The Ending

2006-04-27T22:20:00.000-07:00

“You wrote a fucking memoir. Oh I love it.” Robert said as he placed the story down on the kitchen table. He had spent the last two days lounging on his couch reading Michael’s story from the laptop. Meanwhile, Michael sat in the kitchen fiddling his fingers, smoking Robert’s unfiltered cigarettes, and drinking black coffee. He waited in the kitchen for two days like a father waiting to hear from the doctor if his son will ever be able to walk again.
Michael looked up at Robert in disbelief. “it’s not a memoir.”
Robert took a seat and reclaimed his pack of cigarettes. “Dude, I lived with you during those years. I know that whole story. I could have finished every one of those sentences. Maybe I would have added a few curses, and my grammar might have been more suckier, but I basically knew it all. But I’m not saying that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy it. I thoroughly enjoyed your memoir.”
“Alright I did base some of it on true events,”
“And true people.” Robert added.
“, and true people, but I changed things around, and I made it a lot more dramatic, and… no man, it’s not a memoir. The part of Tracy is completely different. I idealize her in the book.”
“Yeah, and you idealized her in real life.”
“No I didn’t.” Michael said defensively.
“You fucking slit your wrists when she left you.” Robert was in disbelief that he had to remind Michael of this incident.
“ I didn’t slit my wrists.”
“Oh so that was ketchup I had to clean off my carpet.”
“I didn’t want to commit suicide, you know that. I had a temporary moment of insanity. I was just in a bad place at that point in time, and Tracy leaving me wasn’t helping at all. And I didn’t even cut in the right direction, and you know I knew the right direction. I just wanted to know what it would feel like. Just in case I ever need to write about it in the future. I didn’t expect to bleed as much as I did.”
“Well the next time you want to do research for a novel, please don’t do it on my bedroom floor. You gave the girl I was seeing quite a scare.’
“Oh shit. Was that Cindy the screamer?”
“Yup. And if you thought she was a screamer in bed, you should have heard her screaming when she saw you.”
“Damn I wish I was conscious for that.”
“I wish you didn’t do it.”
“There’s a lot of stuff I wish I never did. I wish I never met Tracy.” Michael looked at his wrists under the table, tracing the barely visible scares.
“ But then who would have been your influence for this novel?”
“True. So come on, give me the criticism. I can take it. Just don’t tell me it’s a memoir.” Michael sat up eagerly.
“Well let’s see.” Robert blew some air out loudly while thinking. “The main characters were really well developed, although I wish you made me sound a little smarter. Oh the pool scene was amazing. You never told me about that.”
“ I don’t kiss and tell.”
“No you just write about it.”
“Shut up. Go on”
“And that cat in the last line is perfect. It just like sums up exactly how Tracy always treated you. And it totally went back to the beginning. It was like a full circle moment. Ahh I’ve been watching Dr. Phil to much.”
“God you sound like Suzanne.”
“Does she like Dr. Phil too? I got a little TV for my office cause he goes on before I get off from work.”
“That’s great man. I’m really glad you’re in touch with your feminine side. No Suzanne thought that the book was done too.” Michael’s eyebrows furrowed in incredulity at this common inaccuracy.
“Well what else do you need to say?”
“Ahhh the outcome.” Michael stated obviously.
“You don’t need to say the outcome, it’s obvious. And the outcome is so irrelevant. The novel is about the process not the solution.”
“Wow, you definitely watch too much of the Dr.”
“He speaks the truth. So anyways, if you don’t want this to be mistaken for a memoir, why don’t you change the names asshole?”
“I went through every name in the world for those two characters. I even bought a book on baby names, which got Suzanne really excited.”
“And you couldn’t find anything better than Tracy and Michael?”
“No. Those names just sound good together. They’re supposed to be together. Shanequa and Tom just doesn’t sound as good as Tracy and Michael.”
“ What about Robert and Allison?” Robert said in earnest.
“I’m not writing a memoir for you.”
