Failure As a Way of Life

by Andersen Prunty

  I know she isn’t in Twin Springs. She didn’t come back from the last tour I’d accompanied her on.

  Team Klaus is spread around the United States. One lives in Vermont. One lives in Austin. One in Portland.

  They pass their files around until they have an album’s worth of stuff and then tour together.

  I imagine Callie is in one of those places.

  She doesn’t do social networking. She changed her phone number after I . . . after we split up.

  I imagine seeking her out. I imagine showing up with a magic bag filled with a world of apologies, begging her to take me back.

  A portly guy who looks about fifty, balding and disheveled, wearing a white wife beater and blue boxers, wanders into the kitchen.

  “Scuse me,” he says.

  He grabs a glass from the cabinet and runs some water in it, taking a huge, satisfying gulp.

  He looks at me and says, “Marshall,” holding out a hand that has probably been in Alice.

  “Ryan.” I extend my hand.

  He quickly glances me up and down and says, “Is that contagious?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should get that looked at.”

  “I know.”

  And I wonder if I will if my plan doesn’t work out.

  “I gotta get my clothes on and get back to work. Nice meeting you.”

  After he leaves, Alice comes into the kitchen wearing a small white t-shirt and black underwear. I feel myself getting hard and try not to look at her or at least focus on her face. She looks tired.

  “Cam stuff was a lot easier,” she says. “Thanks a lot for shutting the internet off.”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  She opens one of the cabinets.

  “Did you already eat?”

  “I had some crackers. I need to go to the store.” As a test, I say, “Rent’s due on the first.”

  She leans against the counter, lights a cigarette and says, “I’m not paying to live here. College is, like, really expensive.”

  I quickly look her up and down, trying not to seem too thirsty.

  “When was the last time you went to class?”

  “I still have to pay for it.”

  I go into the bathroom and jerk off. The rash makes it slightly uncomfortable but, oddly, this makes it more pleasurable. It doesn’t take me long and my penis feels raw and burning when I’m finished, which isn’t pleasurable at all.

  When I go back into the living room, Alice is at least wearing shorts and I feel like the crisis has been momentarily averted.

  21

  Diane Marbles

  I text Gus to see if he can take me to work. I wait for a half hour and he never responds. I really need to go to work. I need the money. I remember a co-worker call sheet Dr. Jolly prints out and gives to us a couple of times a year. It’s mostly in case the campus is closed due to weather. Dr. Jolly calls the first person on the list and they’re supposed to call the next one and so forth. I don’t know that anyone uses it for rideshare purposes or not.

  Most of the people on the list work in different areas and I don’t really know who they are.

  In my embrace of failure, my eyes fall to the one person I’d least like to share a ride with—Diane Marbles.

  I tap out her number.

  “Hello.” She sounds so sad that I get momentarily hopeful thinking she probably lives in Dayton too.

  “Hi Diane. This is Ryan from work.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which one are you?”

  “I work in the filling room with you.”

  “Are you the handsome guy?”

  “No. I’m the other one.”

  “Oh.” She sounds more disappointed than she normally sounds.

  “Anyway, I was wondering if it would be possible for you to give me a ride to work today. I could pay you for your time and gas. It’s only temporary.”

  There’s a long pause. “Where do you live?”

  I give her my address.

  “I guess it’s kind of on my way. Twenty-five sound good?”

  Twenty-five sounds like a whole lot but I say, “Sure.”

  “I’ll be there in a little bit.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  I think about asking Alice for the money but she’s still in bed and I’m sure she would say no and her purse is probably hanging in the closet anyway.

  I open her purse.

  There must be thousands of dollars in it. I take the twenty-five and think about taking more but refrain.

  I momentarily think about disappearing. It’s not my job to take care of Alice and she has more than enough to take care of herself.

  What if I did that?

  What if I just didn’t come back?

  Where would I go?

  I know where I would go. Well, if I don’t know the exact location, I know who I would go to.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, I tell myself.

  I open the blinds for the front windows of the house and listen to the last unknown voicemail repeatedly until I see a blue Volvo station wagon pull into the driveway and figure it must be Diane Marbles.

  I go out and get in her car, saying thanks before the stench in the car renders speech impossible.

  I hear mewling come from the back of the car and look over my shoulder, now realizing why the car smells like a litter box.

  It’s because it is, basically, a litter box.

  There are three cats in the back of the car. The floorboards are full of litter. I roll down my window and stick my head out as Diane starts down the street. The window comes back up and I pull my head back into the car before I’m decapitated.

  “I’m afraid they’ll get out.”

  “Maybe just a crack,” I wheeze.

  “They don’t like the wind.”

  I guess this explains why Diane always parks in a shady part of the parking lot. Probably leaves the car running with the air conditioner on all day too. Maybe that’s why she’s charging me twenty-five bucks. It seems like it would be cheaper for her to get on disability for whatever mental disorder she has and stay home.

