PARALLEL

Bold rapping knuckles rythmically sound from the other side of the front door. It's the second time in a week. I've struggled to bring myself to have the motivation for any kind of socialization, but I still can't muster it. What I do trudge up from the darkness of my empty shell isn't enough to make me enjoy myself. Every second of a night out feels like an act. I want to be seen. Maybe I need to be seen; that's why I keep caving in and going along with my best friend. If he weren't here to maneuver me into the land of the living, where would I be? I send up a silent prayer, rolling my eyes as I do. Maybe tonight I can muster just enough to enjoy myself. Graff and I have been best friends since high school, neither of us moved onto bigger and grander things; until recently. I was content with my work here, but soon I’ll be working internationally. It was an opportunity I couldn’t pass. Honestly, maybe it will bring more spark into my life. Perhaps I've just grown complacent, and the harsh change of scenery and expectations could bring my vigor back. I always liked a good challenge. Graff is at the door. I thank God for him every day. Where would I be without him? Who would I be without him? Resting my head against the cool white wood, I think about ignoring him. He probably wants to go out again. Graff is a man fueled by social interaction and casual female entertainment. The later always intrigued me more than the average social interaction. I always enjoyed a night filled with pleasure and no strings attached. However, maybe that's something else I needed to change. If there ever was someone consistent in my life again, like when I had Marissa, I wouldn't have a hole to fill. "Come on, Jet!" Graff's impatient booming voice bounces against the shell of my skull. He won't ever take no for an answer. I wonder if he knew how low I've sank. I groan and threw the door open. Graff isn't a small man, neither am I, but he still stands three inches taller and wider. He's dedicated his life to the logging industry in our little town, tucked away in thick forestry. He's a male specimen designed by nature. A product of his career. Graff sweeps a hand through his brown hair, grinning with a hint of relief through a trimmed and immaculate beard. Does he expect me to eventually not answer? I don't think I could ever sunk that far. His happy relief that's brief still begs to question if that's something anyone else has been worried about. Get yourself together. It's time to pull yourself out of this. Just a little longer. I want to be left alone. A few more days… No. I'm firm with myself. I can't keep receding. What if it does get worse? I have so much to look forward to. I can't let the world devour me now. "You're not dressed." As if I should be. Graff only lets his grin fall at the corner, as though I can't see expectation on his face. I can't say no. I always say no. I used to get out of my own head so long as I let Graff drag me into his world once or twice a month, but now I need to see the life in others. I keep comparing myself to them. I watch men and women dance at the clubs, wondering if I'll ever want to be out there with them, or if I'll live the rest of my life as a depressed spectator. It has gotten worse. f**k. I can't say I've ever fallen this far, but I need to get it sorted out before my new job takes off. I can't have issues like this when I need to be focused and controlled. The kind of men I'll be working for won't except anything less than perfect. Tonight, I have to turn things around. I have to step into the world again. Maybe something magical will happen and it will subside this dark torment inside my head, but even if it doesn't, I have to try. It's close to seven. All I really want to do is drag myself into my comfortable bed, masturbate, and watch one of those horribly long romance movies my ex-wife loved. I groan internally, rubbing the back of my neck. Even the thought is embarrassing. It's been years; and still, Marissa has a hold on me that no other woman ever will. When I'm down like this I think of her the most. She always shed a light and excitement into my life when I needed it most. Graff always wants to go out. At least today is a weekend and I don't have to worry about pulling myself out of bed in the morning. It doesn't matter much anyway. When Monday comes around, I'll be boarding a flight out of town to a remote location in Russia to design and construct a new medical and science facility. I’ll have plenty of time to seclude myself and recuperate. Hopefully emmersing myself in work brings an end to the wreck inside me. I still can't put a finger on why this time is so bad and so dark… so deep… so… "Jet?" Graff looks concerned. I haven't even asked him to come in yet. I'm sucked into that hole, trying to convince myself to dig myself out, but it keeps getting deeper. "Sorry." I gesture for him to step inside. "Ya know how I get. I need to go. You're right. I can't keep sitting in this empty house." I make my living selling architecture plans online to the highest bidder and running my own construction company, and it pays well. I design concepts for homes and landscaping and anything I can make a penny off of. I can bring beauty into the world, but recently I'm still dark inside. I moved into local construction when I needed physical projects to interact with, designing hospitals and clinics. Getting my hands on a project gave my soul some sort of peace, but work has been slow since I shifted focus and I'm dying to board a plane and make my way into a new stage of my career. For a few years I worked remotely for a large company that built all over the country. It wasn't long before I was offered a position with a government funded company. The project in Russia is owned and ran by American scientists, projects supported through co-op with Russian scientists and government. I didn't want the specifics, but I wanted the