Worshipful Masturbator
Tre
I woke up the next day with an epiphany. Epiphany is probably too extreme of a word, however. It was more of a realization. I got out of bed, put on a clean set of clothes, and bicycled into town. It was very warm outside and I was sweaty by the time I got to the bookstore. I would hope that the old man would not care about such things, and would instead focus on my effort of bicycling all the way there. That would be no feat at all in Sweden, but he probably did not know that.
A bell rang when I opened the door. Fortunately, the old man was behind the counter when I went inside.
"Hello again," he said.
I forced a smile and walked toward him.
"Hello, sir," I replied.
I stood behind the counter, feeling a bit strange. I had never done something like this. It was very foreign to me. I did not know the right words.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked me.
I made the words up.
"If I can tell you the truth, I would like to work here. I really need a job, or else I will kill myself or be homeless," I answered.
He laughed a little at me. It was good, because I knew he didn't think I was really crazy. Although, maybe I was.
"I've never had anyone work for me. I do everything myself."
I felt a bit defeated, but I did not give up. Because I was in Texas, and nothing matters when you are a Swede in Texas.
"There is nothing I could help with? I will work for any wages, I do not care. My brother will kick me out if I do not get a job," I told him.
"There are plenty of other places that are hiring, I'm sure. I'm sorry, I can't be of help," he said.
"But I only want to work here. This is the only place that I have liked since I came to this country. I feel like I'm home in this place."
I did not mind if he didn't give me the job. I at least wanted him to know that.
"I even bicycled all the way here," I said.
He laughed again. There was a reddish glow in his cheeks. He was like Santa Claus.
"Don't y'all do that all the time in Sweden?" he said.
"Maybe the other Swedes do, but I don't," I replied, with a real smile.
He didn't say anything for a moment and just looked at me.
"Alright. You'll have to tie your hair back, though, or you'll scare people off," he said.
I did not understand what he meant by this.
"What?"
"If you're going to work here, you'll have to either cut your hair or put it back. Not everybody likes long-haired men selling them books," he said.
I did not understand why they would care about this, but it didn't matter because I realized he was hiring me. I smiled again.
"Thank you so much. This means so much to me."
--
I found out that the man's name was Robert. That day, my first day, he let me wear my hair down because I did not have anything to pull it back with, and he showed me how to do the things I would have to do every day. He took me to the back of the store, behind a wooden door, where he kept the book donations that he would sort through and place on the shelves. He showed me how to do this and explained to me where the different kinds of books went. It was actually quite entertaining for me, because I like organizing things.
Most of the books we sorted through were quite boring and useless. There were a lot of strange books from the 1970's and 1980's that were absolute garbage. Many of them were scifi, or romance, or something like this, but we put them on the shelves anyway because Robert said that some people liked reading shitty things. I found out that he was quite a funny man. He was at least very frank and honest.
On my way home, I went to the one-dollar store to buy pony tail things with the rest of the money that Rig had given me. I did not feel excited to tell Rig about my job, although I probably should have. It's just very embarrassing to admit when you have done something right when people are used to you doing things wrong. It's hard to understand why. Perhaps it's because you're not used to positive attention, and they usually give you a lot of praise for these things as some sort of reinforcement, and you just end up feeling embarrassed. But it could also be that I prefer for people to be angry at me. I feel that I am more deserving of anger than praise, so it is much more comfortable for me. There is no reason for me to feel this way, but I do.
I made it home just as the magenta of the sky faded to the purple of the Texan night. Rig was already home. When I got inside, I did not see him anywhere, however. I got a glass of apple juice and went to his room, looking for him. I did not knock, because in my family we do not usually knock, and I just opened his door. It was strange what I saw, because all that my mind could process at first was a rigorous flashing of glowing skin. So I stood there for perhaps half a minute before I understood that I was watching my brother fuck a girl.