“Why did you change my name in the book? Are you ashamed of my name?” He asked with mocking pain.
“Well first of all it’s not you. It’s a composite character of every male friend I’ve ever had.”
“Please. It’s me Michael.”
“No it’s not”
“How come Bob is always saying ‘oh I love it?’ That’s my saying. I’ve been saying that since eighth grade.”
“So any character who ever says he loves something is based on you?”
“You’re a shit head.”
“Dickwad.”
“Cum spitting gutter snipe.”
“Blood vomiting rectum.”
“Oh that was gross. I quit.”
“You were always a quitter.”
“So what’s your plan now. Do you plan on bumming my couch for the rest of your life?”
“I actually have no idea. I definitely don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to. I think I’m starting to smell like this place.”
“Hey, the ladies have no problem with this stench.” Robert proudly breathed in and coughed uncontrollably.
“You should switch to filtered. You’ve been coughing a lot. I don’t want you to go like your mother.”
“I know I know. I’m seeing a doctor on Monday. I would quite but it makes me look so damn cool.”
“Yeah sometimes I’m too intimidated to talk to you ‘cause you look so cool.”
“dickwad”
“Cum spitting gutter snipe.”
“Oh I love it.”
“Anyway I’ve actually been thinking of visiting Maureen and Josh. Are they still in the area?”
“No you’ll never believe where they moved.”
“New York?”
“Nope.”
“L.A.?”
“Nope.”
Michael thought for a long time. “Philadelphia?”
Robert made the loud sound that contest shows make for the wrong answer. “Do you give up?”
“Yes. Where?”
“None other than, drum roll please, fishkill, Wyoming.” Robert said waiting for the laughter to ensue.
“Wyoming? Maureen and Justin? Wait we are talking about Maureen the theater major, and Josh the Fine Arts major? What are they doing there?”
“Oh God you should have been there. At the end of their wedding reception, in typical Maureen and Josh style they announce that they are going to reveal where they would be moving to. Then some guy pulled out a huge map of America, and Josh put a blindfold over Maureen’s eyes. Josh pulled a dart out of bag, kissed it and gave it to Maureen. She then proceeded to throw the dart that would determine their future location. You should have seen Josh’s face. Maureen was so excited, cause she was still blindfolded, and Josh just stood there like his life was about to end. It was hilarious.”
“So they moved to Fishkill, Wyoming just because a dart landed there?”
“I know. Talk about guts.”
“I thought I was being brave living in Manhattan, but moving to Wyoming takes a lot more balls. So what the hell are they doing there?”
“Oh I have a post card some where. They actually write a lot. I guess there’s a lot of time to write when you’re living in Wyoming.” Robert searched through the stacks of envelopes and papers on his kitchen table. He found a beaten up post card with a bright blue sky, a green mountain, and a random sheep. “Here.” He handed it to Michael.
Michael looked at the post card as if it were an artifact from a museum. He turned to the other side and read it outload. “Hey Robert. We got this post card cause we could sympathize with the lonely sheep. Teaching has been really rewarding. We miss the old gang. Do you have Michael’s contacts by any chance? We want to tell him the good news. Love, Maureen and Josh.” Michael reread the card in his head. “They wanted to write to me?”
“Yeah I tried to get a hold of you, but you love screening your calls, don’t you?”
“What did they want to tell me?”
“I think you should go there and find out for yourself. They’ll love seeing you.”
“I’d love to see them”
“Then go there.”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine”
“Oh I love it.”
“Alright tomorrow I’m booking the flight.”
“Man I wish I could go with you.”
“Then come. We’ll have half the group back together.”
“I can’t. Remember? I have the doctor’s appointment.”
“Reschedule it.”
“No I can’t take this cough anymore. I need to get some Codeine or something.”
“Now you’re sounding like Adam.”
“You should visit him. He’s in Arizona.
“Maybe I will.”
“I’m going to miss you, man.”
“I know, I’m gonna miss you too.”
“I’m really glad you came to visit little old me.”
“Well you are my best friend.”
“Like wise.”
“I love you man.”
“I love you more.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“Promise you’ll visit more often.”
“Promise.”

