Party Gags

Noise flowed around me, a sea of bodies huddled around my limp form. I shook violently, suddenly threatened by the mass amounts of people around me. I did my best to search through my mind and piece together what happened, but I was drawing blanks. Was everything before me a dream? Frantically, I pulled my hand up to my face and carefully inspected it. Pale skin stretched over lean muscle and bone, and was relatively clear except for a few scrapes that I could assume were from my fall. Trying to push myself to my knees, I felt several pairs of hands grab at my arms and shoulders to help pull me up. My head spun around like an owl’s, desperately searching for the oil man. Despite my height, it was difficult to see through the masses of people. Several voices murmured their condolences and worries to me, though I waved them off and quickly explained that it was a normal occurrence before hurrying through the gathering of early-rising civilians and towards my home. I pushed my way down the streets, and though there was virtually no one, spare a few joggers and businessmen, claustrophobia threatened to choke me like an anaconda, slowly squeezing the life out of me.
My breath came in short gasps, and it felt like an eternity before I reached the apartment building where my small, two bedroom apartment was located. I pushed the doors open, grunting as if I was trying to move a boulder. Though it was a bit of a struggle, especially in my weak state, I was finally able to force the door open and stumble into the lobby. Though only a few children loitered in the lobby, they looked at me as if I was drunk.
“You okay, Mr…..” The man sitting at the desk asked, looking over his computer with dark, concerned eyes.
“Barker, Peter Barker,” I added, shuffling up to the desk and clinging to it like it was a life support. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just getting over the flu,” I lied, something I have had to do more often than I would like lately. “You must be new here. I heard that the old guy got fired for harassing some girl. Do you know anything about that?” I asked, figuring he wouldn’t, but to my surprise, he nodded eagerly as if excited to tell the story.
“My brother is the cop that arrested the creep. Said he walked in on the guy trying to get the girl to drop her pants or some crazy shit like that,” He explained, careful to make sure the children who were obviously listening in wouldn’t hear. “Said the guy got hell for it, too. Serves him right. Creeps like that don’t deserve to walk on these streets,” The man at the desk rambled, occasionally looking at me to make sure that I was listening, which I was, though I couldn’t help but zone out and think of the girl. I had seen her sitting in the lobby the night it happened. The desk man was nowhere in sight, though he was often seen out back doing cocaine or heroin or some other shit like that. The dude was a total mess, and it’s a surprise he didn’t get fired earlier.
Shifting my weight, I ran a hand through my hair, black tufts peeking through my fingers. My hair usually stuck up every which way, despite my attempts to brush it. My wife always yelled at me for it, saying I should get a haircut because I looked like a dirty hobo, to which I would always respond with a laugh, some stupid joke about how that’s what I basically was, and a kiss on the cheek.
“You sure you’re okay?” The man at the desk asked, which is when I realized I had zoned out in the middle of the conversation.
I forced out a laugh, explaining that it happened often. Worrying that my wife would get too pissed of if I stayed out any longer, I excused myself and shuffled towards the elevator that would take me to my fifth story apartment. Normally I would take the stairs, but in my post-psychotic state, I didn’t think that I could handle more than a few stairs at a time. After all, it was difficult enough to keep myself standing as the elevator pulled me up five stories to my floor. The doors opened, and I walked out, making my way down a few halls before I reached my apartment.
I pushed open the door, stumbling in and forcing it shut behind me. My wife, Amy, sat in the tattered old armchair in the corner of the room, a blanket covering her lap and a book in her hands. Watching her, I smiled and remembered why I married her, how I looked forward to waking up to that beautiful face every morning, and having it be the last thing I see before I went to sleep. I still do, and I think that I always will. The years have visibly aged her, and though gracefully, you could see the lines under her eyes that symbolized her countless sleepless nights and exhausting days. It was only minutes later that she looked up from her book and rested her eyes on me, her eyebrows drawing together in concern. I hated that look, the one she gave me when she knew I was having problems. I tried to keep my concerns out of her mind, knowing that it would only give her more restless nights.
“Where were you?” She asked, her anger melting away to fear when she saw the cuts and scrapes on my arms. “Was it another episode?” She asked quietly, closing her book and pushing the blanket off her legs. She got up, moving closer to further inspect the shallow cuts on my forearms. I looked down and smiled, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her closer.
“That doesn’t matter, I’m fine,” I told her, a familiar warmth spreading through me when I saw her face relax. I bent down, pressing my lips to hers briefly before stepping back. “Is Nikki in bed already?” I asked, and my wife nodded, leading me to the second bedroom. The light was off, though you could see the several stuffed animals that surrounded the small girl in bed. I walked in, sitting on the side of the bed and rested my hand on her shoulder. She stirred slightly, but remained sleeping.
“She was hoping you would be back before it was time for her to go to bed,” Amy said, almost accusingly, as I kissed Nikki’s forehead and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully so that I wouldn’t wake up.
“Amy, I passed out on the street in the middle of the street while I was walking home. There wasn’t much that I could do!” I growled, struggling to keep my temper at bay. Ever since the episodes started getting worse, my temper had as well, resulting in multiple fights with Amy, and several terrified looks from Nikki, who was too young to even understand what was going on. Guilt swarmed inside me like millions of insects crawling beneath my skin. I hated arguing with my wife, but my temper had somehow always managed to get the best of me, and always resulted in me snapping at Amy or Nikki, and then guilt forcing me out of the apartment for another night of solitude. It was a deal I had made with myself when I first fought with Amy, and how I promised myself I would never do it again. I guess that didn’t work out, though.
“At least I’m actually providing for this family, Pete! What do do? Go tell jokes at a bar for a couple of drunks? What are you doing with your life, Peter? You are destroying this family!” Amy spat, her wide eyes swallowed in anger and hatred. I recoiled, an ache in my chest swelling, my face distorted in disgust, which I would often use to mask my pain.
“I’m trying my best, Amelia! I can’t get any other job with my condition, no one will take me! You know that!” I howled, lunging in her face, my green eyes narrowed, muscles tensed as if I was about to strike her, and as much as I wanted to, I could never live with the guilt that I would feel afterwards. My chest heaving, I pulled away from her, backing towards the door.
“If you go through that door, you better not come back!”