I Wish I was a Tralfamadorian
Sharp sounds of a person forcing air into their nasal passages leaks under my door. The clock strikes 7:30am and I wonder what college student is in my living room at this hour. I force out the sniffles polluting my silence and return to my book, my other life, my other world. I quickly find myself peering through the eyes of Bill who’s being held in a zoo many suns from the one sneaking its way into my room. A parade of spectators tickle me with their eyes. One of the tiny beings faces the mass of onlookers as a sergeant would look upon his company. He’s the translator. As aliens question me on the intricacies of humanity I am abruptly, and ever so painfully detached from my cell, from my pages, and am placed back on my bed holding the zoo; sun starring at me from between the blinds; jagged sniffling once again present in my living room.
The sniffling stops.
I stare at the hallway which conceals the door from my view. Waiting. Assured that this time the noise has subsided I begin to explain the ridiculous nature of men. About why we lie and deceive, why we will even betray our closest bonds if it means getting what we want. To get a few rungs higher up on the ladder, to get a pay check with an extra digit. To get a pair of breasts and an orifice that spews the most disgusting contents that make your ears ache; and a vagina. Before I can even get out two words, the thunder of a 160lb slab of meat hitting the floor transports me back to my bed. For a moment, while I decide what it was I heard in the living room, I feel vomit crawl into the back of my throat. It’s been a problem of mine since I was little, confused the hell out of my mom; Irritation, anger or frustration were usually the causes, god knows why my body decides to react that way. I could never finish a meal at McDonald’s if there were obese people in close proximity, something about the fat folding over their jeans and peaking out from under their shirts angered me as they inhaled their Big Macs; it wasn’t from disgust, it was the anger. And now sitting in the very last place I would like to be, attempting to be in a far off zoo, what sounded like a human body has just landed in my living room.
I attempt to open my door but its path is obstructed by Matt’s right arm. Imagine a kid about twenty years old that lives with his parents but doesn’t actually live with them because he never sleeps in the same place from night to night. Unless it’s the living room of my apartment where it is common to find him in a drug induced slumber anywhere from the couch, to the floor, to the guest bedroom.
Right now I’m staring at his face, which I’d have no problem kicking if I knew whether or not oxygen was being carried through it. I give the room a quick look to see if anything else could have had the mass to make such a noise and then I return to Matt. I kick his rib cage lightly to see if I can get a response. His body rattles but nothing changes in his face. I yell to Jack, my roommate, that I think Matt is dead.
Jack is fighting the horde with a couple of comrades from the alliance. A gnome by the name of Filipe casts arcane explosion causing 89 damage to all foes currently closing in on him. Jack, a night elf with a pet wind serpent, stands safely 20 yards away unleashing a furry of arrows on Filipe’s enemies. As he pulls the next arrow from his quiver Jack replies with a laugh, “awesome.”
I slap Matt in the face as hard as I can, still yielding no response. I say to Jack, in an emotionally absent tone, that I’m not kidding and that I really think he’s dead. Jack turns to look at me through the hallway and the open door that leads to his room and regretfully gets up from his chair to see what it is I’m talking about. Meanwhile one of the horde trolls that Jack should be bombarding with arrows kills Filipe. A kid thousands of miles away sitting at his computer desk begins cursing Jack’s name.
“Did you hit him?” asks Jack now staring down at him in a manner similar to mine. We knew that Matt had had a problem with drugs but we never caught him in the act here, so we figured that if anything, for his sake, he was safe being here. I tell Jack that I’ve already tried that and proceed to ask him what we should do. Without answering, Jack kneels down and holds his index and middle fingers to Matt’s neck. Just as Jack is giving me a negative response on Matt’s pulse I realize that the mixture of feces and urine in the air is not from the dog.
We don’t own a dog; however a nomad that goes by the name of Dom has been crashing in our apartment as he is indefinitely between homes. He has a puppy that would probably take its business outside if he ever let the dog out, but he’s lazy and is too busy finding nothing to do. Dom and the puppy are on vacation so the guest bedroom is currently being occupied by other guests. I feel like I own a hotel that yields no profits, people are always coming in and out, just always the same people. The same people I don’t want to see but can never tell to get out.
Jack finds his way to the phone while I stand hovering above Matt’s body seeing if I can catch pieces of his soul. “Apartment 2301, building 200. Yes. Ok. Bye.” Jack hangs up the phone and looks over at me, “what do we do now?” I ask him why he didn’t ask 911.
Erin opens the guest bedroom door and stands there with a face still covered half-way in sleep; until she sees what Jack and I are standing over. She let’s out a “What the fuck happened?”
When the semester started six months ago Erin met all of us. She and I were on terms comparable to dating or something somewhat similar, lacking a bit in emotion, but it was there. She’s currently seeing a very close friend of mine of many years, both of them are regulars at the hotel. I throw up almost every day.
Jack responds mono tone with a look of disbelief as he stares at Matt, “Matt’s dead, and we don’t know how it happened.” I’m still hovering, catching his soul. Rustling is heard from within the guest bedroom as Brian rolls out of bed. He appears in the door way close behind Erin, a position that is always irritating to me. Before I can find a way to the bathroom vomit finds its way out of my mouth and on to Matt’s chest. I feel horrible.
The time it takes the paramedics to arrive, as predictable as it sounds, lasts an eternity. The silence that moments earlier I had been cherishing, is now stretching each second twice as long as one should last. It is painfully obvious what everyone is thinking. Did Matt deserve all the comments behind his back? As annoying as he was. Did he deserve all the doors shut on him while he lied by himself in the living room? Maybe. Did he deserve help? Did he deserve more honest friends? Probably. Did we help him? We tried to help him, right? I wonder what Bill would have told the aliens about a situation such as ours, would it have seemed so bad to them? Who knows, I guess I’ll find out after the paramedics get here. Now we are all motionless and whether or not anyone feels guilt, I do not know, but it is certain that similar questions are finding their way into the thoughts of my friends.
Once eternity has passed there is a knock at the door and a voice from beyond, it says “paramedic” with urgency. I am startled from thought and go to let them in. After a brief affirmation that the subject is dead they lift him onto a stretcher. His limbs fall and are held by his body, as a door is swung too wide and is held by its hinges. His head bounces back and forth at the end of the stretcher, the way a bowling ball settles into the gutter. They pull him out the door and we all watch. I walk to my room, leaving everyone in a dumbfounded stupor. I prop myself against the wall on my bed and pick up my book.
We all belong in a zoo.