2006-04-06T17:06:00.000-07:00

“Oh man, so you just left her there, destroying all your stuff?” A short rotund man asked Michael from his lounge chair.
Michael stirred his margarita in its green plastic cup, and nodded yes.
“Oh I love it. I knew you had it in you. You can’t let any thirty year old with saddlebags try to tie you down. You know when you called I had no idea who was on the line. I thought it was the IRS. I almost shat my pants. I didn’t remember your voice being so, “ he thought for a second, “corporate.” He crumpled his beer can and threw it off the roof and waited to hear it hit the empty driveway.
Michael was watching the stars from his old college roommate’s roof. Michael and Robert were placed together at random freshmen year, and had the rare fate of becoming best friends. They lived together all throughout their four years of higher learning. They both pretended to have been asleep while the other was having sex with a random freshmen girl. They had both given each other a slew of horrendous haircuts. Although Michael was 6 inches taller than Robert, and about fifty pounds thinner, they still managed to share each other’s clothes. Most of their friends joked about how they should get married, and many strangers did indeed believe they were dating.
Their one source of argument was over their majors. Robert felt that Michael would never have a future as a literature major. Michael felt that Robert was a sell out for majoring in economics. Robert argued that he could only bring down the system from the inside. Michael argued that he could reform the system through his writings.
Neither of them made good. Robert was currently a manager for a local bank. His only challenge was picking out the next employee of the month. Michael was a writer in theory, but so far he had only published two short stories in a literature journal, and several contributions to the OP-Ed sections of local newspapers. If it were not for Suzanne and her parents’ subsidies he would have probably joined the food service business a long time ago.
Robert remained in the college town, which he swore he never would do, while Michael moved to New York City because that is where people go to have their dreams ruined. Michael took the four-hour train ride to Massachusetts to visit Robert and his old school after Suzanne kicked him out.
Michael chugged the rest of his beer and mimicked Roberts form of disposal. “There is nothing corporate about me. Unlike you Mr. Manager.” He taunted Robert.
“Hey I have to support my baby.”
“No way, man, you have a baby?” Michael sat up in his seat.
“No that’s what I call my beer belly. Oh I love it.” His eyes gleamed. He looked up at the stars remembering all the times he had tricked Michael. His favorite was when he got Michael to drink the bong water, after telling him that it would make his penis longer.
“I missed you, man.” Michael looked at his fingers while he cracked all of his knuckles systematically. “I should have gotten in touch with you a lot sooner.”
“Yeah you should have. I called you a few times when my mom was dying of cancer, but I always got the voice message.” Robert said with attempted casualty.
“I know I’m sorry. I just, “ he breathed in, “I don’t know. I just wasn’t ready to go back yet. You know?”
“No I understand man. You had it rough when she left,”
“Yeah so, I’ve written my first real novel.” Michael interrupted quickly.
“Really?”
“Yeah, My editor really liked the beginning, and I got a huge bonus.”
“How much, if you don’t mind me asking? Maybe I can get you a high interest yield account.”
“Well, It was $15,000. I told Suzanne that I only got $10,000 because I knew she would want to start looking for houses or something with that kind of money. I have about $8,000 left now, and I was thinking of just living off of that while I try to come up with an ending for this novel.”
“Ahh the elusive ending. You can’t have a shitty ending to you book, or you’ll have a shitty ending to your career.”
“Exactly. So I was hoping that you would read it and give me some suggestions for the ending. You know like the good old days.”
“Ahh I knew there was a reason why you came back into my life. What’s in it for me?”
“If you do this for me I won’t throw you off the roof.”
“Fair enough.” Robert paused to cough harshly, “Man, it’s getting cold out here. To the fire escape.” He pointed to the ladder like a heroic knight.

