Will Carpenter - April 2004
 

Looking Through Cables at Nothing


[Describe in your own words…"inside her":]
She saw the strange look in my eye as a way of shock. Awe? Why? I have so much to do right now, but I can’t. And she really didnt see me. We are together but so many miles apart. Make sense? Of course it doesn’t, but who cares, I dont. Music is and always is the answer.

From what I gather, she is often alone and she thinks too much. I have total clarity of inflection in her words and I can almost hear when she smiles or frowns or cries. I have never seen it though. She is the basis for my thought most days because I need to keep it. It makes the days go by, you know? A sort of catharsis. Is that the right word?

[Does this matter?]
I was touched inappropriately as a child by…someone in the “family”. Ever since then I couldn’t form a serious relationship much less leave the house. The severity of this is still unknown, but I know it continued much longer than I would like. They still haven’t found his body. And they wont.

Sometime after his “disappearance”, I began to retreat in fantasy situations. See? Being online was the best possible way for me to forget about me, learn and meet new people. Sad and…something…but it was, is, an existence. I could be six-foot-three, muscles, perfect hair and complexion; I could the Alpha and the Omega. I had the words. This made me a deity. You will see. But, much like the end of everything, you know, its Run, I am here. But we have to talk about her first. She needs to live, in words. Black-and-white.

[A smaller definition of reality:]
I remember one time. The first time, really. I met this girl; she’s a girl due to the considerable age difference between us. We worked together and talked openly about our current situations. I was attracted to her the day I met, but I managed to keep that in my vault. She was cute, not overtly beautiful, but easy on the eyes and somewhat of a decent conversationalist. She had a young daughter at a very early age and, most of the time, she held herself better than most would at that age. After some time of working together, flirting (at least that’s what I thought it was), I finally decided the time was right to "talk" to her. She was out of a long relationship and I had nothing better to do – I would never say this out loud you know. Anyway. I waited long enough and approached her.

"Can we talk?"

"Sure?" she responded with a little apprehension or maybe I was just on something…

"Lets go outside." My international sign that it was time to smoke. I smoke and I continue, "Listen, there is something I have been needing to say to you. Just hear me out. Try not to think of anything, this isn’t a bad thing, I promise. I have been wanting to tell you this since the first day we met. Ok?"

Stoic and fearful, I continue, "I can’t stop thinking about you. I do this all the time. Last night, even, I had a dream, you and I were together. The specifics of the dream don’t matter, and, no, we didn’t ‘do anything’. I don’t know. There is something in me that believes you feel the same way too. I see the way you look at me, the way you talk to me. I am pretty sure you feel the same as I do only you’re terrified to admit it cause you don’t know and we work together."

Her face rarely changes as I go on and on trying to sound concise and thorough not wanting to leave anything out. She never breaks eye contact, only in small times of silence as I proceed to enlighten her to the obvious – what I thought was the obvious. I could not have been more wrong.

Never loosing eye contact (this is important) we stare in silence. My face, you cant read my expression(s). Something I have had to perfect and wish I never did. She speaks:

"Oh my, I had no idea. You…you seem like you barely notice me."

"That’s on purpose." I always interrupt and hate being interrupted.

"Oh, I don’t know, this is such a surprise. I don’t know. I had no idea…no idea. Does anyone else know about this?"

"No."

"Why did you tell me this today, right now?"

"I felt it was time."

"Why didn’t you say something at the beginning…?"

"You were with someone."

"You wouldn’t not have told me if I was still with him?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I think its wrong to do something like that. Even if I don’t know the guy or even if I do and cant stand him, I would never give someone that option – myself."

"I had no idea."

"What’s wrong? Should I not have said anything?"

"I am just in shock. This is all such a surprise."

"Is that good?"

"I don’t know. I need to get back to work. Bye."

She left me standing there holding only the reminisce of a cigarette butt, not smoking or burning. I gave her this look of wonder. You see, when I don’t understand someone (and I understand most people), I look at them like an engineer would look at a system in disrepair. How do I fix this? Do I regret this? Questions are coming faster than thoughts. I should do something. I don’t know. Play along. Don’t let her know anything else.