  “These are a few of my little guys,” she says. She rattles off their names but I’m not paying much attention. It feels like my lungs are slowly shutting down and my eyes and throat itch furiously.

  “They like the car. I like to cuddle with them on my breaks. It relaxes me. Makes me feel good.”

  I wheeze out some unintelligible response, already dreading the ride home.

  “When’s handsome guy coming back?”

  “Next week, I think.”

  “He just started, didn’t he?”

  “No. It’s Gus. He’s been there about ten years.”

  “Hm,” she says. “I don’t remember him. How long have you been there?”

  “About ten years too. We were both there when you started.”

  “Hm,” she says again, like maybe I’m lying. “Mind if I listen to my tapes?”

  “I don’t care.”

  She presses a cassette into the player and the narrator of an audiobook fills the car. Whenever I saw her reading an actual book, they always looked like really mainstream things. This doesn’t seem like an exception. From what I can gather of the plot on our trip to the campus, it seems to be about a group of female detectives—ethnically diverse in a weird, pandering way—who solve murders before gathering together to exchange really vanilla-sounding sex advice and quick healthy recipes for the woman on the go. My eyes fall to Diane’s sad sandwich in the change console beneath the stereo.

  I slide into an allergic fog and continue listening to the audiobook.

  As soon as she pulls into a parking space, I’m out of the car.

  I hear Diane say, “I’m gonna stay out here and cry a bit,” before I slam the door.

  I sneeze all the way to the front door of the hut and scratch myself vigorously
. There’s no way I can ride home with Diane. I’ll have to find another way. I regret not taking more money from Alice so I could have gotten an Uber or a cab or just stayed at the motel at the edge of Twin Springs.

  Around lunchtime, Dr. Jolly wanders up behind me and says, “It’s time.”

  I’m dazed and listening to some soothing electronic music. I can usually hear what people say even with the earbuds in, but have become so accustomed to ignoring them I don’t respond to Dr. Jolly.

  He taps me on the shoulder, the standard action taken if whoever is speaking to me actually needs a response.

  I pull the earbud out of my left ear and say, “Huh?”

  “It’s time,” he repeats.

  “Time for what?”

  “You know.”

  There’s an intensity in his eyes that isn’t normally there.

  “I really don’t.” I glance at the cases of empty bottles in front of me. “I’ve got all these bottles to fill.”

  “It can wait,” he says. “Everything can wait.”

  Up until this point, I didn’t know whether to feel lucky or left out. Dr. Jolly has never challenged me to a fight. I’ve always assumed this is because I’m easily overlooked.

  He challenged Gus to a fight shortly after we started there. Gus made it all the way to the parking lot before shitting himself. Dr. Jolly looked disgusted and announced that the match was postponed. Gus said the soiling was intentional but I wasn’t entirely convinced. Dr. Jolly hasn’t challenged him since.

  “I’m in no condition,” I say. “Look at me.”

  He doesn’t. Not really.

  “You look young and healthy.”

  “I’m over forty and I hurt all the time. Not to mention this rash. It might be contagious.”

  “It’s just from lack of hygiene.”

  Nothing I can say will convince him otherwise.

  Maybe, at the very least, I can find a way to parlay this into a ride home.

  “Meet me in the parking lot,” he says before turning to leave.

  I take a deep breath and make my way through the office. It’s filled with a sense of anticipation. Fresh off his victory over Bims, no one really knows what to expect. It never occurs to me to actually try to win. I’ve never been in a fight before and shrink from almost all forms of conflict. I wonder if victory would come with some form of bonus. Maybe this is what it takes to get a raise from Dr. Jolly.

  I walk out into the hot parking lot and the rest of the office follows me.

  Jolly stands in the middle of the parking lot, wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt and warm-up pants.

  I walk up to him and take a half-hearted swipe at his face. He pulls back to easily avoid it and throws a right that hits my cheek. It’s not a particularly hard hit and only hurts a little. Nevertheless, I immediately fall to the ground because I don’t want to absorb any more of his blows.

  Bims rushes up and begins counting to ten. I look at him like, “What’s the point?” but he continues anyway.

  Jolly stands over top of me and when Bims reaches ten, Jolly says, “Pathetic,” and the rest of the office follows him inside wrapped in collective disappointment.

  After a while I stand and make my way back to the office. Jolly is still there, accepting the congratulations, the office staff already talking about the fight as though it were a nearly epic, mythic battle. Pretty standard.

  “My vision’s blurred,” I tell Jolly. “Do you think you’d be able to give me a ride home?”

  “I don’t drive. It’s terrible for the planet,” he says. “Who can give the loser a ride home!” He shouts at the rest of the office.

  “I can,” Diane says. “I already know where he lives.”

  Great, I think. Now everyone probably thinks we’re dating.

  “This woman can do it,” Jolly says. “Problem solved.”

  He claps me on the back and I drift back to my workstation. The only thing to be remotely happy about is that I don’t have to pretend to be blind for the rest of the day.

  22

  The Boarder

  “Do you know who that guy is?” Alice stands in the kitchen, staring out the window.

