Ahead Of My Time

George Washington chops down a cherry tree and people still fawn over him for it centuries later.

I chopped down a utility pole and now I’m a fugitive.

I was living in my ex-girlfriend’s basement, which was great because she didn’t know that I was down there. She has a restraining order against me, and when the cops came to ask if she’d seen me recently, she aggressively assured them that I was a “stupid loser” and the “biggest mistake of [her] life.” She said if she ever saw me, she’d be certain to contact them right away.

It was an incredible performance, even if it couldn’t be considered acting (it bought me four days worth of time).

She eventually found me and made good on her promise to alert the authorities.

“Oh fuck. Fuck you. You’ve been impossible to get rid of, but not anymore. This is the end for good. Fuck your shit.”

I crawled back out the window from which I came in.

“One day I’ll be revered for this story, and one day, centuries from now, I’ll even be remembered as a legend — like George Washington,” I shouted back in through the basement window, now from the outside.

“This is so much more than some cherry tree,” I said to myself. “This story has action upon action.”

I stopped over at my friend Brad’s place to tell him about everything I was involved in. He said, “you should tell this story on a podcast.”

I said, “Hell yeah buddy! Let’s get me on a podcast!”

But neither of us had any money for microphones or equipment.

But I had an idea!

“Stealing would just be another charge if I get caught. I don’t mind.”

But Brad said he was mostly throwing out the podcast idea as a suggestion for me; he said he didn’t really want to do it himself. I told him he was wasting my time. He said he was tired, and no longer in the mood to harbor a fugitive anymore.

I said, “Brad, you’ve let me down, and now, you’re letting me down again. That’s twice within the last five minutes. When I do get the podcast equipment to tell my story, you’re going to be portrayed as an antagonist in it. You’ll be right there with the cops and the detectives, and the FBI.”

I was certain the FBI was after me by now…SWAT teams and bomb squads…packs of canines. Bounty hunters. If the news determined I’m a domestic terrorist, it could mean open season hunting for me.

“I HAVE A TARGET ON MY HEAD!”

Brad said, “You’re doing that thing again where you talk to avoid actually going. Just leave already. Damn.”

Walking down the street, I was careful not to step into any street lights. I had nowhere to go and a lot of time to think.

“What’s my story worth if I’m never able to tell it?”

“What am I worth?”

And I continued walking. I went in the direction of my purpose, and I got there; I acquired the podcast equipment necessary for me to tell my story.

And I’d like to thank you all for listening.

And I’d also like to give a giant FUCK YOU to Brad.

Fuck you Brad.

If there’s anything this adventure has taught me, it’s that I can do anything I put my mind to. And that also, in reality, George Washington was probably just some pasty, wig-headed bitch who had stomache worms.

I’ve been better than him this whole time.

And now I can live happily ever after. Nothing bad is ever going to happen to me. I am the creator of my own dreams.

The Roommate

You ever stumble into the wrong room at a party and find yourself in some voodoo? Voodoo, black magic, I don’t know what the official practice was, but I ended up in the middle of a circle. I was only trying to find the bathroom. 

I grabbed hold of the person who’s party it was. I said, “You gotta check into who you share an apartment with. I’m almost certain your roommate stole some of my soul and spirit just now.”

I was in the roommate’s room for no more than 30 seconds, but that’s all it took. I entered the room in a stumble and was immediately in the circle, and then after about 10 seconds, I was out of it. My guess is that the spirits that temporarily occupied me, let me go because I was too intoxicated. They had to be total lightweights, because I phased in and out in just seconds. It was like I was doing a nod and about to fall asleep, but then I fell out of the circle and crashed really hard into the closet door.

I was extremely confused. My senses were all distorted. I regained my focus.

“Get out dammit— Before you fall over and break something! Just get out!” the roommate shouted at me.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kick a candle across the room. What the hell is this shit?” I shouted back.

“GET OUT!”

“Fuck you, weirdo.”

I was heated after leaving the room. I had to, of course, go and find the party host immediately. While I was saying “what the heck?” and quickly, angrily escalating into a bunch of “fuck your roommate” business, the lights began to flicker.

