That night, Jeff stared up at the ceiling with his arms folded under his head. In his selfish search for himself he forgot to call Elaine. "Shit, shit, shit. I hope she's not worried."
Caught in deep introspective thought, he did not realize a spider was crawling on his face. That changed when it found its way onto one of his eyes. He shook it off. The waitresses comment was a revelation of sorts. "At least I know now," he concluded.
He could not sleep. "I need to go buy those pills." Frustrated, he pulled out a record. Yes, vinyl - that precious artifact. The needle gallantly filled the air with the fine musical notes of Erskine Hawkins. While reruns of Magnum PI on Beta, he hated VHS, played on TV in the background. When all was complete, Jeff lay on the floor like a rock star broken by years of fame that left him unfulfilled.
It went on like this for several days. He did not return any calls. Worse, he had not been to work in 3 days. Until then, he had never missed a day in 6 years. By the fourth day, he summoned just enough interest to listen to his messages. Mick had left three.
"Jeff, if I don't hear from you today I'm calling the police. I'm worried." Jeff ripped the machine from the wall and hurled it. "I can't believe they made him manager. I have been there longer than he has. Why does this society reward mediocrity so effortlessly?"
A knock on the door broke the venomous spell. "Jeff? Jeff? Answer the fucking, cocksucking door! It's Francine. I want to make sure you're fucking alright, baby asshole." He did not answer. Francine wasn't the type of person - calling her a lady was a stretch - to let herself be ignored. Bestowed and endowed the leftovers of Mae West's atom particles, Francine's burlesque scent and likeness had always captivated Jeff.
"How the fuck did you get in?" he asked with angry candor. "I was your girlfriend for two years, Jeff. I still have your fucking key," she answered hurling them at him.
"Yeah well, give them back! Now get out of here, cunt!" he yelled as he threw a rotting piece of fruit at her. She dodged the offensive perishable object and headed for the door
"Why, Jeff?! Oh why! What's happened to you? You seem like half the person you once were!"
"Bah! Go to hell f-f-fuckarella" he answered with a feeble voice typical of a man in dire need of a drink. He mustered enough effort to wave his hand signaling for her to leave.
"Good-bye you slithering jerk!" He had officially sunk to the ground. "All I seem to do around her is swear" Jeff thought.
He called Mick back. Mick answered "Are you alright, Jeff? What's gotten into you? I need you here. We're falling behind!"
"Of course, you need good old Jeff to come in and save the day," he murmured under his breath.
"Did you say something, Jeff?"
"I said, I would love to come in and help you but I'm not feeling very well. I think I have the flu."
"Wow!" answered Mick. "Which flu?"
Jeff stared into his phone for several seconds. Unsure how to respond to Mick. He said nothing.
"Well, when you feel better come right in."
Jeff hung up the phone and went to bed to let the depression set in and found a new outlet in his dreams - only his dreams were a nightmare and when he awoke he decided he had had enough.
The last few nights had been hard on him. A nightmare spotted him on a boat crossing Styx, one of the rivers of the underworld, with Charon. He came across people dancing in hell without any limbs. They may have been dancing but they were eternally unhappy. Their punishment was that they did not have the confidence or wisdom to pursue what they loved most.
"Don't be like us, Jeff," whispered one as he was whisked away by Abaddon, the angel of the bottomless pit who hailed from Revelations 9:11.
It was at this point that Jeff usually woke up. "Where did I inherit these dreams?"
A brand new day ushered in a refreshing spirit Jeff had not felt in years. The leaves were crisp and brilliant in their appearance as they gently danced with the wind. The air had a certain fresh aroma that made him think about renewal. It was going to be a great day, he thought to himself, with determined confidence. First he had to make a call. "Hello, Mrs. Dwyer. I know. I've been sick. I'm very sorry. I'll make it up to you by making you dinner this week, ok? Great!"
The car at first did not start and it was leaking break fluid but this did not deter him. "This is a great day". Not even traffic, which normally caused him to forget about the notion of taking things in stride, was going to derail his spirited mission.
The neighborhood where Jeff grew had changed since he remembered it last. The Church was now gone. Replaced by a Mosque. His old school was still there but half of it was sold to McDonald's so that money could be raised to buy new books. The trees that once breathed fresh life on his street were all gone. The place had undergone a lobotomy.
