Everything [jake]

Don awoke. He had taught himself to believe that this was something to celebrate. He took intentional joy in every morning because, as he said, “Each day provides me with ample opportunity to discover unique significance.” Literally, every morning he would say that. Every morning.

Don deliberately inhaled. Oxygen entered his lungs through his trachea.

Don purposefully arose. He stretched his arms so that he could feel each vertebra in his back pop with extreme satisfaction.

Don exhaled consciously and contently. Said oxygen molecules had transferred by an involuntary bodily process into his blood stream and the air that expelled from his grinning mouth was now filled with molecules of carbon dioxide.

Don walked to his bedroom door. He opened his door. Don walked through the door and down the carpeted hallway and into the linoleum-tiled kitchen. He deliberated and planned what he would consume for breakfast. Don clung tightly to the principles of the food pyramid, paying daily, intimate attention to his healthy and well-balanced intake of food groups. If he had eggs with his breakfast, he had to be wary of the amount of meat on his sandwich for lunch. Perhaps he would skip the sandwich and have meatloaf for dinner, conscious of each gram of protein.

Don did a lot of things.
Don did everything.
Everything Don did needed to be significant.
Don needed to find something significant to do.
Don didn’t feel worth without this.
Don didn’t feel worth without this.
Don didn’t feel worth…

The door from Don’s kitchen and into his garage opened and closed. His garage door opened slowly. His car door opened and then closed. His garage door closed slowly.

Hours later, Don’s garage door opened again. Slowly. The car door opened and closed. The garage door closed again. Slowly.

And into infinity: etcetera-forever, amen.

∞

The next day, the symphony of the various doors in Don’s existence played the same overt opus of opening and closing as they did every day. This consistent and comfortable song rang sweetly in his ears. Doors opening and closing, opening and closing by the hands of the contented conductor. The familiar melody resonated in Don’s heart and made him feel warm throughout. It always played the same. It was never out of tune.

It concluded solemnly with Don’s garage door closing again. Slowly.

∞

Don arrived at work. On time. As usual. He always parked in parking place 213, which was not, in fact, reserved for him—he had not yet reached a position which provided such a perk as a predetermined parking place. However, Don was an immaculate opportunist. He believed that if he acted as if he were of high position, high position would be bestowed upon him. “Providence follows persistence,” Don would always say. Literally, he said that every day, every time he pulled into spot 213.

Don was employed by a moderately successful computer-software company. Don was not usually included in the larger, upscale projects. He was not actually involved in any part of the technical aspect of his employer’s work. In fact, his cubicle wasn’t even located anywhere near the particular wing of the building in which the software was developed. Don was basically a desk clerk. He passed papers, forwarded emails, inspected records and documents; Don more or less took whatever he was handed, ate whatever he was fed.

Inspirational posters and mugs (that Don himself had made with a cheesy customize-and-print computer program he had bought from his own company, called “May-Kit!”) sat on his desk or clung by a tack to the walls of his cubicle: “Providence Follows Persistence,” “Each Day Provides Me with Ample Opportunity for Unique Significance,” and “A Negative Attitude Hinders a Productive Work-Ehtic.” He had accidentally misspelled “Ethic” by swapping the “t” and the “h” and didn’t notice until after having used the mug for a week. Mindful of his mistaken mug, Don put on a very conscious smile whenever he glanced at it and reminded himself that it was now a comedic conversation piece in addition to an encouraging, earthenware mug.

“You see that?” Don would ask passing coworkers, “I accidentally spelled ‘Ethic’ incorrectly! Ha, ha!” His fellow employees would hesitantly, and then guiltily, enter “Don’s Domain,” as he called it. Literally, he had named his cubicle. He had made a poster with this title and hung it lovingly with four differently colored tacks. “You see though,” Don went on, “it’s pretty ironic because if I let that little slip upset me and I take on a negative attitude, then I’m just proving the saying true either way! So I keep using the mug despite the mistake because it enforces the message.”

Don told himself things like this. Often.
Don told himself a lot of things.
Don told himself everything. Anything that it takes to remain positive. To find his significance.

∞

Hours later, Don’s garage door refused to open. He sat in his car on his driveway, still buckled in, continuously pushing the button on his garage door opener. Agitation welled up within him and he pressed the button forcefully until the plastic cracked. Don paused to take a deep, deliberate, and disarming breath and then opened his car door. He walked up to the push-button panel to his garage and entered his four-digit combination. Continuously.

