"Okay, you're a little loaded, and you're playing Dylan, which you play about as often as you play Neil Young, so I know something's up. What's up?"
"I'm feelin' introspective, is all. A little rumination is good for the soul. And for all the shit that I've put my soul through, I need to give it a little TLC."
"You are bullshitting me. What's really going on here, dude?"
"Fuck you. And I'm only playing Dylan because Neil depresses the shit out of me, every freakin' time. Dylan is sad, but not as sad as that Canadian fucker."
"Yeah, sure, fuck me in your dreams. What's wrong with you? Do I have to beat it out of you?"
"I don't know. I looked at my hands today."
"You looked at your hands? Seriously, are you tripping? You are too old for that shit, man, so if you are, I'm going to take you to the emergency room. You could die from that shit, man."
"Well, actually, dying is part of what I been ruminatin' on for the last hour or so."
"Oh, I can see this is going to be a real thrill ride with you. Dying. Okay, what the hell, I'll bite. Dying? Thinking about dying? You are the most twisted up sonovabitch that I know. Why are you thinking about dying on this bright June day?"
"She left me today."
"Oh, shit, so that's what this is about. What happened?"
"What happened? She fuckin' left me. The details are not important, man."
"The details are always important, dude. What happened?"
"I have no clue. Well, maybe I have a clue or two. But nothing worth mentioning."
"So she splits, and now you are thinking about dying? She's not worth dying over, man. No woman is worth dying over."
"Eh, you know jack about women. Especially her. She's worth it. Except for the promise."
"I know enough about women, okay? And her, well, she's nice and all, but dying? No way. So what promise?"
"Well, I promised her once that if she ever dumped me, that I would not off myself."
"Um, okay, that's a reasonable promise to make to a woman you love. And so the issue is, what, exactly?"
"Well, this life is useless without her, so I need to die."
"I need to die, because living without her is just worthless."
"You cannot be hearing yourself right now. You are beyond crazy, man, and I say that with all the love I can muster right now."
"Well, crazy, I don't think so. Just realistic. So I need your help."
"You need help, alright. You need boatloads of help. What help did you have in mind, because my thought is help with some restraints and some meds."
"I need you to shoot me."
"Excuse me? Shoot you? You are fuckin' insane. Shoot you?"
"Yes, shoot me. A headshot. Quick. And then it's done."
"You cannot be serious."
"Yes, I am serious. The gun is right there, under the dictionary. Pick it up."
"I am not picking up any fucking gun from under any fucking dictionary."
"You have to, dude. You can try to bullshit me, but I know that you have to."
"Why do I have to? What possible reason would I have to pick up a gun from under your dictionary and shoot you with it? Name one."
"Because, old pal, I have another gun, under this bathrobe, and it's pointed right at you. It's pointed right at you because the note she left me said that she was leaving me for you. And you, dumbass that you are, came over here without checking your messages. So pick up the gun, dude."
June 6, 2009.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.