them? What can we do for you?”
Doug thought about his answer. “My wife is smart, her name is Lindsey. She can help you. She knows a lot about electronics and building things, she worked in a factory. My oldest daughter’s name is Madison. Maddie’s just nine, and she’s all you could ask for in a daughter. My littlest girl is Andrea, she’s just six. If you can make sure they’re safe, maybe take them back to Bas-, back to your school, or maybe even just helping them find a safe home. They can grow food if you give them some help, they won’t be a burden Mr. Ring, I promise you.” He seemed almost desperate.
It didn’t occur to me to ask him what he was about to say before he said “Back to your school.” I was so fixated on the idea of his family. I had to make them safe.
“We’ll try and find them Doug, I’ll see to it. You have my word man.”
The last thing I remember before waking up was Doug coming around the island in the kitchen, and taking my hand to shake it. He looked at me with the strangest expression on his face, like he was… shit, like he was almost proud to be shaking my hand or something. I want to say he was about to cry too. Maybe it was appreciation over my promise to try and take care of his family.