Invisible Strings (1/3)

Three years ago I said goodbye to everything. It wasn't all that hard at the time. I didn't decide to say goodbye. I didn't particularly want to say goodbye. It was just time to say goodbye. I knew it was time. Life was leaving me signs left and right and I could have realized sooner but perhaps the ease of making the decision when I finally realized it was time undermines just how difficult and long a process it actually was. In any case, I remember the exact moment I made the decision.

My phone broke.

I was sitting in a cafe with a friend after work. The cafe was tucked inside of an informal housing area in what seemed to be a converted old storage room. The floor was slightly below ground level and from the street and all you could see was a blue neon light peaking out from between the trees that lined the road. Despite the neon, the place seemed dimly lit. It was huge and would have made for a good bomb shelter had it been a little deeper in the ground.

Each table was it's own island, far enough from everything that the jazzy hip hop could drown out all other conversations even at such a low volume. I usually preferred tiny places where a conversation could spark at any time, but I liked the food here and every once in a while it was nice to stray from my home turf in the village.

It amazes some people when you take them to this kind of place. The idea that someone would open up shop so far from traffic lights and shopping districts, in an area where there's almost zero chance of a walk-in simply baffles them. Not enough people realize that if you can build a thriving community, anything is possible, especially when the rent is cheap. On the main streets, it's hard enough to find a decent place with its own style, let alone one that isn't overcrowded or overpriced.

My friend was not easily surprised by the secret spots of the city. We had met in a similarly placed restaurant 2 years earlier and were finally getting to know each other. We might had gotten to know each other a little more during those two years but when he was not at work he was usually preoccupied with something related to work. A mutual friend had insisted that we had a lot in common and that we would get along, though at the time I couldn't imagine we would have anything to talk about, nice as he was.

He worked for a producer of steel manhole covers, the kind that those turtle superheroes used to sneak in and out of. I had always wanted to know how anyone ends up working at such a company but I knew I'd be disappointed by the answer to this kind of question.

Tonight was his night. For years he had tried to save enough money to feel comfortable leaving his job and explore other possibilities. Eventually he realized that even with his comfortable salary, it was nearly impossible to save a substantial amount of money without becoming even more committed to his current lifestyle. In the end he decided to move back into his parents house when he quit his job. This way he could triple the mileage of his savings. He estimated that if he really wanted to pinch pennies he could live over two years with the savings but if he indulged in any common luxuries, he probably only had less than a year. This was his first night out after his early retirement party the prior weekend. As an inconsequential act of protest against his former self he made sure it was a Tuesday.

He still seemed to have a hard time getting off the topic of work.

"I can tell you which company made a manhole cover from 30 meters away. Isn't that ridiculous?"

It was ridiculous. There was a collection of old rotting technology, art, being displayed near the window. It was also ridiculous. My attention strayed there during pauses in our conversation.

"That's kind of cool.....and kind of really not" I said, imagining a life devoted to manholes.

I had no problem with the work itself. It just seemed absurd that companies were engaging in intensive economic competition over government contracts for manholes. Every year countless meetings about investors, quarterly reports, strategic advancements....of manholes. I thought it might be pretty cool to be "the manhole guy", but there was no manhole guy, just a big company that specialized in whatever unglamourous thing that could constitute an untapped market or a profitable acquisition.

"I've had dreams about manholes you know. Dreams. Plural." I had dreams about taking over for disillusioned superheroes and getting my ass kicked by super villains I was not prepared to fight against. I thought it might be a bit of a stray from the current conversation to bring these up. The guy obviously had some stuff he needed to get off his chest and I saw no reason not to let him.

"My work hasn't invaded my dreams yet, I guess when it does that's when it's time to quit. Right?" He put his head back and closed his eyes. I hadn't realized the tears he was holding back.

"Yeah man......I have no idea what to do next. It doesn't matter. I could care less. But I'm not going to make any big plans until I can stop making mental notes on every manhole that I see. I think I want to live overseas for a while.....somewhere without plumbing."

We both smiled. It suddenly dawned on me why I was invited to celebrate his resignation with him. 60+ hours a week, it was no wonder he hadn't gotten over his ex girlfriend after 5 years, he never had the time to. He obviously hadn't had the time to make friends either. He most certainly had some work buddies that he would drink with and complain with, then there were the high school friends with which he could barely relate. But after our mutual friend, who was busy that night, I was his next choice.

The saddest thing was that his lack of friends was in no way due to his personality. Sitting there with him that night I could begin to feel who he really was. Sensitive but far from weak, ashamed about how little he knew of the world and eager to know more, longing to express himself, not for attention but because he felt that it was what he was born to do. We tapped glasses. He took a large gulp of white Belgian beer and closed his eyes again. A huge smile came across his face as he opened his eyes.

"This is the most delicious beer I've ever had in my life." It was damn good but I knew it could have been watered down piss and he would have felt the same.

Check out Confessions of the Damaged to read the rest of this story.

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