Chapter 1

(Still being worked on and edited.)

There are two things you really need to know about me before I start; one, I don’t really like telling personal stuff; and two, I don’t like telling unnecessary crap that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of�"well, anything. I know it might seem harsh or something, but I’m just that kind of person. And Jane, you obviously know how I act. I just did that whole thing for anyone who wasn’t you reading this, but I guess it helps you understand me a little more anyway because I really don’t like details much at all. Like people can go on for so long about the littlest things that happened in their lives I just get so goddamn bored�"same with books too. Some authors have these really descriptive segments in them that I guess try to immerse the reader in the story or something, but I don’t get lost in them like other people do, because I just get so goddamn uninterested and just want to get to the point of it all, because books to me, are just like a long story told by your buddy at the bar, or at least how I imagine it anyway. 

What you’re probably wondering now then (if you’re not Jane), is why I'm writing this thing in the first place. Well, I was asked too by (you) Jane (my therapist). Not like I wasn’t gonna write about that day and what you asked me to write about eventually, so you asking me to write about a personal story was a pretty good idea, even from a therapist as great as you. Most, I would think, would ask me to sit down and explain everything to them, and I wouldn’t be able to do that stuff, you know. But since you knew I’m a writer and all (though I wouldn’t say a “good” one), you asked me to write a time or day in my life and just write about it so you could “understand me” more (like you already didn’t). I knew it was a bluff. It was sort of obvious to me. What you really wanted was to see, is if I would actually do it or not�"or at least I think that’s what you wanted to see, I’m not very sure. But I hope you knew that I would actually do it. Not like I’d be that mad if you did. Besides, I’m not like that, and I know you know that.

Anyways, you told me all that, but I didn’t really know what to do with it, and I’m pretty sure you knew that too. And for another thing, I didn’t have anything to write to begin with. Of course, I had pen and paper and all, but it doesn’t feel natural for me. What does though is a nice, quality typewriter, but I didn’t have that at the time. I would’ve had to go to the library and use one of theirs but being a broke college student with barely any money, I couldn’t use it much; tuition and all. So I had to tell you, and I did.

“Really now?” You said.

“Yeah, I’m broke as f**k.”

“Huh, well that’s perfect timing.” You said, “I’ll be right back, sit for a sec, will ya?”

“Wait, whaddya mean?” By the time I said that you had already gotten up in that same long lab coat you always wore, and went out of the room. I didn’t know what the hell you were doing nor what you meant by it being perfect timing but I couldn’t do anything, really. So I just sort of waited and turned the white, plushy chair behind, so I could stare out the giant window your office had. There wasn’t much of a  view besides from the parking lot surrounded by other buildings which were pretty much identical to yours and not far from those buildings was this lake that was still frozen over even though it was March, and sometimes these little kids would come over and ice skate or mess around. They’d push each other and I could see them arguing like little brats, but it was really nice to watch. I know they may sound weird or something, but it’s not like that; I just like seeing kids being�"kids; messing around and making trouble outta nothing for no reason at all. It all reminds me of a lot of my own childhood in a way and how it was. I noticed when I’d think about that sort of stuff, I always feel that I'm so goddamn old, but it’s probably because I am; I’m twenty for God’s sake, so I guess I have this sort of “fatherly” thing with kids already I think, it’s sort of who I am. Not saying I don’t get annoyed at them sometimes, of course I do, but it’s something about their blatant naivety that I just can’t stop to look at. But they’re so oblivious or naive sometimes, it’s sort of hilarious, and it never fails to crack me up when I see them doing something so brutally blunt or ignorant or petty. Like when I was staring out that window I mentioned earlier, I saw this kid with his group of friends go ice skating and all on that lake, and when they all managed to start properly gliding on the ice without falling over, they started chasing this one kid in the group who screamed so goddamn loud when they did I could hear it from the office. I absolutely laughed my head off. I really did, and probably as loud as the kids scream. It just cracked me up.