2006-04-04T08:19:00.000-07:00

When Michael returned to their apartment it was late, and his breath was heavy with gin. It was the prime time for writing, but he knew he would have to deal with Suzanne before he could get to his computer. He opened the door and found Suzanne sitting in the corner amidst a pile of boxes. The only source of light was a lamp that lit the calm planes of her face. Michael switched the overhead light on, and saw the she had been crying.
“Who is Tracy?” She asked slowly.
“Were you reading my novel?” Michael shut the door.
“Who is Tracy?” She asked again, letting her anger slip into the words more this time.
“How did you figure out my password?”
“Oh please, I knew it would be the name of you college. You’ve never fucking gotten over graduating. You talk about that stupid College everyday. If I have to hear about those glory days one more time I’ll kill myself. But then again you would probably just write about it in one of your stupid stories, and you’ll make yourself look like the victim, so it’s really not worth it.
“Let me ask you, if college was the best time of your life why haven’t you talked to any of your college friends since you’ve graduated. If those were supposedly the best people you ever knew, why have you been so fucking busy to give them a single call, or write them a quick email in the last four years. Or maybe I’m just being blind, and you have been keeping in touch with them all this time. Or maybe you’ve just been keeping in touch with one of them. So I’m going to ask one more time. Who. The fuck. Is. Tracy?”
“Suzanne, it’s fiction. Tracy doesn’t exist. She never did. You’re getting worked up about nothing.”
“I’m not stupid. You wrote a memoir about you worthless life. A memoir about your great love, that does not include me at all. I knew I was wasting my time with a younger guy. I’m going to be thirty in two days, and I’m in a dead end relationship with a boy who’s still in love with his high school sweat-heart.”
“It’s not a memoir.”
“Then why is the main character named Michael?” She asked quickly.
“I couldn’t think of another name I liked. I was just using my own name as a stand in until I could think of a better one. You know I hate memoirs.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Come on. In the book, the main character is keeping Tracy’s cat for her, and you know I’m allergic to cats. And the main character never drinks, and your always complaining about how much I drink. Give me a little credit. I didn’t write a fucking Memoir.” Michael fell to her feet and started to cry.
“Do you swear that it’s all fiction, and Tracy’s not real?”
“I swear.”
“Well then…it’s a really good book.”
“Really?” Michael looked up at her like a well-trained puppy.
“Yeah. I loved the part about the pool. It was brilliant. And the ending was really appropriate for the story. I can’t believe none of it’s true. Was any part of the Tracy character based on me?”
“Wait, what ending?”
“You know, how he’s left wondering if Tracy’s ever going to come back. It’s like the perfect amount of ambiguity, but you still know what’s going to happen anyway.”
“What? What’s going to happen?”
“Oh come on.”
“No seriously, that’s not the ending. I wasn’t done with it. I was going to have another chapter, but I couldn’t decide whether she comes back or not.”
“Oh, I guess it really isn’t a memoir.”
“So how do you think it should end?”
“Well I think it’s already done. I have my theory about what happens. I mean I think it’s pretty obvious.”
“How? How is it obvious? How do you know what’s going to happen, and I don’t have a fucking clue?” he stood up and began pacing the room.
“Oh Michael, Michael, Michael. You’re so young. You’re not ready to write this kind of story.”
“Stop saying I’m young. I’m almost 26. I wanted to be famous by this time. I wanted college students to be writing essays about my masterpieces by this time. When I was young, I never thought about this age. I thought about 16, 18, and 21, and the years after 21 were supposed to be a blur of success.”
“Do you want to know what your problem is? You can’t handle things being unsaid. Do you remember that time when we were lying in bed and I wanted to do that silence experiment? All you needed to do was be silent for fifteen minutes, but you couldn’t handle it. You kept fidgeting, and laughing. You are so afraid of silence. You’re afraid of things being unsaid. You have to always fill up every void, and answer every question, but if you were quiet for just a few minutes, you’d realize that some things answer themselves without you.”
“Fuck you, I can handle the void. I don’t need an answer for everything. And I don’t need you telling me that I can’t handle my own story. I wrote that whole thing, and you’re telling me I can’t handle it.”
“No I just think you should wait a few years to realize the importance of that ending.”
“It’s not an ending.” He shouted.
“Michael calm down. It’s just a book.”
“No Suzanne, it’s not just a book. This is a novel that will define my career. This is two years of my life saved on a hard drive. I hate to sound like a cliché, but I’m putting it all on the line, baby. But you wouldn’t understand the torment of creativity cause all you do is sit in an office all day, answering the phone, flipping through magazines, and wonder which diet you should go on next.”
“I don’t have to take this from you,”
“Then don’t”
“I think you should leave.”
“Fine”
“I’ve already packed all your shit.”
“Burn it. All I need is the laptop.” Michael walked to his desk, and unplugged his computer. He wrapped the cord around it while Suzanne remained in her seat crying.
He walked to the door.
“So this is it? You’re just leaving me?” Suzanne asked, standing up abruptly.
“I guess so. I need to find my ending.” The sound of the door shutting was enhanced by the loud bang of Suzanne throwing his boxes across the room.