Looking around in stunned interest, Jeff rang the doorbell and a lady in loud orange satin clothes answered. "Jeff!" she screamed with joy. She went down to hug him and invited him in. Not before she gave a suspicious look around to no one in particular.
"You never call. I miss you." She tells him as she draws the drapes closed. "I miss you too, Mommy." They talked for a while and finally Jeff found the courage to ask his mother. "Mommy, why do I crawl?"
"Oh, Jeffrey. Such a drama queen. You were always such a scared little boy. Never wanting to try anything new. In fact, you were terrified of everything." She pulled out several photo albums testifying to this fact.
"Who's that?" he asks noticing a picture.
"That's your cousin Frolov. He was a diamond cutter in South Africa."
"Why are his front teeth so shiny?"
"He had carved himself two teeth made of diamonds. When his bosses found out they pulled out all his teeth. Poor Frolly."
"Where is he now?"
"Somewhere in Northern Canada following the caribou migrations."
Unsatisfied and frustrated, Jeff demanded "There has to be more. I feel it."
"Well, Frolov wasn't all that bright…"
"No, forget that freak. I want to know more about me!"
"Finish your tea, dear. Some things are best left alone."
"Dang it, mom!" Jeff's mother, a devilishly coy and neurotic type, saw the anguish in her son's eyes.
Jeff's mother, Lalola was a pure throwback to 1973. Her body's natural redolence had become part of the house. You could not tell her from the carpet or sofa. The smell was one and the same.
A stalwart mother was not what she was all about. When Jeff's older brother Bronco was diagnosed with depression she responded by cutting onions upon being told. "Honey, it's all in your head. Could you please fold the napkins and prepare the dinner table?"
Lalola just didn't want to believe that anything could be wrong with her children. She would rather be in denial than admit to anything that remotely and vaguely reminded her of failure. To her, depression was an abnormality and by extension a genetic failure passed on to her children through her. Old eugenic theories and beliefs die-hard and proof they find their way into households. No matter the disease or illness, it all came down to how the rest of the extended family would judge her and her offspring. In other precious words, Jeff paid the price for paranoid neurosis.
But she could deny no more. Even the pained anguish look in her son's eyes was too much for her. She decided to open up. "I suppose you should know." She sat down next to him on the floor.
"You were a normal kid until the time came for you to begin walking. It was a cold winter day. I remember it well because I had just dusted the house. The type of day where you felt it was night. A day that…"
"Mom." Jeff bluntly said unimpressed with her stalling skills.
His mother, receiving the cue, continued as she unwittingly squirmed uncomfortably. Then she found her stride. "Your dad and I were home and I was trying to get you to walk. I don’t know what happened. One thing led to another and you fell straight on your soft knees. You couldn't handle the pain. As you looked up in disbelief and fear, your father came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, to tell us that dinner was ready. I guess the combination of both hurting your knees and seeing your father prance around in an apron with no top on proved overwhelming for you."
Jeff sat back reflectively. He went down on all fours and began to pace recollecting the bits and pieces of facts that he suppressed deep within the bowels of his mind.
"Thanks mom," Jeff said with a tear. "Thanks for what, honey? I turned you into a freak!" she admitted. "No, mother. I did this to myself. I have to account for my own actions. I am not a boy. I am a man!" Jeff knew, to his credit, that he had to change his life. The decision was made to learn how to walk.
He kissed his mother "Farewell, mother. I shall return a new man!"
The fact that Jeff now knew the origins of rejuvenated his sense of purpose in life. "Noting will stop me now. Nothing."
Jeff found himself in a semi-abandoned pier a few miles down from his mother's home. The weather had shifted slightly and the wind began to pick up. By the water, as Jeff moved slowly towards the end of the pier, he enjoyed the cool wind crash upon his face. Suddenly, he fell headfirst into a hole on the pier. His legs were preventing him from falling in completely. He could not hide the fear that overcame him as he slowly slid in and stared into the aggressive water. "I never learned to swim properly! Doggy paddles may fail me! Oh migosh, please don't let this be the end! I have too much to settle within myself!"