My stomach turned and I backed away from the door, shutting it gently. For some reason, I can't really understand it, there was a deep flame of humiliation which grew inside of me then. It went up from the pit of my stomach to my throat, and I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I had gone so pale that I looked nearly green with death. I wanted to throw up, and I was sweating. It was not simply a stupid embarrassment of seeing two people naked, or something like that. It was that I thought he would be proud of me and I thought that he would care that I had a job when he was really just concerned about getting laid. And then it was the feeling of absolute envy, because girls did not want to have sex with me. And then it was the dark sheet of loneliness which fell over my head after that, which was so familiar that it strangely felt like a friend until it began to get tighter around my neck until I could not breathe.
--
That night I pretended to sleep when the girl finally left and Rig came to my room. He did not realize that I was pretending, and I suppose that he went to sleep. I never threw up that night, but I could not get much sleep because of the thoughts. I talked to my friend Peter in Sweden on the phone at 3 in the morning, and he told me a lot about what was going on there. I did not care anymore, though. All I could think of was how everything went on the same without me, and how all of my friends did not care that I was not there.
It made me feel like nothing, but I feel stupid when I think things like this. It makes me feel very narcissistic because things should go on just as they were without me. I should not think that I'm so important that everything would go to shit without me. And I do not think that, but it still bothered me to think that my friends did not seem to notice my absence.
When I woke up the next morning at 7, I felt like dying over telling Rig about my job. I did not want to talk about what I had seen the night before, and I did not want to avoid the subject either. Both scenarios would be embarrassing. It was even stranger because I wasn't sure if either of them had even cared that I'd seen them, since neither of them had reacted. It seemed very obvious, but I began to question whether they had even seen me there at all.
I got up anyway, since my shift started at 9, and I put my clothes on. I listened to some music while I got ready and tried not to think of my old life anymore, including Rig. I wanted to be separate from everything I used to be, suddenly. I felt that it wasn’t worth it to hold onto something which only made me feel like nothing. I looked in the small mirror I had brought from Sweden and brushed through my hair.
It had been long ever since I was a little boy. My mom never made me cut it, and I was glad. My hair was one of the only things I really felt proud of. I knew that many other people did not liked it, but I really did. I had only worn my hair back a couple of times, and I did not like the way that I looked because it showed too much of my face. However, I liked my new job enough to not care so much.
I brushed it back so that it had no part, and wrapped the ponytail holder around. I did not really like the way that it looked, because it was very close to my neck and made me look sort of creepy. I took it out and tried to put it up higher, but this only made me look like a girl. I took it out once again and parted it down the middle this time, and just put it back to how I had it at first. I really felt embarrassed to even let Rig see me.
He was eating eggs and bacon when I went out to the living room to see him. We usually ate potatoes with this in Sweden, but I don’t think they do that so much in America. Anyway, he smiled at me when he saw me, but he did not laugh. I didn't know if it was because of the sex, or because of my hair. Either way, I ignored him and got myself some water and some of his leftovers.
"Why have you got your hair like this?"
I sat down next to him, and looked at him in my attempt of confidence.
"My boss prefers me to wear it tied back," I told him.
Rig had cut his hair as soon as he started school and saw that the other little boys usually had shorter hair. It probably was more common in Sweden for boys to have long hair than in America, but even so, it was not too common. I did not care about the other boys, however, and I think this is why Rig and I are so different.
"Your boss?" he said, and his smile became a little more fake.
"Yes, Robert. I got a job at the bookstore," I answered.
His smile became more painful. It was annoying, as I'd expected, but not as bad as confronting the sex.
"That is great, Abbe. I am so… that is so great, I am so glad," he said.
I am sure there was a bit of relief in his voice, but I had a sense that maybe Rig wanted me to fail a bit in life. This was a new sense, that I had not noticed before. I suppose it was because I normally did not succeed, and so he usually did not have anything to worry about. But now I realized that he needed me to be a failure so that he could contrast. He did not understand how truly different we were, because I did and I knew that we were incomparable.
"Yes. My shift starts at 9."