2006-04-03T11:48:00.000-07:00

Suzanne nudged Michael. He let out a grunt and covered his head with his pillow. “Ahh what time is it?” he asked through his pillow.
“Five o’clock,” She paused, “In the evening.”
“I’ll get up I swear. Just give me a minute.”
She was sitting on the bed in her gray suit, the suit she wore every Tuesday, sorting through the mail. “We got the electric bill today, and it’s your turn to pay it. I can ask my parents for some extra money if you don’t think you can come up with it”
He lifted the pillow off his head and sat up. “No don’t ask your parents. I’m gonna pay it. It’s just hard you know. It’s not like I’m getting paid for this right now. I can’t get paid until I finish my novel, and I can’t finish my novel when I’m constantly thinking of how I’m going to pay the next goddamn bill.”
“Well my parents are happy to pay it. They know how you’re struggling. They want you to be a famous writer, just like I do.” She rubbed her pointy nose against his broad, flat nose, and kissed his dry lips. She pulled away suddenly. “I just don’t understand how we spent the advance so quickly.”
“I told you. I only got $10,000, and I had to pay off student loans, and a car payment. And groceries are expensive. And I bought you that nice dress.”
“I wish I could pay the electric bill with that dress. You know we never do anything that would warrant such a nice dress.”
“You could wear it now.”
“But I’m wearing my nice suit.”
“I hate that suit.”
“How can you hate it? It’s Armani.”
“I hate gray.” Michael got out of bed and walked toward the bathroom. Suzanne remained on the bed with a shocked expression. She followed him into the cramped bathroom.
“What’s wrong with gray? It goes with everything.”
“It’s such an indecisive color. It’s like you don’t have the balls to wear red. Even black’s too much of a statement for you.”
“Oh and you’re really making a statement with your Khakis and wrinkled blue, un-tucked, button down shirts.”
Michael pushed his way through the bathroom door, and pulled on the pair of Khakis he wore the night before, and the night before that. “ I don’t need my clothes to make statement for me.”
“And I do?”
“Yes Suzzane, you do. You never make a fucking statement. You think getting chunky peanut butter is a life altering decision. You’re so fucking boring. It’s like I’m living with a fish. You were entertaining for a minute, relaxing I would say, but your just background noise, elevator music. You’ve been a Kenny G C-D on repeat for the last three years.” He said this all while tying his shoelaces.
“Well I’m sorry I’ve been this utter source of boredom in you life. I’m sorry I can’t entertain you while you sit in font of that computer for hours. Even if I was interesting you would have no idea ‘cause you’re asleep for most of the fucking day. You’re the one who never wants to go out. Where are you going? I’m talking to you.”
“I’m going out. Are you happy now?” Michael did not wait for her response.

2006-04-03T11:23:00.000-07:00

Michael pressed his head against the door and listened for her footsteps. If he heard her soft steps grow louder he knew he would open the door and never let her out again. If the steps grew softer until he could no longer hear them, he knew that he lost her. It all depended on the volume of her steps. He tried to listen to the sounds from the hallway outside his door, but all he could hear was his breath, the air conditioning, and the purring of her cat, who sat contently on his bed.

Click, click, click. Michael stared at the screen in awe. He stared at the light as if it would give him an answer. What does Michael hear, Michael thought out loud. He held his hand on the Apple button and then the S button. He did it again, and then again. Then he went to the menu and clicked save, just in case. He exhaled slowly and quit the program.
He could not write anymore. It was 4: 46 in the morning. He looked over at his girlfriend, asleep in their bed. She did not have the lines between her eyes that had formed recently on Michael’s brow. Her face was quite empty compared to Michael’s. His face was occupied with thick, dark stubble. He looked at her peaceful face, and had the urge to smother her with those damn goose down pillows her mom bought them for their two-year anniversary.
She had never seen this hour, he thought. She had never held a cup of coffee praying that it would allow her to stay up for one more hour of inspiration. She had never stared at a computer screen cursing every word that her insufficient head suggested.. She never needed a constant supply of eye drops to sooth her blood shot eyes. She was simple. Simple Suzanne. Disgusting.
He stood up and reached toward the ceiling and then the floor. He let his unbuttoned pants fall to the floor at he walked toward the bathroom. As he stood in front of the toilet, peeing and gargling at the same time, he thought about how he would end his novel. It was an amazing story, he knew, but he also knew that an inadequate ending could ruin even the best story. Would Tracy leave him forever, or would she walk back into his apartment? Could she really just leave her cat with him forever? Would he really just leave this all up to her? He spit the blue liquid into the toilet as the water swirled around the drain, and turned off the light. He never looked in the bathroom mirror. It was bad luck, and he did not like how he looked in that light.
Hearing the toilet flush, and feeling Michael getting into the bed, Suzanne yawned and asked what time it was. “Go back to bed honey.” Michael turned to his side to stare at the alarm clock.
“I love you, Michael.” She pressed herself against his back and fell asleep.
Michael watched the clock change to five and then six before passing out.