Where does your father do his barnacles? Unfucked Edition Part 10
After the nurse warned me that my blood pressure was just under the line she cleared me and to my great relief the man was no longer sitting in the hallway. There was only one checkpoint before I was to sit for an hour and bleed into a machine for forty bucks. There were whole rows open, but instead I chose to sit between two men who looked like they didn’t want to be bothered. As I opened the wrapper to a cookie they gave me the heavier of the two men, an obese thumb of a man in a flat billed hat, hopped over to the next seat. I stared into my book again, knowing it was an act of helplessness.
The man who lied about his dead son came and sat right in between the thumb and I. He made sure to spread his legs so that his knee was up against mine. I started to lose my temper.
“Do you really need to touch me?”
“I’m not touching you.”
I pulled my knee away and he acted confused. “I didn’t notice.”
I looked back at my book.
“Listen, I know you’re mad about,” He let out a perfectly timed sob. “My son being a bit of a surprise. He was a surprise to me, too.”
“Oh, Christ.”
“But I just, well, you said the money wouldn’t matter and I just wanted to say that I respect that and I want to shake your hand.”
He held his hand out. He could tell that I was studying it.
“I won’t pester you any more.” He knew all along what I had wanted.
“Okay.” I took his hand.
“I really do respect you and I really do think you’re beautiful.”
I started to pull away and I felt him pull back. From the angle he was sitting it felt like he was trying to pull my hand, not just towards him, but lower too. I ripped my hand back and tried once more to find refuge in my book. The man started to cry and the human thumb left our row entirely. The other sitter had his name called so I was left alone with the sad man who lied about his dead son.
“I wish you’d talk to me.” He spoke through his hands.
“I was happy to talk to you before, but—“ It was everything I had not to say ‘You’re a real piece of shit.’
“Fuck man, sometimes it’s good to reach out to someone you don’t know when they’re in need. You know? To help them feel all human and shit again with a hug or just letting them share some of their troubles for a little bit, but your eyes, my eyes, everyone-on-this-planet’s eyes are in the front of their head, not out the side or on top, which means that we, us, they, are all predators biologically and predators, especially ones like us, they size each other up. They seek out the weak or identifiable and they scheme. They make dirty little plans to get what they want. So when I find out that the person I’m talking to thought he needed to convince me that his dead dog was his human son I really start to wonder what this guy’s dirty little plan is and I really start to question what it is that he portrays that he wants from me. Understand? You even lied to the poor lady up front so you could have an excuse to be late.”
“I didn’t lie to her.”
“You knew that if she heard the word son she was going to picture, hmm, I don’t know, a human perhaps?”
“He was, is, my son.”
“It doesn’t matter. There was only one species that she was going to consider. Are you saying you didn’t at least mislead her a bit?”
“Okay, fine.”
“Yeah okay, Well. Fuck you, dude. I’m sitting here feeling like the weakest prey in this room just because I tried to help some sad old man who turned out just to be some fucking schemer.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
I shook my head in confusion.
He continued “A schemer, in the United Kingdom, is a compliment. It means you’re smart.”
“How do I even know your dog is dead? I don’t. I can’t know anything about you anymore which means I can’t feel bad for you, or try to empathize because you’re fucking bad at this, you’re bad at being a predator and you’re bad at being a human. You are pretty good at being a piece of shit.”
“Hey,”
“Shut up. I’m moving somewhere else. Don’t follow me. Because, fuck you.” I got up and sat down two seats away from the thumb. The feeling that I’d just gotten the best of him, that I got to let him know who he was to his face, quickly fell to the overwhelming feeling that I hadn’t done enough to stop him. It was guilt and shame for being stupid enough to believe some guy at the plasma center didn’t just want to molest you. It was my fault for not setting boundaries early enough for not keeping that healthy amount of suspicion. The world needs more walls and less doors.
Other Posts:
The Best Fuck You Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4
Invest in Rain Part1Part 2Part 3
Where does your father do his barnacles? Part 1 Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part7 Part 8Part 9
Van-life series Part 1
Rushing into a relationship with my unconscious Part1 Part 2
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