Don’s garage door was stuck. It would not open.

He threw up his hands in confusion and disbelief. He was plainly frustrated. Don was full-out angry.

Don’s car—which he had left running—which he had left in “drive”—which he had neglected throughout the ensuing garage door crisis—had rolled down his driveway and into the passenger-side door of a passing station wagon with that fake wood side-paneling.

Don’s car made a loud, crunching noise. The station wagon made a loud, crunching noise. Don spun around and stared blankly. Don’s rear bumper was now wrapped in that fake wood side-paneling.

The man whose car had been impaled by Don’s car was now walking towards Don. He swore at Don maliciously with a burning red face, asking Don what his problem was and if he was blind, stupid, or otherwise. Don knew that he was none of these things, aside from perhaps ambiguous option, “otherwise,” but spoke no defense regardless. This man was older and stronger than Don. This man could hurt Don. This man wanted to hurt Don.

Don apologized. He sincerely, sincerely apologized. He knew there had to be a reason for this to have happened. The garage door. The accident. Everything. He just knew it. He told the man these things with a very conscious smile. The man hurt Don. Repeatedly.

∞

Don awoke in the hospital. He was injured. Badly. Don had two missing teeth, a broken collarbone, a bruised rib, a dislocated shoulder, a swollen lip, and two black eyes. Don had lost a decent amount of blood.

But he did not complain. He was as kind to the nurses as he could possibly manage to be. He never once announced how excruciatingly painful it was for him when they were too rough with him. He didn’t ever consider bringing it to their attention.

“You know what a negative attitude does, don’t you?” he’d ask the nurses through an artificially whitened smile. They’d humor him by asking, “What’s that, Don?” but they never really listened. He had even trained himself not to wince when pained, in hopes that they wouldn’t even notice and go about their business undisturbed. After all, he didn’t want to be rude. So he was very quiet, extensively polite, and supremely cooperative. “What’s a patient that’s impatient?” Don cleverly asked himself.

Don did all of these things because Don knew—he KNEW—that things would be back in his favor when he returned home. He knew that fate and chance would look to each other and smile affectionately seeing Don behave in such a genuine and decent way. He knew that if he was nice, everything would simply be okay.

∞

Don arrived home by cab weeks later to discover that his garage door had been opened. Don knew that he hadn’t opened his garage door, in fact quite the opposite. He also knew that he had not given his pass code out to anyone.

He entered his home to find everything broken and disheveled.

Don’s enormous, widescreen TV had somehow managed to be stolen, leaving in its place a perimeter of carpet that remained a lighter color than that surrounding it. Don’s expensive china had been taken or left shattered and strewn about the cupboard and floor. Don’s fireproof safe which he kept near his computer was missing. Don’s computer was also missing.

Don didn’t know what to think. His thoughts were racing in and around his mind like a fly or mosquito, just buzzing, buzzing, and buzzing. “My TV, my pictures, my computer.” Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. “I have to sweep up this broken china, and all of my important documents were in my safe; I still have to deal with my car situation.” Buzzing.

Don had kept everything nice and neat.

Don had kept everything that had been gifted to him because he thought it would be bad-mannered of him to return or get rid of gifts that he didn’t like. The poster that hung in Don’s bedroom that said, “Pleasing People Is Primary” was ripped and crumpled on his nightstand.

Don had kept everything from his childhood in order to maintain a happy and healthy relationship with his family. All of his family photos were tossed into a pile, cracked and turned over haphazardly.

Don had lost everything.

∞

Don awoke. He had cried himself to sleep the night before. Somehow, he thought, somehow he would come out of this alright. Don had trained himself to see the bright side of everything in all circumstances.

Don told himself that the grass would be greener if he just smiled. It also occurred to him that that would make a great t-shirt.

If he just kept his chin up, he thought.
If he just kept on trucking.
If he just got back up on that ol’ horse, even after being kicked off.
So Don did just that.
Don smiled, waiting for greener grass and painstakingly designing his next t-shirt.
Don kept his chin up.
Don kept on trucking.
Don got back up on that ol’ horse.
Don did a lot of things.
Don did everything.
Everything Don did needed to be significant.
Don needed to find something significant to do.
Don didn’t feel worth without this.
Don didn’t feel worth.
Don didn’t feel…

∞