Impound

Steven grimaced as the loud, droning elevator music blared over the loudspeaker. The florescent lights and the stifling heat in this tiny room made Steven feel like he was in a sauna. Sadly, Steven was not relaxing on a bench somewhere, he was in a long, slow moving line, waiting to talk to some unhappy person about getting his car back.

Steven had awoken that morning to find that his 2010 Toyota had been stolen right off the street. Worse, it had not been by some loner looking for a quick buck, nor by some nefarious, shadowy organization intending to use it for some kind of fast and furious scheme. It had been commandeered by the city. The very city that Steven pays taxes to and supports. They had decided to arbitrarily post a sign on his street that allowed them to take his car hostage, then force him to pay money to get it back. If he wasn't so angry, Steven would have been impressed at that kind of extortion.

So here he was, fresh off a 25 dollar taxi ride, in a terrible part of town, already late for work. His boss would never let him hear the end of this. Somehow he would make this all Steven's fault, as if he did all of this intentionally. Steven profoundly hated that man. He also hated every other living thing in this room. They were all hindrances to him. It was all a constant reminder of why he hated going out in public, save for occasional forays with Susan and band gigs with Leonard.

The door slammed as another person entered the room, loudly agitated and yelling at everyone he could. Steven avoided eye contact as best he could and tried to make himself smaller. He did not need that now. As much as he agreed with the man, he had to get out of here as quickly as he could, and for that to happen he had to suck it up and cooperate. He could think of few things he would rather do right now.

He finally got to the window, only for the bored, inattentive high school graduate to tell him that the paperwork he needs was in his car, which happened to be in their lot. Now he had to go out and speak with another person he did not care about, retrieve the document, and start all over again. He wondered how many people just gave up. Many of the cities used car lots could be stocked exclusively with the leftovers from these places of despair. This was going to be a long, long day.

The Cold

Steven was miserable. He sat on his couch, blanket pulled up around his ears, and just shivered. It had been 2 days since the heat had stopped working. His landlord had insisted that it was getting fixed ASAP, but Steven was skeptical. He wanted to call his landlord again, to ask what the hold up was, but that involved moving into the cold, and that was simply out of the question right now.

Steven hated the cold. There was simply no way to escape it. When it is hot, you can turn on a van or drink a cold beverage. Cold isn't like that. When you are cold, truly cold, you can feel it in your bones. It seeps into every fiber of your body. Any temporary relief you may gain, like a hot shower, or shopping in a warm store, are simply stalls to keep the cold away for a moment.

Steven thought about all this as he waited for Susan to get home from work. Steven hadn't had work today because his boss Mr. Elliot, didn't want the employees trying to make it to work in this weather. Of course the old man had inadvertently doomed Steven to a day of shivering and sniffling. His coworkers were probably enjoying their day off, sitting in front of a fire with a good book, or enjoying a nice meal.

Not that Steven was surprised by any of this. This was just another case of the universe conspiring against him. This had always happened to him. Once, when he was 8, he was locked in a refrigerator of a gas station for 30 minutes before his parents noticed that he wasn't in the car. Then they made him apologize to the attendant for giving him more work to do. That had taught Steven a valuable lesson about both heat loss and gas station workers.

The phone rang, and Steven briefly considered moving to answer it, but only briefly. The voice mail would get it. Perhaps it was his landlord calling to tell him the heat was fixed and to beg his forgiveness. Maybe he would even give him a discount on rent. But, it was only Susan, telling him she was stuck in traffic and would be late for work. This was Steven's life now, cold and misery.

The Baby

Steven looked down at the tiny person at his feet, and felt nothing. Susan's nephew, Aaron was staying with him for the afternoon while Susan and her sister Nancy went shopping. Without warning, the little primate had been thrust into his arms and they had scooted out the door before Steven could begin to mount a protest. So now he was stuck here with this little moron for the rest of the day.

