Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Jeffery's Folly


Jeffrey was a peculiar fellow. His peculiarity was exemplified when transplanted into social situations.
During times of his life, he was as inept as a boy rose by wolves—and even appeared as such. During other times, he was a socialite not unlike any popular celebrity. And other times, he was in between the two. Regardless of how he was performing socially, Jeffery still had a habit of missing certain social cues that if picked up, had the potential to advance his life in any number of aspects. Thus did Jeffery miss out on quite a lot—he wasn’t what you would call “privileged”.
Take—for example—a phone call he received from a new friend of his that he had recently made during a stint of social competence. This was a friend with whom he often got very drunk. She was a pretty girl, and not only did Jeffery enjoy getting sloppy with her, he also genuinely enjoyed her company, and soberly, too—something he had not known for quite some time. She was also a stagnate girl, who’s life—she felt—had become monotonous and boring—limited by her home and hometown.
Anyway: Jeffery was in his mothers house during a weekend visit to his hometown back in the country—he had moved to the city in search of some larger life, and he had yet to find it. His mother lived on a hill—his father used to live there too, but now he lived on another hill.
Life happens.
He was down the hill in the village at his friend’s parent’s house, where a fire was roaring in the backyard. He was sucking down beer in silence as he was eaten alive by mosquitoes and the like, listening to the racist comments of his friend’s friends and family.
Finding it difficult to stay awake any longer, he decided to walk back up the hill—beer in tow. There was a full moon that illuminated the village around him, and the hill as he ascended it, and the cornfield and the farmland adjacent to his mother’s house. He liked that.
He made it indoors, and cleaned himself up—scrubbed hard at those damned bug bites. After drying up and getting dressed, he received a phone call. It was from his new friend. She was drunk too.
“I want to do bad things to you,” she said.
“Um.”
“If I were there right now, I’d do bad things to you.”
“Well,” Jeffery began, “maybe if you tried doing nice things to people for once, you’d find yourself further along in life!”
Jeffery’s friend spit like a rabid animal—she hissed like a cat. “You are a little fucking weirdo!” she exclaimed. She hung up the phone. Jeffery didn’t know it, but back at her own house, she threw her cellular phone out the window—she pulled at her hair.
From that day forth, Jeffery never heard from her again. And to this day, he could still not figure out exactly why.