I stood in the parking lot for a few minutes after he was gone until I remembered that I might have left the door to my apartment open. I didn't want Mr. Whiskers to get out so I made my way back to my place. I didn't leave the door open.
When I went inside, Mr. Whiskers was waiting for me on the couch. Alfonso's stuff was gone and my small apartment was a little roomier without him there. I sat on the couch and my cat jumped into my lap, demanding I scratch his head. So I did. I debated putting my Christmas tree up but I wasn't in the mood.
BAH, HUMBUG!
***
Instead of look for a new job, I decided to go over to Laura Ann's place to see how she was doing and to see if she wanted to hang out with me sometime. I called her but when her roommate Constance answered the phone, she said Laura Ann was out running errands and to call back later. When I asked her for directions to her apartment, she reluctantly gave them to me.
"She's kinda upset right now," she said, in a tone of voice that was both concerned and whimsical. "If you do come by, please be supportive."
"OK. Thanks. "
I felt that even though her roommate was being kind of nosey, that was some pretty solid advice she gave me. I drove to the nearest grocery store to cash my last paycheck and to buy some flowers and maybe some other gift to give to Laura Ann when I finally saw her. I felt really, really bad about the three of us losing our jobs like that. It was shitty. But for reasons unknown, I wasn't too worried about it, or what was going to happen to me, or what may happen to Laura Ann, or if Alfonso would even make the trek home. I think, in the far recesses of my mind, I could have theoretically gone home if I needed to, just like Alfonso did. San Antonio wasn't too far away (only an hour and a half) and my parents would allow me to crash on the couch for a short while (my old bedroom was now a guest room and it felt weird to be in there) if I begged enough. But I had no idea what Laura Ann would do. In fact, I didn't really know her very well, at all, actually. I just hoped she was doing OK.
At the grocery store, I bought some yellow and white daisies, a humongous Hershey milk chocolate candy bar, and stuffed the rest of the cash from my paycheck in my pocket. Oh yeah, I also bought a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash cause you can't go visiting a girl to ask her to hang out if you have bad breath. As I followed the directions to her apartment that her roommate gave me, I poured the mouthwash into my mouth, swished it around, then spit it out my window while I drove. The green liquid splattered across the side of my Honda Civic.
When I arrived at her apartment complex and found her place, I was surprised when she answered the door.
"You're here?" I said. "Your roommate said you were out on errands."
"She always says that. Do you want to come in?"
"Yes," I said, handing her the daisies. She smiled then smelled them. I followed her into the apartment.
Their place was way bigger and nicer than mine with a living room and a dining room and a large kitchen with two separate hallways leading to other places, probably bedrooms. Con was sitting on a large couch watching soap operas. She waved to me when we came in. Laura Ann placed the daisies in a vase on the bar next to the kitchen then turned to me.
"She and her boyfriend got back together," she said, looking at the chocolate bar in my hand.
"It's for you," I said. She smiled.
"Want to sit with me on the balcony?"
I nodded and I followed her outside.
Their balcony looked over a massive swimming pool that was completely empty. Still, it was an impressive view. There were two patio chairs with a small glass-top table in-between them on the balcony. We sat down and I handed the chocolate bar to Laura Ann. She indicated to me that she wanted a cigarette so I fished in my pocket for my pack. We each lit up, smoked, and ate the chocolate bar.
"When you were little," she said, nibbling on a piece of chocolate then taking a drag from her cigarette. "What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"I don't know. I liked to draw, tell stories, read about space missions, and the ancient Egyptians. I don't remember anything that stood out as something I wanted to do when I grew up."
"I wanted to be a ballerina," she said, standing up from her chair, holding the metal railing at the edge of the balcony, and assuming a stance that only a trained ballerina could make. She lifted herself up on her toes quickly then her feet went flat again. "It's difficult to pointe without the right shoes."
"I bet."
"It's not good to smoke either if you want to do ballet," she said. We both laughed then smoked some more. She sat down next to me, extended her hand, and I held it gently.
"Are you going to look for another restaurant gig?"
She took a deep drag from her cigarette and shook her head, then said, "No, I called my sister. She lives out by the lake with her husband and baby. They said I could stay there rent-free if I would be their nanny for a while til I figure things out. They'll let me eat whatever I want and pay me a small salary. My niece is super cute. Seems like a good idea right now."
"Yeah," I said, taking a drag then looking at the cement floor of the balcony. A cicada exoskeleton was lying down on the cement, its lifeless shell split open at the top and missing a couple of legs, the shell left behind by the adult cicada looking to start a new life. "Sounds like a good gig."
"It's not fair for me to stay here with Con without helping pay for rent and bills."
"I understand. Alfonso went home to Rosenberg to his mom's."
"No shit?"
"Yeah, he left this morning."
"Are you going to be all right?" she said. "Do you have another job lined up?"
"No. I don't know what I'm going to do yet."
"You're still going to write, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Good," she said, squeezing my hand. "Don't give up on your dream."