Aaron was almost two. He spoke but little, preferring to just stand there and stare at Steven with those cold, lifeless eyes. This was not the worst part. He would bother Steven while he was trying to work with his senseless crying. This was also not the worst part. The worst part was that he was mobile. A child that age, who has just learned to walk, is basically a divining rod. It immediately sough out and found any possibly dangerous or life threatening things in the room. Twice already Steven had to keep Aaron from frying what little brains he had in the light socket.

He had come up with a novel solution. He had completely encased the child with pillows, thereby negating his ability to move, see, or pretty much do anything. The child continued trying to get around, however, and ran around the home like a giant marshmallow with an Iron Man shirt. Steven had turned on CSPAN, to keep him occupied, but that had not yet peaked his interest. Steven had tried playing some Rush, as well, but Aaron did not appreciate Getty Lee as much as he did.

The child seemed hungry, but Steven did not know what small children eat. All he had in the fridge was old brie and chicken Pad Thai. Neither one peeked the tiny person's interest. Steven thought he could get some macaroni and cheese delivered, but he didn't want Aaron getting sick and ruining his beautiful carpet.

In the end, all Steven could do was sit here trying to work, with a small child grasping at his leg, as he waited for the mother to come home

Halloween

Steven sighed as he peaked through the blinds out onto the street. They were everywhere. Witches and ghosts, football players and cheerleaders, orcs and goblins. All the tiny morons in their ill- fitting store bought costumes. He pitied them. They had become part of this money making scheme known as Halloween.

As a child, Steven had an important relationship with Halloween. He refused to participate. When they would have Halloween parties at school, Steven would sit by himself, at his desk, in silence. All his classmates would prance around the classroom like idiots, delighting in their own stupid antics. Steven's parents had told him to never participate in this dreadful holiday, and he had always taken them at their word. The whole thing was a scheme by big candy companies to make lots of money by fattening up generations of children with their awful tasting candy.

Steven had dressed up in costume once. He was in college and his roommates convinced him to go to a costume party at a local fraternity house. Steven went as an accountant. He thought the costume was pretty self-explanatory, but apparently no one else got it. Just because he wasn't dressed as a slutty something or other, didn't mean he wasn't in costume.

That was the first and only time. Since then, every Halloween, he had locked his doors and turned all his lights off. This did not deter the odd child from wandering onto his property and ringiung his doorbell. That is why Steven was sitting here, with a bull horn in his hand, ready to drive them off. He had no candy to give out, no tricks or treats. All he had was the fierce desire to show these children that they were being mindless drones influenced by the media.

Steven yelled, blew the horn, and drove off an 8 year old in a poorly made Joker costume. This was going to be a long night.

Overload

Steven looked at the mountain of work piled on his desk with wide, sad eyes. The top of it seemed to grow ever further towards the ceiling. Periodically, that troll of a secretary would bring in another pile and toss it onto the pile. He wished the whole thing would just tumble over and crush him. That would mean an end to this torture.

This was all his bosses fault. That cantankerous old wizard had “volunteered” Steven for some extra work. Steven did not remember ever being consulted about this. He just standing there, trying to get through another terrible morning meeting, and the next thing he knows, he is in charge of converting all old client files over to the new database. This was clearly a punishment. There was no reason to be handling files from 20 years ago unless someone was torturing him. This was the stuff of Tarturaus, and Greek legend. He half expected to see Orpheus descending at any moment to rescue him.

Sadly, that would never happen, so he was stuck here, filing and typing and coming up with creative reasons to call in sick tomorrow. He had run out of dead relatives, so a funeral was out of the question, and his boss now required a doctor's note after his two week long battle with the boogy woogy flu. This is one of the few times Steven wished he had a cat, as a well times vet visit would do the trick quite well. Maybe he had a no-good brother who had to get bailed out of jail? Or a sister who needed help moving. Or maybe he could just get raptured right there in his bedroom.