You, Jane, obviously heard the hysterical laughter and you sort of peeked your head out the door.

“You good in there?” You asked me. I was trying to calm myself down but I couldn’t help it but I eventually did and managed to stop laughing my a*s off like hell.

“Oh, yeah, just saw something real funny�"it’s hard to explain, really though.” 

“Ok well, you know how your birthday is coming up a couple weeks from now?” You said.

“Yeah, why?” 

“Cause’ I got a little something for you for your birthday. Want to wait or is the suspense killing you?” You smiled and from the small peak from the door, I saw this huge box that you could barely hold up. It seemed like at least fifty pounds.

I got up, and said, “Sure, why the hell not? Suspense is killin’ the hell outta me.” I sort of laughed as you got through the door and placed the box on the coffee table.

“You’re gonna be real excited, Winston. Trust me.” You said. 

“Ok,” I said, “but what’s inside it?”

“Didn’t I tell you it was a surprise?”

“Well, can’t you give me a hint?” 

“No! Just wait a second.” You smiled and dug into your coat pockets. I heard you mumbling about trying to find your boxcutter. But since it wasn’t in your pocket, you went over to some drawer I never saw you use and opened it, pulling out the boxcutter you always had on you.

“Ah, here it is.” You said. “I left it there all that time.” You laughed and then went over to the box to cut it. But before you did, you asked me, “What do you think it is? Just guess, any guess.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “maybe uh�"paper or something�"I don’t know.” I’ll have to admit, I was lying the whole time. I wanted to play stupid so you could “surprise” me, but it was so obvious I must’ve looked dumber than I actually looked. Anyway, I kinda knew you knew I was lying and all. I’m not a very good liar, it was quite obvious, but you seemed so excited so I didn’t want to ruin your mood. I’m just not like that. I wished most people would believe me like you do

Anyway, after a bit of struggle opening the box, you finally opened it and started taking off the bubble wrap and all. You told me to look the other way since it was a “surprise,” you kept telling me. Eventually, I turned around, facing the wall as you unwrapped whatever was in the box as suspense started to sort of build up inside of me the longer I waited and faced the wall. I hate suspense for that sort of stuff. I either get super disappointed by the present or feel guilty if someone gives me something I actually like or get really emotional on the spot. Don’t ask me why, I just did it for some reason. But it wasn’t really the present that made me feel suspense, actually�"it was why? Usually therapists, even you, didn’t do this sort of thing normally; gifting presents to their patients and all. But eventually the suspense ended when you told me I could finally turn around. And when I did, I saw this perfect brown typewriter sitting on the coffee table right in front of me; the box opened with at least five hundred goddamn blank papers in there just waiting there to be used. Not to mention it had no dents, no scratches, no nothing�"it was perfect�"it was too perfect, actually. I felt my eyes watering up when I started to remember it was almost the exact same one I wanted all those years ago before. I remember telling you about it; I told you that my mother always tried to get one of those for me for my birthday or Christmas but we practically had no dough at all. And to now see this brand new, perfect typewriter in my goddamn face�"I was astounded and really f*****g happy. I teared up almost. I swear I remember I did, and I remember trying to hide it as well, but I couldn’t really stop at all. I’m very emotional sometimes. I really am. 

I was so emotional that you had to step in and calm me down. I tried to refuse it, but you just wouldn’t let me�"and you hugged me, which made me cry even more than I already was but I really needed that, or at least that’s how I felt. I was so happy but sort of sad at the same time too. It’s very hard for me to write about that stuff or even describe it at all, really, but nothing can ever describe what I felt in the moment. Nothing. 

I cried for a damn good while; what felt like four hours of just crying in your arms. You were very patient with me, and didn’t say anything more, and you let me have my moment, which I appreciated, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it then, I just couldn’t do it yet is all, and I hope you understand that. I really do.

Author's Note

Excuse any grammatical or awkward or flawed sentences or phrases, I will work them out soon!