"I won't. Laura Ann?" I said, looking at the cicada exoskeleton, its shape turning to a blur the longer I stared at it. "Do you want to hang out with me sometime? After we get things figured out?" I turned to look at her. Her eyes looked like they welled up with tears but I couldn't really tell cause she looked away so fast.
"Maybe. We'll see. I don't know what's going to happen."
"OK," I said, still holding her hand.
We looked out across the sparkling pool, still empty except for a lone figure on the other side of it, a lanky employee wearing a bright blue shirt, baggy khaki shorts, and white sneakers with a pool skimmer in his hands. He approached the pool and dipped the skimmer in the water, removing a single, brown leaf. He tossed the leaf into a grassy area beyond the cement walkway and then disappeared back into the club house. Laura Ann turned to me.
"Want to go swimming?" she said, a mischievous smile on her beautiful face.
"I don't have a bathing suit," I said, sheepishly.
"I have something you can wear and some beer in the fridge. Want to?"
"Fuck yes!"
Inside her apartment, she gave me some trunks to put on and I quickly did, right in front of her. She did the same, putting on a red, one-piece bathing suit, one like lifeguards wear at community swimming pools. The quick flashes of our naked bodies not impeding our wardrobe change. She grabbed four beers from the refrigerator and we made our way down to the pool. With the beers in her hand, she immediately jumped in the pool, submerged quickly then popping up and trudging through the water. I followed her in and we swam across to some steps on the other side. We sat there, in the water on the steps, drinking beer, talking, laughing, and telling stories well into the night.
***
It had been a few days since being "let go" from the P.W. and I hadn't once picked up a classified section of the newspaper or made any effort at all to look for a job or ask around to see if any of my friends had any leads or tips for finding a new job. Except for saying goodbye to Alfonso and visiting Laura Ann, I mostly just stayed in my apartment with Mr. Whiskers. I tried to write some stories but the loss of the only printed copy of m
y manuscript as well as the absence of my roommate and the lack of prospects for Laura Ann to be my girlfriend left me feeling blue and unmotivated. I just didn't know what to do with myself. I laid on the couch, one leg on and one leg bent over the side, with Mr. Whiskers laying on my stomach, his puss face looking content and mellow from my constant petting. He didn't seem worried at all that his master was unemployed. But rather than have him worry, I didn't talk to him about my sudden state of unemployment at all. It was for the best. I had a large cache of ramen noodles in a variety of flavors for myself as well as jumbo-sized bag of generic, crunchy cat food for my sole companion. As far as I was concerned, we were set--for a little while. I kissed him on his forehead then tossed him to the floor. I got up and shuffled to the kitchen. Inside the fridge was the last can of beer, a Lone Star 16oz tall boy. I pulled it away from its strange companion, the bottle of generic ketchup, popped the top, and took a swig.
Then my phone rang. I was expecting a call from my parents and I hoped it was them. I sat back on the couch--placing my beer can on a paper coaster and propping my feet up on the coffee table--and answered the phone.
"Hello?" I said, trying to sound tired and worn out but not sick. I didn't want to blow it.
"Seff? Are you OK? I got your message," said my mother. She sounded genuinely concerned. "You sound horrible. Are you eating good food?"
"I'm fine and yes I'm eating."
"You're not eating that crap from the Pasta Warehouse, are you? That food is filled with carbohydrates and fat and cholesterol and who knows what else. Preservatives!"
"I haven't been eating it lately, mom," I said. I lied.
"Good. You need to eat healthy. Are you still smoking?"
"No, I quit," I said. I lied again.
"Good. You don't need cancer sticks in your life."
"Yeah."
"Do you want to speak to your father?" she said. I could hear her place her hand over the phone handset and call for my dad but he didn't respond. "I can get him if you want?"
"No, that's OK, mom. Listen, I'm in a little bit of a jam. Can I borrow a few hundred dollars?"
"A few hundred dollars? For heaven's sake. What happened, Seff?"
"I lost my job. I need money for rent."
"You lost your job? Have you been looking for another job?"
"Yes, mother. I have some good leads." I continued to lie.
"Maybe you should find a normal job, an office job. Have you tried a temp agency?"
"Yes. They're looking for me." Nobody was looking for jobs for me.
"How about a headhunter?"
"What's a headhunter?"
"That's an agency that looks for jobs for people. You're smart. They could find you a job."
"I'll look into it."
"Seff, my dear?"
"Yes, mom?"
"Your father would be very upset if he knew you were calling and asking us for money. We did help you for a few months after you graduated from college by paying your rent and bills and buying you some groceries."
"I know and I appreciated it very much. I promise this will be the last time I call you about borrowing money." Another bald-faced lie. I was on a roll.
"You promise?"
"Yes, mommy." I knew if I called her mommy that it would work and it did. I still had it.
"OK. Do you want me to mail you a check? Or deposit it in your bank account?"
"Depositing it is good."
"And when will you pay me back?"
"ASAP!"
"Sounds good, dear. I'll go to the bank first thing in the morning. OK?"
"Thanks, mom."
