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The Last Story I Will Ever Write About Her

by

Shane Grey

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Shane Grey

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There was an unopened bag of potato chips in the lounge. The staff lounge had five square tables. Four were lined to make one long table. There were salt and pepper shakers. Three total. One set sat on the long table and one set each on the single tables. There were nineteen chairs total.

I sat in one of the chairs at the head of the long table. I stared at the bag. Bright yellow with red trimming. Some Madison avenue catch phrase across the bottom. I had just ate a cheeseburger, I ate it while walking around the hospital saying 'hi' to my favorite co-workers. There was grease on my fingers, but the chips looked good. This staff lounge was rarely used. We had lounges on the actual units in the hospital.

This particular lounge was where I came to be left alone and think about Missy. She was a nurse at the hospital and my heart fired forty-four magnum lust bullets for her. I would spend hours at work imagining us in the most sensual embraces. But now all I wondered was where the hell these chips came from and why hadn't they been eaten. Certainly someone just forgot about them, I thought. You don't just leave a perfectly good bag of potato chips lying around.

Having grown up poor, I felt a special bond to abandoned salted snacks.

I then began to think of the long process those little bags of chips go through to get to a destination where they will be sold and consumed. The process of it is complex but fun to watch. I had seen the way the factories did it on some special about snacks on TV. Right after the special I wanted to eat several bags of chips. I never got around to it though.

That was weeks ago.

I looked at the bag. The bag looked at me. The lounge was so unused it smelled like fresh paint. I should just open them and eat them, I thought. What if whoever they belonged to came in while I was eating them? That would be embarrassing.

I didn't need them. But again the question begged, who would have left perfectly good chips just lying around?

It had to be a mistake. Something was awry. It was possibly some trap. Someone did this to see how long it would be before someone came along and opened these. I was thinking a lot of crazy things. But crazy things happened in the Psyche Ward and that is where I worked.

Missy. Missy made me crazy. She made my lips and loins burn.

When we kissed the first time, though I was in my late twenties, I felt twelve all over again. Missy made me relive my first kiss, each time our lips locked, she killed me.

Missy was cold. Not in a bad way, she just had zero emotion, that drove me nuts. I wanted her to want me. I needed her to need me. I would have loved her to love me. I had become song lyrics. A part of me wondered if these chips could belong to Missy. Women were always watching their weight. Maybe they were disregarded, knowing people would come along and eat up.

That was one ironic thing about nurses they were always watching weight, counting calories, or dieting, but they had the biggest asses and thighs and most of them weren't under a D cup. Missy was thick and I had spent many a nights fantasizing about her body, her eyes, her mouth.

But there were the chips. Probably most of them were crumbled, broken. Like Missy herself. Unable to have real human emotions. The aftermath of some trauma. But our first kiss was real. Fireworks. Car crashes. I lost my breathe.

The kiss was killer.

Missy had felt nothing. She was damaged. Maybe the unopened bag of chips were tainted in some deep way also. It could have been easy. The inside sealed and fresh, but maybe the bag had fell into a toilet or trash can. Then retrieved to be placed upon this table in order to not waste a perfectly good bag of chips. Missy would hug other male workers and every time she did, I tasted battery acid. Their cologne would taint her skin, the skin that smelled of fresh fruit.

I could just eat a piece of fruit, better than a mini bag of grease and salt, we had apples and bananas on the unit. But I was off the unit and the bag was there.

With Missy, I could forget about her, try to find someone else to pine over. But something inside me wouldn't let her go. I never held her tight on cold nights. I never made her smile like it was the last time. I was never able to tame her, have her need me, look to me for support of any kind. Missy didn't need me. No one really did. My job at the hospital, it didn't need me, it needed anybody. Anyone would do.

No one would do for me, except Missy, she was damaged. Her damaged soul bled into my heart. Right there amidst the new paint smell, all the chairs, all the tables, the microwave and condiments, in that neglected lounge, I wept. Tears slid down my cheeks into the corners of my mouth.

Salt.

I sniffled a few times to regain some composure. I knew at that point where I stood. I was another loser in that place. Just another expendable human drone, one that was not to tame the emerald eyed sociopath.

Missy. The death of soul.

I was dramatic when I needed a snack. I looked hard at the unopened bag of chips. The bag was shiny, the artificial light radiated it. I figured anything was better than facing my true feelings about Missy.

I reached out to grab the bag, it was happening, this was it. My hand made contact with the small bag and I squeezed to grip it. The bag collapsed in my hand. It was empty. The position it sat in and the lighting just right, all these smoke and mirrors. The whole time it had been previously opened and empty.

I threw the bag to the floor, stood up and stomped my feet upon it.

“I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU.” I repeated to the stupid bag, the dumb and deceiving painted foil. It was the snack food version of Missy. Tasty and available on the outside, empty and tainted on the inside.

I wanted to vomit. Spit in the face of all the nurses and doctors and useless staff.

I hated that place and now I hated myself for having such feelings for someone that wanted nothing to do with lust or passion or anything important. This whole world was destined to fail and burn. There would be minor happy times, but major bad times. We were all doomed to loneliness even if we had someone by our side every night.

There were those out there that could not feel or express. The ones that were cold and empty. They would crush the lovers, the thinkers, the real humans.

They would never feel true pain.

I returned to the time clock and punched in. I had three hours left of my shift. There was a waft of lilacs, the scent lingered. I turned around, Missy stood behind me with her empty fake smile. I wanted to push her to the ground, she was a phony, a real life one-hundred percent fake.