I was still shook up over what I had literally just stumbled into. And now the faucet was turning on and off and on and off, and the same thing was happening with all the other appliances, whether they were plugged in or not. The kitchen cabinets flew open and shut, slamming every single time.

The party was under a curse.

“Yo, what THE FUCK?” I said directly into the face of the party host once again.

“I HEARD YOU. OK? I HEARD YOU. I MET THEM ON CRAIGSLIST! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING EITHER!” the party host cried out, having a complete meltdown.

With an amount of force that I didn’t know I had in me, I shoved the party host across their entire kitchen and towards their roommate’s door. I forced them into confrontation. Or so I thought…

Knocking on the roommate’s door, the party host politely said, “Hello? Ummm..I’d like to remind you that you signed a security deposit, so lets try not to cause any damage to anything. Things have been shaking up a bit out here.”

I was disgusted by the party host’s conduct. Such soft words for such a fucked up situation. Absolutely no accountability on their part. I knew what had to be done, I had to take full initiative. I had to retrieve the inner parts of my soul and spirit that had been taken, and I had to do it according to my own plan.

“Let’s try not to cause any damage? What about the damage that’s already been done?”

I violently shoved the party host aside. It was obvious that some of my compassion and patience was what had been taken from me. But it gave me all the rage I needed.

Pushing the party crowd back, I gave myself a little space for a running start. In a decision that came to me on the spot, I ran and charged and jumped towards the door.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

This behavior was incomparable to anything I had ever done before in my life.

I stomped the door down and landed on top of it, standing straight up.

“You better gimme my fucking shit back,” I commanded, with light pouring into the dark room from all around me; I was striking a sick pose; I was making the night one to remember.

All the candles blew out and about a dozen gentle little plumes of smoke came rising up from the floor. I picked up a candle, and with the wax melted in a puddle around the wick, I hurled it at the roommate. I yelled, “Return me to normal. Return me right now.”

I bent down and grabbed up all the candles that were there; the ones that didn’t get crushed beneath the stomped door.

I raised my voice louder, “RETURN ME TO NORMAL!”

I was shaking with anger,”RETURN ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

The roommate cowered beneath their desk.

“You’re more powerful than me. You lost some of your restraint. You’re now a more perfect beast.”

I had them by their neck—literally, I wasn’t playing. The roommate went into their desk drawer and pulled out a pouch. They grabbed a handful of ground up animal bone dust, and blew it directly into my face. They said some horrible black magic nonsense spell, and I was free.

My world immediately regained color; I had a wave of calmness and cheerfulness come rushing into me. Still I was hammered. But I had more clarity. I had no more violent urges in me.

I let go of the roommate’s neck. 
I was the regular compassionate me again. Not the me that shouts in people’s faces, and kicks down doors, and tosses hot melted wax onto people. Not the me that grabs people by their neck.

When I think about that night, I think about fate. The roommate’s door was definitely kept unlocked on purpose. And when I came to the party, I was meant to enter that room. I was meant to be as drunk as I was; the dark magic, spirit hijacking was never able to complete; only a portion of my self and being and presence went missing. And I recovered it. I’ve never felt more completely like myself before in my entire life.

Ever since then, I haven’t been back to the apartment where the party took place. I’m not cool with the party host on my terms. Not only do I think of them as spineless, but they have a pretty reckless roommate choosing process, and I’m not OK with that either.

As for things between me and the roommate, it’s all good, I’m assuming. I’ve seen them working at the cafe as a barista. They seemed pretty embarrassed at the sight of me; they were deliberately trying to avoid eye contact and we’re cowering again, reminding me of when I had them in my grip by their desk…

But everything has been fine in my day to day life so far. I’m almost certain I’m not under any spells, or at least not any harmful ones.

My guess is that the black magic stuff was just a phase, and that they didn’t really ever know what they were doing. I was probably their only victim ever. They were probably just a dabbler.

It was such a strange but incredible night.

It’s hard to stop thinking back to it.

I’m sure this marks the start of some sort of promising new beginning for me.

Coming soon:

Part 2: They Weren’t Just a Dabbler, I’m Under Some Serious Spells