"The Good In People" - rewrite of Comfortable Silence

Alex received the call two years after the relationship ended and two months after he felt as though he was over it. The call came on Halloween. He let his cell phone ring until voicemail as he stared in disbelief at the caller ID. He was rocking back and forth, bouncing off of people in the tiny living room adorned with black and orange paper decorations. His costumed friends were all dancing; shoulder to shoulder, back to back. Alex was surrounded with ghouls and goblins, and he was dressed as Clark Kent, as a man with a secret.

There was no clear end to Alex and John’s friendship in Alex’s mind. They had built their bridge in a couple of years and burnt it down in a couple of months. Lost in thought, Alex pushed through the crowd of people. He found his way to the bathroom and took a deep breath, exhaling the heat of the party. He took out his phone. It read ‘one new message,’ one more trial to face.

Anytime Alex heard about or from John, he froze. He became less able to talk, less able to comprehend. He called his messages after enough breath was circulated. He braced himself for John’s voice, braced for something he had not heard in years. He shut his eyes tight and tried to force out the tears before they formed. He removed his Clark Kent glasses, but did not transform; he was not Superman.

Alex heard the message start. A static sea was on the other end of his phone. He was a man pressing a shell against his ear, hearing only a dial tone. Alex heard a deep breath, a crashing wave, and then silence.

“To save this message, press nine.” Alex pressed seven, and ended the call to his voicemail. With his glasses back on and another deep breath, he was launched back into the group of people like a pinball, bouncing off the bumpers without a willful decision of where he was going. He asked a few people where Sam was. They directed him upstairs like flippers shooting him up a ramp.

Alex felt confused, angry, frustrated, hopeful, and disappointed; but mostly sad. Alex found Sam sitting on the top stair. She was fingering a small piece of paper and tiny green leaves. She was dressed as a genie, wearing a shiny green tube top and matching costume skirt. Maybe she’ll grant my wishes. She looked up at him.

“Want some?” She licked the paper and completed a small tube like a crude piece of origami.

“Guess who just called,” he said. She examined her joint for mistakes and pulled a few lose flakes out of the tube. She curled one end into a fuse.

“Did you answer?”

Alex shook his head. “No, and no message.”

Sam looked at him un-phased, like this was old news. “He’s showing up.”

“What?!” He tried not to alarm the rest of the party.

“He’s showing up, pay attention.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Please,” she said, “spare me your broken heart. We all know how you get when we even think about him.” Alex knew that he was a topic of conversation, but was not aware that Sam was elected as their voice. “We miss him, haven’t seen him for a while. He said he wants to see you.”

“He said he what?” Alex focused on the wood-grain pattern imbedded in the stairs. He barely heard Sam sigh.

“Well… do you want some?” She lit the fuse with a lighter. Alex guessed that she bought it that night to match her outfit. The smoke billowed around her and only added to the effect of her costume.

“I think I’m gonna go.”

“No, you’re just gonna mill around and try pretend like nothing’s wrong. Right?”

Alex leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, a mother reassuring her child. Everything is going to be alright. It should have been the other way around.

Downstairs, the lamps flickered as he past them, some of them turning off entirely, a strobe light effect that made him dizzy. He thought about what he would say once John showed up.

In August, Alex finally gave up on him. He realized that the continuation of his longing and waiting for a phone call would ultimately be fruitless. He stopped sitting by the phone and pressing the call button just before hanging up. He stopped drinking, mostly because of financial reasons. He forced himself to appear happier. He forced a smile and associated with his old friends. He would not let his unhappiness ruin other people’s moods. He noticed that when he stopped complaining about it, people suddenly had time to stick around, meetings disappeared.

He also stopped worrying about what he did wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. He would affirm himself. Things just happened. Things are how they should be. I am a better person because of it. Sometimes he even believed himself.

The last time Alex had seen or heard from John was Halloween two years prior. They had dressed as Shaggy and Fred from Scooby Doo: Alex did not need to wear a wig for Shaggy, and John did not need to shop for an outfit. He imagined them as a plant splitting at the roots, each longing for a different direction but unable to separate.

That night, John said goodbye for the first time Alex could recall: not ‘see you later,’ not ‘take care,’ and not ‘have fun.’ Alex pained himself over the small farewell.

Alex remembered a time when he and Jhon had been sitting for hours sipping coffee and waxing intellect. They were discussing the comic book movies that were transformed into movies. John appeared thrilled when his childhood of still pictures began to move in front of him.

