Here is an unedited original story from the book, as promised!

    Monkey

It was just one of those nights where you don’t know where you fit. I have a lot of those.

I’m not a jock or a rocker or a brain. I’m not a PC geek or a gamer or a groupie of any kind. I’m just a guy who is quiet and laughs in a soft way. I like what I like and none of it is “over-board”. I’ve never gotten over-board crazy about anything. Not even girls… I like them well enough and some more then others, but I’m not going to spout poetry or something.

So I was at this restaurant with a bunch of guys from the school after the big game. Everyone hangs out there.

I like the games okay but I like the pizza better. I have a few friends… not too many, but they are more like people I met. I go to the pizza joint after the games and I cruise for a connection. I want to connect with someone… anyone. I want to feel like a real person instead of a voyeur existing in the shadows, watching life from afar. It is very lonely in the shadows.

I walk here and there viewing the groups. Jocks are here. Brains are in the corner, geeks are at the far right, gamers and groupies are at their own tables too. I don’t fit anywhere. I look for a place to sit and I end up at the counter again with the rebels and misfits… an outcast for all time.

I stuff down the cheesy grease-ball in front of me and I down my cola. I walk to the restroom before I leave. Another night as a no life freak, another weekend reading comic books and watching music videos. What fun!

The bathroom lights flicker as I walk past the urinals. I hear laughter and see 5 or six guys standing around. The place smells weird… sweet and smoky at the same time. I see the guys passing something. It’s a joint. It’s pot.

“Private party geek,” one big guy says. And I think he might kill me, he says it so gruff.

“You like apples?” I ask and he nods, “Well I ain’t leavin’. How do you like them apples?” I don’t know what I am saying and perhaps it is the weed smell talking for me but I am glad I have stood up for myself. I am scared too. This guy is 800 pounds of muscle and he could crush me in one swipe.

He looks at me weird and just busts a gut. He starts laughing really hard and the other guys do too. I really hope that is a good laugh of acceptance and not the sort of laugh that is used directly before a homicide is committed.

It must be good because they pass me the joint and without even thinking I am taking a puff. I gag as my throat catches fire. I wheeze as my lungs get full. I belch as my pizza tries to exit and I feel the room start to sway.

I have done it. I am connected. I am part of everything. I can feel a lady breathing a half a mile away. I can feel crickets jumping somewhere in a forest in Asia. And suddenly I am laughing as I watch it passed back and forth between us. It is too funny how easy it was. It is too funny how I missed something so simple. Simple things are always wasted on me.

Me and Barry and the guys we meet here every week for a month. I get high. I have friends. People like me… well Barry does. I finally have a friend.

Everything is wicked cool. My life totally rocks. As long as you don’t count my dropping grades and Mary refusing to talk to me. I don’t get girls. Either they like you or they don’t. They shouldn’t pretend to like you and then dump you if they think you have one habit they don’t like.

So we are having a real party and I am smoking away the memory of Beth or Mary or whatever her name was. We are laughing and I am so excited to be here with these guys, with MY friends… real friends… my real connected friends.

Someone walks in and I want to yell private party. Instead it comes out “Apple monkey” and all the guys laugh but they are not laughing for long. Luigi is standing in the door. He owns Prime Pizza and behind him is a cop.

How could he? I feel betrayed. We keep him in business. Our money keeps him open. How could he call a nasty, uptight pig?

Barry drops the joint and we all stand like giggling ice-burgs. The cop is followed by other uniformed zombies and we are led out one by one. I am scared and I guess Barry is too. His pants are stained with urine suddenly.

I am sitting in the cell now. I am offered my phone call again. I refuse again. I can call my dad but he will literally beat the pus out of me. That’s why they divorced. I don’t think I want to end up bloody.

I should call my mom. She is so sweet and loving… as gentle as a lamb. If I call her she will cry. If I call her I will see that look in her eyes, that look of disappointment. I could never bare to break her heart that way. Who can I call? There is no one. No one will understand this monkey on my back. Well who would you call? No. I don’t know either.