"Okay, I will give you a ride then."
This irritated me even more. It was like some sort of reward for getting a job. Like he was my superior, who could provide me with convenience whenever he decided I "deserved" it.
"No, that's alright. I like riding the bicycle."
A bell rang when I opened the door. Fortunately, the old man was behind the counter when I went inside.
"Hello again," he said.
I forced a smile and walked toward him.
"Hello, sir," I replied.
I stood behind the counter, feeling a bit strange. I had never done something like this. It was very foreign to me. I did not know the right words.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked me.
I made the words up.
"If I can tell you the truth, I would like to work here. I really need a job, or else I will kill myself or be homeless," I answered.
He laughed a little at me. It was good, because I knew he didn't think I was really crazy. Although, maybe I was.
"I've never had anyone work for me. I do everything myself."
I felt a bit defeated, but I did not give up. Because I was in Texas, and nothing matters when you are a Swede in Texas.
"There is nothing I could help with? I will work for any wages, I do not care. My brother will kick me out if I do not get a job," I told him.
"There are plenty of other places that are hiring, I'm sure. I'm sorry, I can't be of help," he said.
"But I only want to work here. This is the only place that I have liked since I came to this country. I feel like I'm home in this place."
I did not mind if he didn't give me the job. I at least wanted him to know that.
"I even bicycled all the way here," I said.
He laughed again. There was a reddish glow in his cheeks. He was like Santa Claus.
"Don't y'all do that all the time in Sweden?" he said.
"Maybe the other Swedes do, but I don't," I replied, with a real smile.
He didn't say anything for a moment and just looked at me.
"Alright. You'll have to tie your hair back, though, or you'll scare people off," he said.
I did not understand what he meant by this.
"What?"
"If you're going to work here, you'll have to either cut your hair or put it back. Not everybody likes long-haired men selling them books," he said.
I did not understand why they would care about this, but it didn't matter because I realized he was hiring me. I smiled again.
"Thank you so much. This means so much to me."
--
I found out that the man's name was Robert. That day, my first day, he let me wear my hair down because I did not have anything to pull it back with, and he showed me how to do the things I would have to do every day. He took me to the back of the store, behind a wooden door, where he kept the book donations that he would sort through and place on the shelves. He showed me how to do this and explained to me where the different kinds of books went. It was actually quite entertaining for me, because I like organizing things.
Most of the books we sorted through were quite boring and useless. There were a lot of strange books from the 1970's and 1980's that were absolute garbage. Many of them were scifi, or romance, or something like this, but we put them on the shelves anyway because Robert said that some people liked reading shitty things. I found out that he was quite a funny man. He was at least very frank and honest.
On my way home, I went to the one-dollar store to buy pony tail things with the rest of the money that Rig had given me. I did not feel excited to tell Rig about my job, although I probably should have. It's just very embarrassing to admit when you have done something right when people are used to you doing things wrong. It's hard to understand why. Perhaps it's because you're not used to positive attention, and they usually give you a lot of praise for these things as some sort of reinforcement, and you just end up feeling embarrassed. But it could also be that I prefer for people to be angry at me. I feel that I am more deserving of anger than praise, so it is much more comfortable for me. There is no reason for me to feel this way, but I do.
I made it home just as the magenta of the sky faded to the purple of the Texan night. Rig was already home. When I got inside, I did not see him anywhere, however. I got a glass of apple juice and went to his room, looking for him. I did not knock, because in my family we do not usually knock, and I just opened his door. It was strange what I saw, because all that my mind could process at first was a rigorous flashing of glowing skin. So I stood there for perhaps half a minute before I understood that I was watching my brother fuck a girl.
