Cheers to Our Inevitable Mediocrity

Disappointment tastes like pennies. Relentless tears dribbling past those too-chapped lips, body crippling sobs you'll never admit to, while regret washes your tongue with a bitter reminder of all that you’ll never be. That, and a hint of strawberries. This I know. This I can attest to.

But love, I can’t really remember what love tastes like.

Because one day your cheeks are flushed with curiosity and opportunity hides within the spaces that echo of baby teeth, and then little Timmy McKinnon parades in in all his buck tooth snot nose glory, and little Timmy’s proclaiming words and syllables that don’t make much sense to you, and little Timmy’s stomping all over your childhood innocence with his stupid little light up shoes without even flinching.

Because someone’s older brother let it slip that oops- Santa Clause is actually one big fat lie.

And it turns out that everything you ever believed and every single person you delicately placed your trust in- they lied to you. They lied straight through their commercially bleached teeth, straight through those plastic smiles, and you’ll probably get over it by the time dinner rolls around but what you don’t know is that this is just practice

Believe me, twelve years down the line and it’s still the same shit over and over again but with different faces and prettier lies and the same maiming disappointment. Because the truth died along with your imaginary friend and afternoon games of cops and robbers.

Just next time, everyone knows that your girlfriend is riding your best friend’s dick every Thursday night.

This is all just practice.

“You got an extra somewhere?”

Swallowing my train of thought, my eyes absorb all frizzy bleached hair and cherry stained lips. Her dark leather boots clunk down the porch steps, shattering the silence every time the soles slap against the wood, capturing my absolute attention.

Her tired gaze seizes the cigarette burning between my fingers.

My eyes blink as she settles down on the porch step, a dimpled smile that’s completely stranger to me, her question still choking the nightly air. I nod my head mechanically, perching the burning smoke between my chapped lips and tossing her a pack of Belmonts.

She nods back with appreciation, the slight curve of her mouth never faltering as she settles the cigarette between those pouty lips and a flame bursts from her neon blue lighter, startling amid the darkness consuming all that I can see.

“Thanks, dude, name’s Naomi by the way,” she breathes out while returning the little dented box back to me, her words weaved into the wisps of smoke crawling out of her mouth. “Your charity is much appreciated, I’m sure Jesus would be proud.”

I scoff.

Sometimes you have to wonder what’s better, the blissful mirage of sugary lies settled on your tongue, or the bitter poison of reality tearing apart your tastebuds?

“Does that mean I’m entitled to a free miracle now?” I ask, and I can’t help the cynicism that’s seeping into my voice, the carcinogenic smoke coiling past my mouth and into the midnight breeze.

She laughs, a chipping manicured hand thrown over her mouth as she does, and she’s saying, “Yes, yes, whatever you like, your wish will be granted.” She says, “Go fucking crazy, man!”

I inhale deep, all the burning nicotine and the hum of techno beats that pound against the walls of the house behind us. The vodka simmering in my bloodstream is eating at the edges of my consciousness already.

I heard that my girlfriend had been screwing my best friend for months before I found out. Months, and everyone knew. Everyone except me, of course. It always seems to work out like that.

“That my ex-girlfriend and ex-best friend end up fucking each other to death,” I say, staring up into the unconditional black of the sky, interrupted only by the twinkle of burning spheres of gas, light years and light years away. Science tells me that they’re all burned out by now. I think I can relate.

The girl shifts her weight and the denim of her jeans brush against my knee, her aroma of cigarettes and drug store perfume assaulting my senses. “Welcome to rock bottom, my friend." A sweeping hand gesture at absolutely nothing accents her words, punctuated by the chiming of her bangles clashing against each other. “It’s basically the rest of your life, so might as well make the most of it.”

You are not going to be famous, if anything, you might just die trying. If you’re lucky.

“They never teach you this in class.”

A sensation of betrayal seeps into the marrow of my bones.

Her smile is hazy and her eyes are clouded with realities far beyond my perception, laughter mingling with the wisps of smoke issuing past her lips. An offending arm slings itself around my shoulders.

“Of course they don’t!” she says, Naomi with all her raspy giggles and invading of personal space. She’s saying, “If they taught you anything useful then it wouldn’t be called education, it’d be called reality, and we can’t have that, y’know. Or else we might upset little Ms. Female President and little Mr. Tough Future Rock n Roll Celebrity and all the other bullshit they’ve bred us to believe we’ll become. But don’t worry, everyone comes to this point, sooner or later.”

I stare at her, entirely riveted in the history veiled beneath those mascaraed lashes. Seduced by the promises of unforgiving honesty hidden within the constellation of freckles splayed across her cheeks.

“Are you part of the welcoming committee to here is your life, turns out it’s pretty shitty?”

I take another drag, filling the nicotine into my damaged lungs, watching the end ignite a smouldering orange.

Her dimpled smirk catches my eye. “Think of me like your guardian angel, but I actually don’t give a shit about you.”

“Pretty much like everyone else?”

She nods, her smile holding a cheeky bitterness that's oddly comforting. “Basically, so you might as well start giving a fuck about yourself because no one else here is going to,” she says, blowing one last puff of smoke in my face, the frail tendrils reaching to kiss the skin of my cheeks, before she murdera her cigarette in the wood next to her.

Naomi lifts to her feet, her bright blonde hair almost glowing against the dark leather of her jacket, her pale face ethereal in the dead of the night. She salutes me with a wink, she’s saying, “Thanks for the cigarette my poor bastard acquaintance.” She says, “Wish you all the best in your inevitable mediocrity.”

Then, before I can properly gather any sort of bearings, she’s vanished from my sight. Gone. Disappeared. The only echo of her presence in the ash dusting the chipping porch paint.

This is all just practice.

People lie in the same way that they breathe, natural instinct, without much thought it comes easy to us poor bastards. Because first it’s the Easter Bunny and then it’s you’re going to end up at a shitty job paying shitty bills for a shitty house that you don’t even like that much, with someone who’s just as scared of ending up alone as you are. They condition you right from the beginning.

Let us celebrate how profoundly average we are. Our entire existence can be rendered up to an enormous and overwhelming B. Meeting expectations. Good job, you’re sort of okay. Blend in with every other profoundly average existence and meld together into one big you probably could’ve ended up worse.

Might as well give a shit about yourself because it doesn’t seem like anyone else is going to. I feel the edge of my mouth quirk slightly at her words. The pressure seems to lighten on my chest. Her hazel eyes seem to have burned into the backs of my eyelids, her name echoing in the darkest recesses of my mind.

My eyes lift to the unrelenting midnight skies, constellations I've yet to learn the names of, but somehow resonate deep within my soul, they call for me. Her merciless honesty injects into my bloodstream like acid, burning away the deception choking my veins.

I flick the cigarette down onto the lawn before me, crushing it with my shoe.

I can’t really remember what love tastes like. I know that I'm not going to remember for a while. But there’s something new in my mouth and I can’t really say what it is, but it doesn’t really seem all that bad anymore.