“But the problem with the movies,” Alex said, “Is that they make it completely into a good versus evil story.”

“It is a good versus evil story.”

“No, it’s not. It’s a story about two people and their opposing views. It’s about the good in all people, and it’s about the struggle of people, not some abstract good or evil.”

“But villains are evil.” John said.

“I don’t like the idea of villains,” Alex said.

“But then who do the heroes fight?”

“Anti-heroes.”

“Anti-what nows?” John looked confused, an arched eyebrow defining the wrinkles that had formed. Alex confused John often.

“Anti-heroes. They’re kind of like villains, but with a utilitarian outlook on life.”

“How so?” John said. Alex thought about this, stirring his coffee with a butter knife. He took a sip of it, burning his throat as he felt the steam rise in his chest.

“Well, think of it like this. Villains are evil guys, who do evil things, right?” John nodded in agreement. “Well an anti-hero is a person who saves humanity by killing people.”

“How is killing people saving them?”

“Hmm… well, the anti-hero may see something that he doesn’t like about society.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, health care or something.” Alex knew how a little joke could go a long way. They both paused, silently laughing inside. Alex considered this the best kind of laughter, that which only a select few can see. “But anyway, so the anti-hero is mad about health care, and so he decides that the solution is to steal money and kill people and stuff. He is solving the issue, and it’s for his twisted greater good.”

“I really hope you’re joking,” John said. He looked at the strange elbowed patterns in the standard Denny’s laminated table.

“I don’t have hope,” Alex said.

“In what?”

“In general.” He motioned to the waitress for a coffee refill.

“In what in general?”

“I don’t believe in hope.”

“What do you believe in?” John cupped his hands over his mouth, holding on tightly to any emotion. Alex rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“The good in people,” Alex said. Comfortable silence; the first of many. They looked at each other, silent and happy. Neither of them moved or blinked.

“Ahh.” John had proved a point that which Alex was still grabbing strings. “So you believe in something.”

“But I don’t hope for the good in people.”

“But you believe in it.” John removed his hands from his mouth; a sign of triumph Alex would recognize well and, in time, adore. Alex smiled.

“Belief is different than hope. That’s why they’re different words.” Alex raised his glass and silently said, ‘cheers.’

“Is one needed for the other?”

“What’s your point.” It was a statement. Alex felt close to finding it. He needed it said.

“You have to hope to believe in goodness.”

“Define goodness.”

“You said it first, not me,” John said. He re-cupped his mouth.

“It’s subjective.”

“Then pick an objective word.”

“No,” Alex said. John uncovered his mouth. Alex could tell that John had won whatever tournament they were competing for.

“So you do hope.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you do.”

“Not by any fault of my own.”

“But you do.” John pressed onward, determined to conjure the words. He as the puppet master, Alex was the puppet.

“You use rhetoric better than anyone else I’ve met.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Alex said. He was proven wrong, and although he enjoyed the disagreement, he was upset that he tripped over his words like a three-legged horse in a steeple chase.

“I’m taking it as one.”

“You’re my anti-hero.”

“Or are you mine?”

Alex collapsed on Sam’s bed. He stared at the off-white ceiling tiles and briefly considered fixing them. Tears invaded his eyes, a few escaped. His thoughts raced at light speed, but the bed was a black hole. He was drawn into it; timeless, unable to move.

He suddenly felt sober, and saw this as a problem. In the kitchen, he grabbed three jell-o shots and a beer, and continued through the party, empty hellos and shallow waves all around.

Alex saw a couple of hushed whispers, people covering their mouths and hiding the opinions they freely gave to all who did not apply. He thought it stilly, how their mouths were covered. He couldn’t even read lips, why would he care what they were talking about. But then Alex saw that the sideways glances that accompanied the whispers were directed towards him. John was there. He could feel it.

How suiting to see Superman strut through the door, confident about nothing in particular. The form fitting outfit complimented him well, Alex thought. Clark Kent might finally meet Superman. Alex thought about how clever that was, probably finding out that he was going as the alter ego from Sam. Alex realized that he was staring when John looked directly at him. He broke the eye contact and went back to the kitchen. Earlier, he tried to pace himself and not drink as much as he did in the past. This was no concern of his now. Every person he saw took a shot with him. They smiled and cheered, a different toast for every shot.

Sam appeared from the hallway and caught Alex’s attention. He walked over to her, beginning to feel buzzed from the alcohol. Sam looked at him like a disappointed mother. He half expected her to say, “I’m not angry… just disappointed,” the most painful words for a child to hear.