  I move next to her and follow her line of sight to the porch attached to the garage. I don’t know why it isn’t attached to the house like most porches but, this way, the garage forms a barrier between us and Mapes, which is good, because the sight of him depresses me more than I already am.

  “That’s the Monarch,” I say.

  “He’s been out there for a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll go talk to him.”

  I walk out of the house and go sit next to him on the porch.

  “What’s up?” I say.

  “I’m gonna need a place to stay for a couple of days,” he says.

  My first thought is: you can’t stay here. My next thought is: what makes you think you can stay here? My next thought is: that will probably really piss Alice off.

  So I say, “Okay. What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid my home has been condemned. This morning I came back from the store. Signs all over it.”

  “That sucks, man. You’re welcome to crash on the couch.”

  He nods, lights a cigarette, and takes an elegant swig from his forty of cheap beer.

  “I can probably just stay right out here. I don’t want to cause any tension.”

  “With her?” I say. “We’re just roommates.”

  “I like it outside. The porch’ll be fine.”

  Maybe he’s just trying to ease into homelessness.

  “All right, man,” I say. “I’m gonna go in and grab some dinner. You hungry?”

  “I’m good.” He takes another drink of beer and another drag from his cigarette.

  Once in the house, I tell Alice the Monarch is going to be staying on the porch for a while.

  “Who is he?” she says.

  “A guy from the neighborhood.”

  “How did you meet him? I didn’t think you left the house except to go to work.”

  “I met him . . .” I don’t say where I met him. Don’t feel the need. I just conclude with, “the other night.”

  “As long as he doesn’t interfere with my job. By the way, I’m missing twenty-five dollars. Do you know what happened to it?”

  “I had to pay someone to give me a ride to work.”

  “When are you going to pay me back?”

  I wasn’t really planning on it but, then again, I didn’t think she’d ever notice.

  “Probably when you start paying rent.”

  “You get paid this Friday, right? You can pay me back then. Rent?” she scoffs. “You should be paying me to live here.”

  “Whatever.”

  23

  Condemned

  I’m not sure why the Monarch is squatting in plain view in the backyard to shit. There’s nothing but woods behind our house. He could have ducked in there if he needed some privacy. Still, there’s something very pitiable about an oldish man being forced to shit outside.

  Maybe I can catch him in time.

  I go out to the yard.

  “Monarch!” I call. “You can use the—”

  “Too late,” he grunts.

  I turn before I can see it and call over my shoulder, “Next time!”

  In the house, Alice is awake. She’s at the table with a glass of ice water and three orange Tic Tacs.

  “You really need to get some groceries. What did you have for breakfast?”

  “Coffee.”

  “We have coffee?”

  “It was the last of it.”

  “Damn.”

  “There’s a store within walking distance. And there are, like, three gas stations.”

  “I’ll just have somebody bring me something.”

  “You’re not going to fuck someone for food, are you?”

  “Don’t be so crass.”

  “If the Monarch asks to come in, let him, okay?”

  “Who’s the Monarch?”<
br />
  “Our boarder. Well, my second boarder. You’re the first. He just shit in the yard. Mapes’ll call the city if he catches him.”

  “We need a second bathroom.”

  “Maybe if you paid rent I wouldn’t need a second boarder.”

  “So he’s paying you?”

  “He will. I think.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  After she says this my phone vibrates with a text from Jen. It says exactly the same thing: “You’re pathetic.” But then there’s an added: “Second installment is due by the end of next week.”

  I text back: “Did you get the money I sent?”

  She doesn’t respond right away so I slide the phone back into my pocket.

  “I’m gonna go out and wait for Diane Marbles.”

  “When are you gonna get the car fixed?”

  “Probably never.”

  I go back outside. The Monarch is casually strolling toward the end of the driveway.

  “Where ya going?” I say.

  “Gotta go check out the house. Then I’m goin to the station for some libations.”

  “I’ll go with you.” I’m curious to see what a condemned house looks like, even though there are plenty of them around. I want to be able to connect the owner to the property. “How was the porch?”

  “Okay,” he says. “I had a confrontation with a possum on toward dawn. Seen a coyote.”

  “You really can sleep on the couch if you want.”

  “I’d rather not. I’ve entered the Phase.” I capitalized this in my head, turned it into some kind of proper noun.

  “The Phase?”

  “The Third Phase of my life. Maybe the fourth. Some of them are blurry. Anyway, it’s the phase where everything falls away.” He pauses. “Quite honestly, I’m not sure if I’m ready for it. I think it’s some spiritual Buddhist shit or somethin.”

  He lights a cigarette and offers me one. I take it, hoping it will deaden my sense of smell for the atrocious ride in Diane’s car.

  We reach his house and stare at it for a few minutes, still smoking.

  “I don’t think your house is really condemned,” I say.

  He points with his cigarette and says, “Signs all over.”

  There are pieces of posterboard with the word ‘condemmed’ written in what looks like red marker.