the lehman house [30]

Monday. I fixed breakfast for Sarah, spent the afternoon watching movies. Sarah called me from work in tears, her grandpa, in the nursing home, had a heart attack and a stroke. He’s alive, at least, though he doesn’t know what’s going on (dementia). Sarah came home sad about her grandpa, and so I broke out some tequila and we took about twelve shots between us.

Tuesday. I dreamt Sarah and I were cuddling naked under the sheets, woke up sad that it wasn’t real. I went back to bed and had another dream where I met a skinny, blond, beautiful girl who was absolutely in love with me. I picked up Jobst, and we had quesadillas for lunch, smoked our pipes, and watched “Die Hard.” He left and I burnt several CDs for Sarah’s drive to Gatlinburg tomorrow. She didn’t come home until late, visiting her grandpa in the nursing home after work.

Wednesday. Breakfast was scrambled eggs with mushrooms. Sarah headed to Gatlinburg and Tyler came down, and we played chess until Dylan arrived. We got dinner at Wendy’s and burnt Joel Osteen books on the back deck, using the last of the Bacardi 151 and a whole can of lighter fluid as accelerant. We also threw lighters in the fire and watched them explode. “Slumber party!” Tyler exclaimed, and I pulled up the spare mattresses and we crammed into my room and I smoked cigarettes in bed and Tyler kept coughing so he moved out to the sofa around 6 AM but was cold so he headed home.

Thanksgiving. Dylan left around 9:00. My car’s not working, the battery’s dead. Ams and I went to New Carlisle to celebrate Thanksgiving with Dad’s side of the family. Good food, good coffee, good company. The drive home was dark and wet, cold and miserable. Ams went to Chris’, so I had the house to myself. I did some reading, watched TV, and played video games. Sarah called from Gatlinburg to quote Hari Kari. “I saw a bear walking down the main drag, and it had a shirt in its mouth!”

Friday. I did nothing all day except read, watch TV, and play video games. Ams worked and was with Chris, Sarah’s in Gatlinburg, and being fall break, most of my friends were out-of-town seeing family.

Saturday. Dad got here around 10:30 and we changed out the Prizm’s battery before heading down to Kentucky. We celebrated Thanksgiving with Mom’s side of the family in Lexington, at Jesse’s house. Great food and much laughter. Mom and I took tequila shots together, and Dad and I played half a game of chess. I fell asleep to Mom & Aunt Teri ranting and raving about how Grandpa M. made a huge deal about coming to the Thanksgiving dinner but never showed. All the guys went to a Tailgate party and the women went out to see a movie, and I headed home. Sarah returned from Gatlinburg, and we smoked cigarettes and she told me of all her adventures in Tennessee.

Sunday. Sarah told me, unprovoked, that the thought of having sex with me is revolting. And then she started complaining about how no guys like her, how guys just want to be her friend. I got so fucking pissed that I had to go for a drive. I told Mandy about all the stupid shit Sarah says, and she quipped, “You should seriously tell her to shut the fuck up. You’re a great guy, and Sarah’s so fucked up by her self-image issues that she can’t NOT be an idiot. You shouldn’t waste your time on her.” Ams takes Sarah’s side, and she has a good point: all this sucks for Sarah, ‘cause she shouldn’t have to censor herself from me, and she knows that talking about boys upsets me. “You need to detach yourself from her, Anth. She’s missing out by not being with you, and she’ll have to be damn lucky to find a guy who will offer her what you offered her. You tried, Anth. That’s all you can do. You just need to move on.” I went to The Anchor to do some reading and praying through James 4.4-10. My repentance has sucked. Partly due to my own lack of self-control and partly due to the nagging thoughts, Why repent to a God who doesn’t care about you? What’re you hoping to find? Hope? You know Hope’s a damned lie. A new future? God doesn’t give a damn about you. He allows you to be suicidal when you plead for help. There’s no hope to be found in him, just more disappointment. I fight against these lies—these “damned lies” as Dyke calls them—but it’s so difficult to not believe them. Everything I’ve ever hoped for has been a disappointment. Dad told me, “Life is good, interspersed with moments of sadness.” He’s obviously not living my life. My life’s marked by shattered hopes, fruitless dreams, countless regrets, and unending disappointments. I told him, “No, life’s suffering interspersed with brief moments of happiness.” Maybe I’m just unfortunate. Or cursed. Maybe fate is real; and if so, she’s a cold-hearted bitch.