Two men nearby overheard him whimpering to himself and rushed to his aid. "Hey there buddy, need a hand?" "Please!" They helped Jeff sit up. "Sonny, you shouldn't be here. This pier hasn't been looked after in over five years. It can literally fall at any moment," said one of the men chewing on an orange peel.
"Thanks for your troubles. I need to be alone for a minute."
"Your life," the second man retorted as they skipped off. Jeff sat there. Feet dangling as he stared back into the water. He looked for a reflection but none was forthcoming. "Not even the water wants to acknowledge my presence," he said with a sigh as he turned away.
Despite Jeff's psychological handicap, he did have friends willing to help. They had grown weary of his condition long before his belated revelations. It was not always easy for them. Explaining to suspicious people about who he was no longer an option. "It's about fucking time, Jeff. Let's go" Jeff answered. "Where?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, let's roll a joint, Jeff. Man, are you lost?"
Jeff gave off a look of apprehension. "What is it?" asked Rip. Jeff nodded over to Mick who was present. "What about him?" "I don't think he's com
fortable with that sort of stuff." "So why is he here?" Mick overheard and was visibly irritated by now. He interjected "I want to help. And you know what else? All my life I did the 'right' thing and where has it got me? In a medium sized office earning a medium salary that will not save the middle-class taking orders from a skank five-years my junior. Fuck her. Fuck this. I want a change too." "Dude, I have no clue what you said but you heard the man, Jeff. Start rolling. You really started something here." Together they plotted their action plan to reach Jeff's goal.
As an incentive to unlock Jeff's problem, Rip - for the sheer humour of it - had t-shirts made that read 'Just Walk' and 'Team Jeff Boyardi."
The days were hard and the nights long. They tried everything. Another one of Jeff's friends, Gus, who was a Canadian League Football placeholder reject and former professional mercenary for a private security company, tried to psychologically demoralize him with typical male talk bulked up on testosterone. He chastised the feeble Jeff at every turn. They dangled food in front of him. They had pictures of hard sexual content with his mother's face stuck on every page. Nothing worked. Jeff was as good as limp.
"You're just not a man, Jeff," Gus concluded with exasperation. "Mick is more a man than you are." They even had a doll made with an apron in the image of his father, with the aim of angering Jeff. It worked. But when he lunged at the doll with the ferociousness of a leopard, he fell straight on his face.
Weeks later, Jeff was at his mother's and happened to stumble upon her shoe collection. He was enchanted by the art of their designs. He tried a pair on and suddenly he was upright.
Later that day, Jeff was proud to boast his progress to his friends. Rip dropped his beer under a nervous giggle. An incomprehensible sensation of disbelief hit them all. They could not understand how a man could feel so comfortable in high heels. "Well," Gus proclaimed gingerly, "it's a step forward I guess."
The next day Jeff went back to work to hand in his resignation personally to Mick, who was miserable in his new position.
This wasn't about Mick though. It was about Jeff. "I hate this job. I think the corporate world is a petri dish of bacterial pussy lickers," he told Mick. Right then and there Jeff spent two hours venting six years of pent up frustration.
"Right," Mick answered not sure if what he heard was a thoughtful introspective comment or the work of a person clearly suffering from a severe inner ear imbalance.
"I'm a new man now, Mick," Jeff proclaimed. Despite the fact that he was wearing women's shoes. Mick was in a state of shock and was not quite sure how to handle this. There was no manual for such things. Head office did not train him for these types of scenarios. His bold attempt to change had evidently taken a couple of steps back. He scratched his head and said the first thing he could think of.
"Well, good luck to you on the streets, Jeff. What are you going to do?" "I dunno" Jeff replied. He looked out the window overlooking the discarded lumber from a construction yard and railroad tracks where vagabonds frequented. "The world is now mine." He said good-bye to a few people and was off.
And so it was. Jeff was walking. He felt connected to his father and empowered by his newfound confidence. His pals were so impressed by Jeff's push forward that they insisted he start on of those blogs that had become so popular. The advice was taken and he called it "Real Men Wear Aprons", in honor of his father.
He went for a walk one day and passed by a pharmacy. He was about to go in but shook his head and kept walking. Armed with a new pair of high heels Jeff saw an ad in a window which read 'Workers needed' - Taralli Construction. Confidently, he took the sign and walked in.
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