“I thought you stopped drinking,” Sam said.

“I did.” He swallowed the shot he had in his hand.

“Under normal circumstances, you know I’d be pissed at you.”

“Under normal circumstances, I am pissed at you.”

“Understandable,” she said. “He wants to go get coffee, but doesn’t want to cause a scene.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I want to go get coffee with Superman. He might overshadow my costume.” He focused all his energy into enunciating his words.

“You’re going to go, and you’re gonna get this over with once and for all. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

“No.”

“If you don’t, I’ll never talk to you again, and I’ll start hanging out with John every night to dissuade you from talking to me.”

Alex said nothing.

“He’s by his car. Just do it.”

“Fine. We’re even, then.”

“No.”

“Fine.” Alex gave a slight bow and a kiss on the cheek to signal his departure.

Outside, he looked at the cars for John’s silver neon. It was a losing game Alex played often, but this time the odds were in his favor. Alex became very emotionally involved throughout the relationship. They embraced often, and they embraced well. Alex would become intimately interlocked with John, each of them fitting together like pieces in a puzzle. They complimented each other and became one in the hug. I don’t want to touch him, Alex thought.

Each step he took was forced and purposeful. He tried to clear his mind of thoughts other than walking. The street was illuminated by neon signs and a full moon. Alex tried to inhale deeply without showing John hesitation or weakness. After the initial sighting, Alex kept his eyes focused on the ground. He counted his steps and only allowed his foot to land on the white paint that protected him from cars.

“Hey,” John said, “I’m starving. Screw coffee, let’s go to Denny’s?”

“Sure.” Alex ruined his own plan. He now had no escape; the restaurant was half an hour way, driving time. John opened the passenger door of a strange car; not the silver neon, and not a car he would ever pick out for John.

The two drove in a giant’s car. Alex missed the intimacy of the Neon, and wondered why John had made the switch from a car to a barge. Alex opened the window and imagined jumping out on the highway. He would tumble like a gymnast and become as bruised as a boxer. He wondered if John would turn around.

John talked about his job for the thirty minute ride. He had become a store manager of Macy’s and had saved up enough for the SUV he drove. Alex tried to tune him out and continued to stare out the window. He wondered when they would talk about the elephant in the back seat riding with them. After a dozen asinine stories of uninteresting workplace occurrences, they arrived at the restaurant. Alex walked across the parking lot, hands buried in pockets and head hung low. He felt like a man walking death row.

Alex had dreaded this encounter, but after an hour of small talk, everything seemed “normal.” They were catching up; it reminded Alex of his high school reunion. Who saw who, who’s married, who’s working where. Alex was relaying a series of stories about his and Sam’s nightly bar-crawling.

“We fashioned ourselves as pirates,” Alex chuckled.

“Why were you drinking so much?” Alex waited a second to answer the question. He chose his words carefully.

“Are you kidding?” Alex said. “You.” John looked at Alex. They were fastened to each other with an invisible beam of light that neither could look away from. A scoff escaped Alex’s lips. “You ruined everything we had.” John did not respond, did not move. He cupped his hands over his mouth, and Alex could tell he was holding back tears. He never saw John cry, and thought how suiting it would be for Superman to be crying in Denny’s. Nobody would see it coming.

“What do you want me to say?” John said.

“What can you say?”

“I would apologize, but I don’t think you would believe me… or forgive me.”

“Do you think I should?” Alex used every ounce of strength in himself to remain calm.

“I’d like you to.”

“But is it warranted?”

“I’ve given you no reason to trust me anymore.”

“So imagine that you’re me. Would you forgive yourself?” Alex said. What followed was a silence, bulky and awkward. Alex debated calling a friend for a ride home, and thought he saw John reaching for his keys. They looked around the room and avoided eye contact. Alex opened his phone beneath the table and began to text Sam. She was probably still at the party, stoned and dancing, but mostly happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he was actually happy.

“No,” John said, “I probably wouldn’t.”

“Do you think I should?”

“I thought you might.

“And why is that?”

“Because you believe in the good in people.” John squirmed around in his seat. Alex rubbed his chin on his shoulder. He traced his eyebrow, following the skin after and touching the top of his ear. How long ago had he said that? He took off his glasses. He was even thinking about that conversation earlier. He wondered if he was naïve in thinking that, in saying that. He looked directly at John’s eyes for the first time all night. They were glazed.

“You proved me wrong.” Alex said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I understand.”