The next day, the first thing I do is turn on the computer and brew a cup of coffee. Sure, I have thought of what I was going to say. Nothing was said after the confession, I was busy and so was she. I thought about her some and I smiled, trying to convince myself, regardless of the outcome, what I did was right. It was no situation for an adult magazine. I didn’t harass her. I thought I played it perfectly. Still smiling, my computer boots up and I am sipping coffee trying to remember what I had to do that day. Every morning, I usually have about ten emails to go through, then I check the news, and my online journal or weblog. Then, I get to work. The only email I had that morning was from her. It says:

"To: (insert name)
From: (insert victim)
(My name is here with no ‘dear’ included),

I am sorry for anything misleading I said yesterday. I am not interested in carrying on any type of relationship with you other than a work one. I don't want to go anywhere with you, and I am feeling a little uncomfortable about all this. Again, I am sorry for what I said. "

What did she say? Oh, right, she said she would see me outside of work and we could see what would happen. That’s really all I wanted, to see her in her element outside of our job. Time often works wonders for one’s emotions.

And I am back to the cables that have no faces, no identity other than words. Part of me wants to say that I am hurt, but I’m not. I don’t think I can actually hurt anymore. You know, if you do it long enough, you develop a tolerance. I have a high threshold for pain. I hate that.

I am tempted to tell her it was a joke. That I used to play practical jokes on her, "remember?", and it had been some time since I had done so and I thought this would be hilarious. But, then I think that would be a horrible joke to play on someone. I don’t want upset her or anything like. I will find something somewhere else. No regrets.

I have left myself open for a few women now. You should keep score. I gave them opportunity, choice. I held myself accountable and tried to convey dignity. Things happen, I know. Lets see it from a different perspective.

It’s another world, really. Some sort of pseudo-fantasy-realism. It is. It’s a living contradiction. The essence of hypocrisy and honesty, integrity and malice.

Being inside can be both beautiful and horrific. It’s better than real life rejection though. Because, inside, being there, youre a real life transformer. You are ‘more than meets the eye’. All you have is your mind and your words. This isn’t so in tangible situations. So what? I don’t know.

Inside, everything is there. You don’t have to leave. Youre phone wont ring unless you want it to. You can get better and faster. You can meet anyone. You can form lasting relationships with a ‘handle’ or pseudonym.

And here we have purpose.

 

After the fateful rejection of a bad decision, I forced myself not to recognize those around me unless I had to – work and stuff like that. I was so interested in seeing how this, being inside, would work. It has to be better than recent events, right? I know it has to. I mean, how do you take being told (in an email) "I don’t want to go anywhere with you, and I am feeling a little uncomfortable about all this"? Me, I take it because I have been all my life. I may not be the best prospect to most. I may have my problems, my own baggage. I am supposed to be unique and just like you at the same time. Nothing ever makes sense.

They said you could anything you put your mind to. You can be anything you want to be. You just have to go after what you want, whatever that is. To me, growing up, that was the definition of having a dream, possessing ambition, living with drive, all that. Then I found things that didn’t add up. For instance, take a young man who loves boxing. He can’t get enough of boxing. He follows it in the newspapers and magazines, attends events when available, and orders the big pay-per-view after begging his parents to let him watch. He sees boxing as an art form, a sort of dance because, ever since he had seen footage of Ali, he was mesmerized. Ali ‘floated like a butter and stung like bee’ and he very rarely lost. He was courageous, even against people outside of boxing. This little guy thought boxing was art because Ali made it art. Ever since, he wanted to be a boxer. He studied moves, tried to train and worked out religiously. He was very determined. But, the little guy was, just that, too little. He couldn’t put on weight no matter how much he ate. He had no mass and was extremely uncoordinated. This was his plight, a disease of Little Guy That Comes From A Little Family. He would never be a boxer. He knew it. It killed him. That’s all he ever wanted to do. Not for the money or the fame, but just because.

  • Everything you’re told, taught, whatever, it might not be true. That’s just a thought. AND A DEPRESSING ONE.

 

When I saw here again a few days later, I thought I had it figured out, what I needed to say. I didn’t. Fumbling through, here it is:

"Can I talk to you?"

"Not right now…"

"It wont take but a second, and its nothing bad, I promise."

"Ok," she says, looking at me, none too enthused.

"Can we go outside?"

She said nothing, only got up and followed me outside where I would light up and try to explain all this.

"Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, or what happened. Nothing of any importance, maybe, I don’t know. All I meant by all of that – what I told you – was I was interested in seeing you outside of work, like a friend or something. I just wanted to get to know you. That’s all. You see, I usually don’t care to get to know people nor do I wish to open myself for anything other than the feelings I have now. What you think you know of me is probably false. I have fed you what I have wanted you to know or think. I don’t do this all the time, the feeding, but I do it to people I don’t trust at first – so maybe it is often? And none of this is going to make sense, I am sure, but this is me, take it or leave it. I don’t know. Anyway, can we consider this as an event that never happened? Can we forget this and continue the work thing we had? Make sense? Nothing is there to feel uncomfortable about, nothing happened. And nothing will happen. I know this," and I am thinking don’t cock your right eyebrow, don’t do it, it will make it worse, but I did and I added a little smirk of false (?) confidence.

There is considerable silence as she stares at me trying to figure out something…me. I know when people, especially women, when they do this. I can see it. Not that they’re transparent, just that I have studied too long the nature of expression…you know, that bullshit. After about three minutes of nothing, no talking, no reply, just a stare, she turns and walks away, saying nothing, signifying everything. She wants me to pursue?

I finish my cigarette, light another, and stare at nothing.

 

 

 

part two

This Internet, its doctored reality. No, I am not talking about the whole thing, but chat rooms, AIM, LiveJournal, things like this, they’re doctored, altered. I have been a part of this for a few years, my interest roller-coasters back and forth often, but I always come back. Not only can I diagnose a disease or ailment, position my fantasy sports team, find the definition of ‘indignation’, write letters at will with instant delivery, find out about necrophilia, join a cult, hunt down wanted felons, and get all records necessary to assume a false identity…you get the picture I am painting you hear. Its all there…good and bad.

The first person I met inside, we will call her Girl #1 (I hope), she was great. She was the internet to me. Being inside, it was with her. We typed about everything from the ridiculous to the brilliant. I thought she was perfect. When I was outside, I would think of her all the time, waiting to type again, trying to figure out what to say next, something witty. My eyes lit up as when I was inside and noticed she had tapped inside too. Like she was thinking about me too, or something. One day, we decided to exchange pictures. I had to put a face to her handle (SexxGoddess364). Someone with a name like that…anyway. We exchanged pictures and never really typed anything to each other after that. This is lesson one.

I saw her in the hall this morning. She looked great, I thought. Even though she rarely dressed up – we dress business casual around here – I thought she always looked nice. Sometimes, you could tell she didn’t care and sometimes you thought she dressed that way for you or me. I guess I was wrong. Anyway, we hadn’t talked since "that talk", and I was making an effort not to ignore her (by the way, this is a bad move, the ignoring). I had turned the corner and there she was talking to another co-worker. She looked at me and I her. She was smiling, but I don’t think it was directed at me, and I said, "Hi!" kind of too loud. She just stared at me. With a smirk or something. I stared back as she walked off.

Then there is Girl #2, I met her in a Subject room. Meaning something like Singles over 30 Only. She was nice enough, but she seemed, I don’t know, ditzy. She liked ‘radio’ music and had no opinions as to the plight of the world or the human race. She drove an SUV and worked for a high-profile defense lawyer. She was divorced for the second time and had no children and was not in the mood…a lot. I didn’t get her, but I kept looking for her on the inside. Something about the words she typed that sent me into something. I like being sent into something. She disappeared a week later and I have never heard from her again. No, we didn’t exchange pictures. Lesson number two. That’s all we need right now.

This has gone on too long. I must put a stop to it. I am loosing concentration. I am mixing up women, real and inside. It needs to stop. Someone will surely see something is wrong with me. I can’t have a stable anything. But, anything that keeps me from remembering what’s happened to me and what I’ve done, its ok.

The stories of these Inside Relationship continue much the same. There is the Green Party Tattoo Artist, The Bell Curve Intellectualist, The Musician with two kids, and The Lonely Housewife looking for kids and attention. There is the One Who Had an Operation and thought he could hide it, and the pedophile priest (who I turned in), and there is the Teenager Acting Older lashing out against her abusive father, and the Confused Boy trying to find his identity. There are the ones who are completely ambiguous and there are ones with no sense or style at all. There are those who think everything is a movie and those who wish they were dead. Those with no immediate family and those who love their animals more than humans and life itself. There are some trying to get you to join something and some trying to make money at selling you drugs that help your penis or your stamina, your girth, and also want you to watch their webcam as they being manipulated. Its all so very wrong. If you could download a hard copy of this thing, the internet, study, from its origins till now, you would see (not that you would need to, and the internet is not the only example) what we as a society do to something. Change it. Morals, virtue, dignity, none of these play too much of a factor.