"Oh, and Seff?"
"Yes?"
"Be good. I love you."
"I love you, too."
She hung up the phone and I held the phone handset for a good 20 seconds, the sound of the disconnect signal putting me into a trance. I knew I was fortunate to be able to make a phone call like that and I felt any last bits of stress in me dissipate into thin air. I put the handset on the phone cradle and took another swig from my beer. I thought about walking over to the GODDAMN, buying a newspaper, and looking for a new job. But, instead, I found a VHS copy of Eddie Murphy's Delirious and watched it, drank the last of my beer, pet Mr. Whiskers some more, then fell asleep on my couch--a finer evening I couldn't have asked for.
SALUD!
About the Author
Scott Semegran lives in Austin, Texas. He graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a degree in English. He is a cartoonist and a writer. He can also bend metal with his mind and run really fast, if chased by a pack of wolves. His comic strips have appeared in the following newspapers: The Austin Student, The Funny Times, The Austin American-Statesman, Rocky Mountain Bullhorn, Seven Days, The University of Texas at Dallas Mercury, and The North Austin Bee. His short stories have appeared in independent publications and literary journals like The Next One Literary Journal from the Texas Tech University Honors College. He is a Kindle bestselling author.
Books by Scott Semegran
If you enjoyed this book then check out the novel The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood by Scott Semegran. On his way to New York to celebrate his impending literary success, Simon Burchwood is the prototypical American careerist. But a quick detour to Montgomery, Alabama to visit a childhood friend sends Simon on a bizarre journey, challenging his hopes and dreams of becoming a famous writer. The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood is a character study that delves into the psyche of a man who desperately tries to redefine himself.
Is Simon pompous? Yes. A jerk? Yes. Will you like him? Absolutely! "The book is told entirely from Simon’s viewpoint. Simon is not a very likeable guy; as a matter of fact, he is a self-centered, pompous jerk. But for some reason, it’s pretty fun to be inside his head, mainly because he is an inadvertent, oblivious jerk... you will learn Simon’s views on smoking, cleanliness and going to the bathroom, just to name a few. There were times that I laughed out loud... A very good novel that was humorous throughout." -- 4 1/2 Stars / Red Adept Reviews
Buy it today!
***
Want more Simon Burchwood? Then get the next novel The Spectacular Simon Burchwood. Recently divorced and his writing career in shambles, Simon Burchwood's life is a complete disaster. He reluctantly finds work as a computer support technician and resigns that his career as the next great American novelist will never come to fruition. When he learns that his ex-wife abruptly moves to Dallas with his children, he embarks on a crazy road trip with a nerdy coworker and a hitchhiking punk rock girl and discovers the inspiration he desperately needs for his new literary masterpiece. Take another trip with the one and only Simon Burchwood.
Praise for The Spectacular Simon Burchwood:
"The author is quite funny and some of the quips are great. Simon can be hilarious and great to read about in his recaps and memories." –- 3 Stars / So Many Books, So Little Time
"Simon is starting to understand something, and his luck literally changes. Semegran handles this quite deftly; even though Simon keeps warbling his "It's true!" declarations at a great rate, the reader does not tire of them, because, well, some of them ARE true, and we see the progress he is making in getting a grasp of what life is about, albeit in his own ham-fisted way." -- 4 Stars / The New Podler Review of Books
Buy it today!
***
If you enjoyed this book then check out MODICUM, a collection of short stories, musings, and cartoons by writer / cartoonist Scott Semegran. The book explores such themes as suicide, parenting, religion, masculinity, the apocalypse, and, most importantly, erections. It’s guaranteed to make you laugh, cry, and pee your pants (hopefully, not at the same time).
Praise for MODICUM:
"Funny, sweet, dark, and sad, Scott Semegran's comics and short stories create a wholly convincing world of love, loss, and fear. His light touch with heavy subjects is a gift, and his forays into silliness are a delight. I can't tell if his kids should read it as soon as possible, or
never." - Emily Flake, cartoonist and author of LuLu Eightball
"Hilarious, poignant, twisted... and those are just the stories. Scott Semegran's cartoons bring an added one-two visceral punch to a powerful collection of work." - Davy Rothbart, author of The Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas and publisher of FOUND Magazine
Get it today!
***
Mr. Grieves started as a poke at human nature through the use of talking, narcissistic animals. It has evolved into a full-on assault to your funny bone. Where else will you find rats fighting over cubicles, camels worrying about aging, a parrot talking to aliens, and a lonely water snail longing for a friend? Welcome to the world of Mr. Grieves!
Praise for Mr. Grieves:
"An animal or plant — or maybe even an ovum — talks. Sometimes to itself, but more often to another of its kind. The idea is simple, but the execution is smart and almost always funny in Scott Semegran’s collection of 140 four-panel comics drawn between 2004 and 2008, Mr. Grieves." -- Reviewed for IndieReader by Andrew Stout
Get it today!
***
Find Scott Semegran Online:
https://www.scottsemegran.com
Mutt Press:
https://www.muttpress.com
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