The ogre woman brought another stack of files and Steven could not help but smile. This was how his world was going to end, not with a bang, but with the quiet shuffling of papers. This would be his tomb, this mausoleum of envelops and files. Centuries from now, archaeologists would uncover this strange site and conclude, ironically, that this was a man obsessed with his work.

Movers

Steven sighed as he watched the movers struggle with the couch. It was clearly to wide for the door as it was and yet they had not figured out that turning it on it's side was an option. He could not believe that he was paying these people to move his entire life. He never trusted anyone with so much as his umbrella. Now here were a number of large, men, tossing around his vintage vinyls and furniture as if they were sacks of rice.

He had been dreading this day for a long time, and it had finally come. He had been so, so comfortable in his old surroundings, with his familiar things and faces. He did not like his neighbors, but at least he knew them. This new abode promised new people that Steven would have to pretend to get along with, new paths to learn, new things to try not and see. He would have to learn all the new places to get food from on Netflix, and a find a new path to get to work.

It was the little things that bothered him the most. He loathed having to change his address with his bank, his work, the electrical company, and all the other places that required it. They should have to find that information out for themselves. Why should he have to do it? Also, this whole moving thing was too much for him. That he was paying these ogres to destroy his belongings was just too much to deal with.

He watched again as they finally got the sofa in. They had completely scratched the sides of both the door frame and the couch in the process. Susan, oblivious to the damage, squealed with delight as the last item was moved into place. It was over, mercifully, at long last, over. Now, the long, hard task of unpacking lay ahead. Steven shuddered as he thought of how long it would take him to get everything exactly right.

Steven's Garage

Ever wonder what Steven's home is like?  Well here is a small sample.

The scene is a garage.  Though no trace of a car can be found anywhere within.  The space has been converted into a living area/rehearsal studio.  The walls have been dry walled and finished.  The one window has been blacked out, so that all the light comes from the several track lights which have been installed in the ceiling.  The walls are covered on all sided with pieces of foam, to aid with sound absorption.  Periodically, between the foam tiles, there hang framed, immaculate poster of Rush.  There are also a few Radio Heads.  A large size poster of The Who’s Next album is displayed prominently.  The floor seems to be covered with cords.  Every outlet has multiple adapters coming out of it.  Clearly the room had to have been re wired to handle all this flow.  Some of the cords run to the five four foot tall amps placed around the room.  Others go to the computer and sound board set up in one corner.  Still others go to the forest of effect pedals that seem to be everywhere.  There is a brand new, incredibly couch in the middle.  There are also a few folding chairs and a coffee table.  Everything is immaculate.  Next to the couch is arrayed a line of guitars.  All of them are incredibly expensive looking and very well kept, like everything else in the apartment.  The entire scene looks like a display in a show room.  So clean that you doubt any one lives there.  A mini fridge occupies one corner.  Steven sits on the couch tuning one of the many guitars.  He is using an electronic tuner.  He is wearing incredibly large headphones almost comically so.   Steve tightens one of the strings and sighs.  He is waiting for someone. 

Home Alone

Steven was alone.  Susan would not be back for almost two weeks.  That has been selfish of her, Steven thought.  How dare she leave when he so clearly needed her here.  The apartment felt empty, and foreboding.  He never noticed before how many shadows there were, how many dark corners existed beyond the family photos and brick-a-brac.

            The timing was also less than ideal.  Steven was running into ever increasing pressure at work and he desperately needed his him to be a place of Zen.  Without Susan everything seemed just a bit off.  Nothing that Steven tried seemed to break this feeling that he had.  Books held no interest to him.  And Netflix seemed to be suddenly bereft of anything besides inane sitcoms.  Cleaning had also not done his job, which was surprising.  There were few things in this world Steven enjoyed more than moving the furniture around and vacuuming all the corners of his domain.