Where am I going with this? I do not know.

This is the last day I will say anything about my co-worker. It has to be or I will be in some sort of trouble. Trouble finds you, but you know this. It found me at an early age, in the form of revenge and/or vengeance. I don’t think it ever left.

She agreed to meet me outside of work to handle this situation. I thought it would be a good way to talk freely and not worry if someone saw us talking or overheard our conversation. I picked her up and took her to my favorite bar – one that I frequent maybe once a month (I am usually inside).

"I know what youre thinking," I begin.

"What’s that?"

"That you cant believe or understand all of this, maybe?" I am getting better at physical in-person interactions.

"Honestly, that’s not it. I don’t know what it is. Its…almost…frightening."

"Why?"

"I have heard stories about you."

"You have? What?"

"Some people say you never go out, you’ve never been to any of the company’s functions. Its almost like they’re calling you a freak."

"Really? Do you think I am this ‘freak? I guess you are if you say all of this is frightening…"

"I don’t know. I don’t know what to think of you. Youre nice and all but I have priorities and you seem irresponsible."

"Stop."

"What?"

"Don’t try and analyze what you think I am."

"I know what I see."

"You only see what I let you see, remember? You should know that. Know that…" I don’t know, but I want to start yelling. I don’t.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything you think you know about me is wrong. I may have lied to you…sorry, but I didn’t think it was time for someone like you to know who I really was…"

"Someone like me?"

"Someone with so much power."

"I have power?"

"You have no idea. I do this with everyone, so don’t feel special. You don’t ever really know someone. You cant. I think it’s impossible. So, I have to do this with everyone."

"I…I…don’t know…this is too much."

"Why is it too much?"

"Just right now, I don’t even know if its you. But we work together…"

"That can be changed."

"How?"

"Its not relevant right now."

"I cant do this. Didn’t you get my email?"

"No. When did you send it?"

"That day you saw me in the hall and…"

"No, I didn’t get it. I check all my emails."

"Odd. I know I sent it…" I know she did too, but I am lying. I am tiring of this. I still don’t know which is easier, relationships in person or inside. I am leaning towards the inside because now I have to do that thing again…

"What are you thinking about?" She asks looking at my face.

"Nothing, why?"

"You look kind of lost right now. Are you?"

"I don’t think so."

"Didn’t you date that one girl, a long time ago, that was found murdered."

"Who?" I am getting nervous.

"You don’t remember? It was like five years ago, I think, and she came up missing. We formed a search party and found…well…parts of her body. They never found her head." She paused and then she got the lost look too as she added, "you did date her. I remember."

"I have no idea what youre talking about." And I don’t.

"Come on, yes you do. I remembered I had just started working there and everyone complimented me and kept saying that she and I must be related or something. I met her and we had lunch several times. She said she was in a bad relationship with someone at work, she never said your name, but she described you to a ‘T". I didn’t notice this until now. I guess I am self-centered. Anyway, she was saying how she wanted to get out of the relationship, mostly because it was freaking her out. You worried her. And then she came up missing."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I am getting angry. I think to myself, NO, DON’T. Then I remembered I cant help it. And this is why I stay inside, hiding.

"Excuse me?"

"Youre making this up…you have to be. I have never dated anyone from work."

"I think you have. And I think I am leaving."

"Why? Please don’t."

"Need I explain?" She was walking away from me for the last time without even saying goodbye. I smiled an angry smile, though. She was next.

I was checking the news that morning, inside, and I saw a Breaking Report:

(Any Local News Channel):

The body of a young mother was found lying in the middle of an abandoned street just off our major highway. A couple out jogging stumbled across the torso of the up-and-coming programmer HGY Technologies. Her name is being withheld by family and company wishes. She was last seen working late last night, but an exact time was unknown. She leaves behind one child. Police are investigating this as a homicide and if you have any information, please contact them at ###-###-####.

Damn.

I go inside not to hurt anyone. When I come, I don’t know why I do, but, when I do, someone gets hurt. Why? Because I was molested and killed as a child? No. Because I hate people –women - in general? No. Because I don’t know any better? No.

Interaction, for me, breeds conflict. It’s just the way it is. From an early age.

oh, my:
looking through the cables at nothing

 

 

Will Carpenter lives in Houston, Texas, is 29, divorced and a drummer for two different bands.    He's working on his second novel and shopping around his first novel "....i should have been a fish".