“Hey you.” Missy said.

“Hey.”I said flatly.

“What's up with you? You've been quiet and removed lately.”

“I'm awright.” I moved to walk past her, she placed a hand on my chest.

“Wait. I'm going to get some food, the burger place around the corner, you want something?”

“Had a burger already.” I tried once more to evacuate. Missy stopped me again.

“Hey, seriously, what's going on? Did I do something?”

“You have done nothing wrong, I just gotta get back, breaks over ya know.”Missy looked at me like a liar. In that moment I was. But I didn't care. I needed to let her go.

“O.K. Well, we only have a couple of hours left and I'm gonna take a lunch. So if I don't see you later I'll see you tomorrow.” She stepped aside to let me pass. This time I didn't try.

“No.”

“No what?”

“You won't see me tomorrow.”

“Damn, you are always off.”

“Not off. I'm done. After this shift ends I'm never stepping foot in this fucking place ever again.”

“Okay, what happened?”

“Nothing and everything. I decided I'd rather kill myself than meet Rex Manning.”

“WHAT?”

“It's a movie reference. Listen, Missy, I am far too sensitive to be working in this environment. It cramps my creative style and it's killing me. So I'm bowing out. Good night sweet emerald eyed sociopath.”

“You're not quitting over our few kisses?” Missy seemed appalled.

“So what if I am?”

“I don't take things seriously. Especially petty kisses. Life is too short to make small things into big issues.”

“There is no issue. I just can't be around you. I want to consume you. I need to have your tongue on my mouth. You are my main focus here therefore I must step back.”

“I get it. That's fine.” Missy said. I walked past her back to my unit.

In the bathroom I vomited, looked in the mirror at my reflection. Red bloodshot eyes, stubble on my chin. My throat burned and I realized I wouldn't last the few hours that were left.

I grabbed my bag, marched to the time clock and punched out, on my way to the exit the supervisor stopped me.

“Where you headed?” He asked.

“Home. Gonna have a drink.”

“You can't just leave with time left on your shift, that is considered desertion.”

“Then mark me down as deserted. You know that everything in life is a choice and in some cases the choice must be made to pick up and go. Change always seems bad in the beginning, that's only because it's the unknown, but in the end it always works out.”

“You know you're walking away from a great job.”

“Am I? Or is a great guy walking away from a really bad job.” With that I left.

I was done with Missy.

Done admiring her from afar.

Done fantasizing about kissing her and holding her.

Done writing stories about her.

Done smelling her hair when she wasn't looking, I should've probably stopped doing that anyway.

I was done inquiring about her family and their well being. I was done offering her food and other snacks or treats.

Gone were the days of getting a storm of bumble bees in the stomach at the sight of her, the smell of her. No more getting drunk off the scent of her perfume. Never would I eat lunch across from her and marvel at her small adorable mouth as she took small bites of food. Grease would glisten her lips.

Those days were gone and now I had to face the harsh reality. It didn't work. There was going to be no love or fireworks. No closeness. Her milk white skin, warm. Precious lips moist. Soft hair glossy in the light. Her hands ever so small and smooth. Her neck, her sweet neck, the one that tasted of pure sugar on my lips.

Her images, her tastes, her fragrances vanished from me. I walked away, feeling glad that I was to be done with her. The cold breeze stung my face. I would have to wait until Spring until I sought out new love. At least new infatuation.

I had to understand that she belonged to the world. No one would keep her. She was part of the universe, a rogue planet. Could not be tamed, nor kept.

I made it to the car.

The midnight damp moistness lightly wet everything, including my hair, the hair that now drooped. No volume left at all.

That night as I drove off I realized three things about myself.

One- I wasn't done with her.

Two- If I really wanted to be done I would have to officially quit my job.

Three- I was fucked four ways from Sunday.

I decided on the philosophy, “It is what it is.” Which was complete utter bullshit, like telling a child that their puppy, Mittens, went to a farm instead of telling that child the puppy died of undiagnosed dog diabetes. Sure, the dog was dead and it was what it was, doggie diabetes. But that doesn't change the fact that now Mittens slept with the fishes forever.

A good philosophy would have been, “Things go away sometimes or die and it's sad but it makes us more desensitized to other peoples problems.” It was a little long for a short saying.

But you get the point.

I arrived at home. Undressed and popped a pint of cheap whiskey. I considered suicide. Then I thought of the ways to execute it.

Slit wrists- Too cliché and a cry for a help.

Overdose-Not enough pills or liquor.

Hanging-Too crazy.

Alcohol Poisoning- Not enough booze.

I decided my final decision. I grabbed the phone with buzzed relaxed gusto. I dialed a number. The voice mail picked up.

I said the following:“Hey, it's me. I won't be coming to work tomorrow or the next day, I have to quit. Thanks for the opportunities. But I must seek out other endeavors.” I hung up and for the first time in years I felt great.

Tomorrow I would hit Las Vegas and have a real good time. Use up a lot of money. Drink and be merry. Eat five dollar buffets. Live the dream.

Good night, you. Thanks for all the times and feelings.

I will miss you for days, but you will think of me for years to come.

I will be the one that got away. When you are married and eighty pounds over weight. When the loser you marry fails to notice your hair or face or even tits. When that time comes you will remember the only man that ever really cared.

But it will be too late by that time. Very, very, late.