            It was such a dumb reason for Susan to be going anyway.  Her bosses did not need her at this convention.  The whole thing was a scam as far as he was concerned.  She was a doctor.  Unless they had somehow discovered as new organ, he did not see what she was going to learn by going to Phoenix.  She was probably bored out of her mind in a seminar somewhere, learning about heart stents and new colostomy bags.  He could at least take solace in the fact that she was almost certainly incredibly unhappy.

Steven flipped through the newspaper for the 30^th time.  He briefly considered going for walk, but that involved going outside.  Outside meant other people and places and things.  That would be pretty much the worst thing right now.  Steven was a prisoner of his own devices.  The door was open, but he dare not open it. 

Laundry Day

Steven hated this.  He hated sitting here, in his old high school reunion t-shirt and cargo shorts.  His feet looked ugly in the flip flops he was wearing.  This is what he had been reduced to.  Susan sat next to him, oblivious as she read her well-thumbed copy of Cosmo.  This was not how Steven wanted to spend a Saturday, sitting in a Laundromat looking like a character escaped from an 80’s teen movie.

            This was never supposed to happen.  Steven had a set schedule.  Every 2 weeks, like clockwork, he would lug his basket down to the dusky basement to make use of the Soviet era washer and dryer his land lord must have dug up in a junk yard.  It was not the most effective, but it was cheap and convenient.  Steven could satisfy his laundry needs without having to venture into the world.  That was always a plus for Steven

            But this time, the beasts had broken for good.  Steven had put off the task as long as he possibly could in hoped the landlord would remedy the situation, but no end respite appeared in site.  So, begrudgingly, and with much goading by Susan, he was forced to venture to the local Laundromat.  And it was here that Steven stewed in silence.

            This place was terrifying.  Children, seemingly belonging to no one, rampaged down the aisles like a pack of wolves.  The air was humid and moist from the exhaust emitting from the industrial dryers.  The vending machine was older than Steven and only served something called RC Cola.  Susan was seemingly oblivious to all this, which, which made things all the more frustrating for Steven.  He could not focus on the issue of Consumer Reports he had in his hands.  He had so been looking forward to reading about this year’s newest power drills.

            One of the machines let out a loud, piercing tone, indicating that it was finished with its task.  Steven threw down the magazine and went to investigate.  The clothes were still not dry.  This had been the third cycle.  Repressing his frustration, Steven reached into his pocket, pulled out four more quarters, and fed them into the diabolical machine.  He was not free of this place yet.

Leonard

Steven sighed as he slowly plucked the strings on his guitar.  He had already tuned the strings four times and resisted the urge to do it again out of anxiousness.  Leonard was late again.  This was becoming a troublesome habit if his.  Leonard would burst through the door, out of breath, bass in hand.  He would mumble something about traffic and sit down to immediately start playing.  Steven knew what was really going on.

            It was Nicole, Leonard’s girlfriend.  That woman was sucking the life out of him.  He could tell by the puffy look in Leonard’s eyes that he had been crying.  Steven could not believe that Leonard would wear his emotions on his sleeve like that.  Steven’s policy of suppressing everything that could convey emotions had done him well for years.  He had used those Easter Island heads as a model of stoicism.

            It was this very skill that had allowed Steven to have some kind of relationship with Leonard.  The more withholding Steven was, the more Leonard desperately sought his approval and attention.  It made Steven feel like a god, having someone around like this.  His girlfriend was just like him, so the most he could ever expect to get out of Susan was a reluctant admission of satisfaction.  But Leonard, he was like a reservoir of raw emotion wearing a t-shirt. 

            Perhaps it would be different if they saw each other more than once a week, but Steven was hesitant to do that.  He could only handle so much of Leonard’s emotional outbursts.  Leonard was fine in moderation, but too much of him would prove to be overwhelming.  Steven had enough trouble navigating the world as it is, he did not need this mopey, sobbing man-child reminding him how unfair the universe is. 

            Steven smiled at Leonard, told him not to worry about being late, and they tried to decide on a song to play.  In the back of his mind, Steven dreaded the moment when Leonard asked him how his week had been.  That was not a question he ever liked answering.