three-figure salary they offered. Not to mention, I'd have a whole week away from Graff and his ridiculous outings. I know he means well, but there's only so much I can handle anymore. Maybe I'll make new more quiet friends in Russia. I want to laugh but catch myself before the corners of my lips lift. Graff and I are inseparable because of Graff. I can't make friends. I'm a bull in a China shop. I have no charm or social charisma. I freak people out and sometimes I scare them. I come with an intensity. Even women don't wish to spend more than a few hours with me. Thirty-five is too old to be going out and wrecking the town like we did in our early twenties, but Graff doesn't care. Thirty-five is also too young to have an eighteen-year-old son- who stormed out of the house wanting "space" all because I asked him about college. I assumed he was with his mother. I text him once a day to make sure he's safe. I know someone his age needs space. I wouldn’t breathe down his throat if I didn’t need to. Tyler is doing better than I did at his age. He's as smart and head strong as his mother. He stands up for himself and I'm proud of him. I don't want him to waste away like I did. I waited until my life started to crumble around me, under my own fault, before I got my act together. Sure, it panned out, but I know Tyler can do better than me and his mother. I won't let him settle. I'll give him space, but when I'm back from my trip I'll have bring it up again. I don't have grandchildren... so I guess Marissa and I have done something right. That's what happens when you knock up a girl in high school at seventeen. Marissa was sixteen, hot, and I was head-over-heels in love with her. I worked every dead-end job I could until he was three and eventually committed to a community college. Marissa and I split up four years ago, and it only made it a living hell to raise our son. The older he got, the less I saw or heard from her. It's been nearly eight months since she texted to remind me of Tyler's SAT and ACT exams, how I should be encouraging him and to make sure he makes it to his study groups on time. It's been well over a year since I've seen her in person. Tyler wasn't much for sports, which made it remarkably easy for both of us to forget the others mere existence. "I'm thinking of The Diamond tonight." Graff flops down on my sofa, pulling me away from my draining thoughts, kicking his feet up on my glass coffee table. I smack his feet, forcing him to put them on the ground. "I yell at Tyler for that bullshit, don't think I won't yell at you." I sit in the loveseat to his left. "The Diamond?" He prods again. He's been doing this a few times a week to me. That club is always his first suggestion. I wondered if he has an obsession with one of the girls, but I decided not to ask. Graff never commits to a woman. I've tried to stay away from there because women are my weakness. "Why are you so bent on that place?" I can't help sounding irritated. It's easier to stay the course and follow through with my decisions to go out with Graff if I don't always have to fight this battle with him. It's been months of him pestering me about it. Now, he's insistant, and I can tell I probably won't win this time. Eventually, I'll have to suck it up and get back in the saddle, preferably with a woman that's not on stage this time. That led to my divorce and it was hard to shake the club afterwards. "I haven't been there in a while," Graff complains. He always takes me with him on his outings and he's making it sound as though I'm holding him back from an exciting night. "Go without me, you know I don't like gentleman's clubs. I just want to go somewhere with cheap booze and pool tables." I hated the way women were treated in those places. Not that I was any kinder. When I did go, I let myself enjoy it. I was no different from any other man, bare boobs and ass were to drool over. It’s what got me into trouble with Marissa. Four years ago, my ex-wife caught me with my pants down, literally. My b***r shoved into the mouth of a slutty dancer, who barely covered her breasts. I met her on a business outing to a strip club. I can't even remember her name, but I remembered how willing she was. Our marriage had gone a bit dry, both of us were stressed. I used to blame Marissa for why I did what I did, but I knew better. I whored around behind her back, although only once, once was enough. Sometimes I wished that I’d have the nerve to apologize for it, but after four years separated it would be four years too late. Since then, I've tried to avoid places with those kinds of women. The ones in short skirts, stockings, and fishnets- any kind of exposed panty lines, and sheer tops. I craved those women. Maybe it was because they made it look easy- seduction that is. I didn't have to work to impress the desperate ones, not that they all were, but there's a lot of women that want to be satiated just for the fun of it and they're dirty. They say all the right things and move their bodies in the right ways. I don't have to think about what to say to them. Sometimes I don't have to say anything. Men are just as desperate for them, maybe I'm one of the desperate ones. It made me feel alive. Once I lost Marissa I had to course correct. I had to work harder to find the same passion those women gave me. Now, it's too much work. Maybe it's because it's been so long since I've seen a woman that way, but there's a new desire igniting in me. Or it's because Graff has mindlessly been planting the seed in my head for a few months. Or it's because I miss Marissa more and more as the years pass and I'd do anything to have someone fill her shoes, even if it's for fifteen minutes or less. I see her in Tyler, and everywhere else. I ruined everything with her. If I could take it back, I would. It's too late to feel so sorry. I guess finding a bit of life in desire will make me feel better. I can't say no even if I tried.