My stomach turned and I backed away from the door, shutting it gently. For some reason, I can't really understand it, there was a deep flame of humiliation which grew inside of me then. It went up from the pit of my stomach to my throat, and I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I had gone so pale that I looked nearly green with death. I wanted to throw up, and I was sweating. It was not simply a stupid embarrassment of seeing two people naked, or something like that. It was that I thought he would be proud of me and I thought that he would care that I had a job when he was really just concerned about getting laid. And then it was the feeling of absolute envy, because girls did not want to have sex with me. And then it was the dark sheet of loneliness which fell over my head after that, which was so familiar that it strangely felt like a friend until it began to get tighter around my neck until I could not breathe.
--
That night I pretended to sleep when the girl finally left and Rig came to my room. He did not realize that I was pretending, and I suppose that he went to sleep. I never threw up that night, but I could not get much sleep because of the thoughts. I talked to my friend Peter in Sweden on the phone at 3 in the morning, and he told me a lot about what was going on there. I did not care anymore, though. All I could think of was how everything went on the same without me, and how all of my friends did not care that I was not there.
It made me feel like nothing, but I feel stupid when I think things like this. It makes me feel very narcissistic because things should go on just as they were without me. I should not think that I'm so important that everything would go to shit without me. And I do not think that, but it still bothered me to think that my friends did not seem to notice my absence.
When I woke up the next morning at 7, I felt like dying over telling Rig about my job. I did not want to talk about what I had seen the night before, and I did not want to avoid the subject either. Both scenarios would be embarrassing. It was even stranger because I wasn't sure if either of them had even cared that I'd seen them, since neither of them had reacted. It seemed very obvious, but I began to question whether they had even seen me there at all.
I got up anyway, since my shift started at 9, and I put my clothes on. I listened to some music while I got ready and tried not to think of my old life anymore, including Rig. I wanted to be separate from everything I used to be, suddenly. I felt that it wasn’t worth it to hold onto something which only made me feel like nothing. I looked in the small mirror I had brought from Sweden and brushed through my hair.
It had been long ever since I was a little boy. My mom never made me cut it, and I was glad. My hair was one of the only things I really felt proud of. I knew that many other people did not liked it, but I really did. I had only worn my hair back a couple of times, and I did not like the way that I looked because it showed too much of my face. However, I liked my new job enough to not care so much.
I brushed it back so that it had no part, and wrapped the ponytail holder around. I did not really like the way that it looked, because it was very close to my neck and made me look sort of creepy. I took it out and tried to put it up higher, but this only made me look like a girl. I took it out once again and parted it down the middle this time, and just put it back to how I had it at first. I really felt embarrassed to even let Rig see me.
He was eating eggs and bacon when I went out to the living room to see him. We usually ate potatoes with this in Sweden, but I don’t think they do that so much in America. Anyway, he smiled at me when he saw me, but he did not laugh. I didn't know if it was because of the sex, or because of my hair. Either way, I ignored him and got myself some water and some of his leftovers.
"Why have you got your hair like this?"
I sat down next to him, and looked at him in my attempt of confidence.
"My boss prefers me to wear it tied back," I told him.
Rig had cut his hair as soon as he started school and saw that the other little boys usually had shorter hair. It probably was more common in Sweden for boys to have long hair than in America, but even so, it was not too common. I did not care about the other boys, however, and I think this is why Rig and I are so different.
"Your boss?" he said, and his smile became a little more fake.
"Yes, Robert. I got a job at the bookstore," I answered.
His smile became more painful. It was annoying, as I'd expected, but not as bad as confronting the sex.
"That is great, Abbe. I am so… that is so great, I am so glad," he said.
I am sure there was a bit of relief in his voice, but I had a sense that maybe Rig wanted me to fail a bit in life. This was a new sense, that I had not noticed before. I suppose it was because I normally did not succeed, and so he usually did not have anything to worry about. But now I realized that he needed me to be a failure so that he could contrast. He did not understand how truly different we were, because I did and I knew that we were incomparable.
"Yes. My shift starts at 9."
"Okay, I will give you a ride then."
This irritated me even more. It was like some sort of reward for getting a job. Like he was my superior, who could provide me with convenience whenever he decided I "deserved" it.
"No, that's alright. I like riding the bicycle."