BY CURTIS HAYES
Note to the editor: The bold font seen below in the text ‘Fool’s Day’ and the ‘F-Minus’ next to each entry, is to help the reader understand that the first entry seen is actually the last chronologically, and something that we’re building to. I feel that this is essential to the understanding of the work so please be sure to include it (or, if you really need to change it, a similar indicator) in the print. I’m sure you’re well aware of this but thought I’d better mention it to be safe. Thanks! — Note from Anita Thompson to Curtis: Dear Curtis, Will do! Although I’m not familiar with F-minus, I’m happy to learn about it, and keep it in your story, a) because you asked, and b) because we are not line editing stories until the print edition. Thank you for your submission Curtis! best, AT
‘Do you wanna know how I got these scars?’
You get an image in your head when you read those words, don’t you? Keep it there. We can use it. Green hair. White face paint. That smile. The smile’s what I want you to focus on.
Torn open. Ripped wide. Puncturing the cheeks with violent delight. The smile of a sick man.
The mirror image of mine right now, as I sit on my new neighbor’s living room floor.
Staring at my red hands.
Wondering where my red hands end and the red-soaked carpet begins.
I can hear her now. His wife, opening the front door.
I wonder if she’ll like her housewarming present.
March 16th 2020 – F-Minus 381 days
The lockdown started today. The coronavirus situation is getting bad and they need to act like they’re doing something about it. It’s like something from a movie. I give the whole thing about a month.
The house next door is still on the market. I doubt all this will help. It’s not a bad place, just a little run-down, but when the future looks uncertain people tend to tighten the purse strings.
Ma turned up yesterday with a car full of ‘lockdown supplies’, mostly toilet paper and pasta. She said it’ll be worth more than gold when civilization collapses. She bought so much I could probably build a fort out of toilet paper and fill the moat with Bolognese.
She said I won’t see her again until all this is over because of her lung thing.
April 14th 2020 – F-Minus 352 days
It’s been a long month. I’ve barely left the house. I’m so sick of pasta already and I haven’t even got through 10% of what Ma brought me. I’m gaining weight too. Turns out that being too scared to leave the house isn’t conducive to exercise.
The only positive is that I work from home. Remote-teaching isn’t good money but it sure is lockdown-proof. Business is actually improving now everybody has too much time on their hands.
July 7th, 2020 – F-Minus 268 days
At 35, I’m too young to remember where I was when Kennedy was shot, but every generation has a moment or two like that. 9/11 was the big one for us. I was at school and a friend told me about the first plane. We assumed it was an accident. Then the second plane hit.
Michael Jackson’s death claims a distant second.
Well, something tells me number three won’t be making for many good anecdotes. Our great grandfathers fought the Nazis. We’re fighting boredom.
Oh yeah, the house next door finally sold at auction, and Ma admitted she was wrong about toilet paper becoming the new gold. I don’t know which came as a bigger surprise.
September 4th 2020 – F-Minus 209 days
I met the new neighbor today. Frank. He says they’re spending 100k on renovating the place. Work starts tomorrow. He’ll try to keep the noise down.
The government says things will be back to normal by Christmas. Can’t believe it’s been nearly six months already.
I miss having friends. I never had many, but I had some. I think they’ve forgotten me. At least I have my students. Without teaching, I don’t know what I’d do.
October 18th 2020 – F-Minus 165 days
The noise next door is worse than expected. It’s like living next to a construction site. A drill in my bedroom wall has woken me every morning for the last month and runs until evening. I lay awake at night dreading the daytime. I feel like a zombie.
Frank said the noisy stuff will be done by the end of the week. I thought to myself that if it isn’t, I might end up eating his brains. I laughed out loud at the thought. Frank looked uncomfortable. I need more sleep.
Business is suffering. I’ve lost half of my clients in the last month. Who can blame them? What use is remote-learning when you can’t hear the teacher? I’ll barely cover the rent next month.
December 31st 2020 – F-Minus 91 days
It’s official, 2020 was a washout. For my new year’s resolution, I’m going to stop reading the news. It’s like a pipe funneling raw sewage directly into my brain. Ever noticed how whatever happens in the world, the press always win?
That reminds me, the drilling is still going on. Every morning, every afternoon. In the end, Frank pulled down almost the entire house and started over. Wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t share a wall. They’re even laying foundations for an extension.
Lately, every drill feels like a personal insult. A thousand needles pricking the little piece of the planet that’s mine. My sanctuary, soiled. My one safe place, abused.
I don’t teach anymore. The noise cost me the last of my clients. Sometimes, when I think about how I used to love teaching my classes, I look out at those foundations and think about how I’d like to bury Frank under there. I wouldn’t bury him deep though. I’d bury him close to the surface. Close to the noise. He doesn’t deserve to rest in peace.
January 11th 2021 – F-Minus 80 days
I feel angry all the time lately. I try to stay calm but then I hear those drills, that devil’s music, and I can’t think of anything else. I smashed a bottle of pasta sauce in a rage last week. Luckily, I have about a million more.
I met Frank’s wife today. All smiles and good manners. She doesn’t know what I’m going through and wouldn’t care if she did. She’ll move in and want to be everybody’s best friend. Like some kind of oil company executive in the Middle East, pretending the bloodshed has nothing to do with them.
That first day, when she opens the door to her brand now home for the first time…I want to ruin that for her. With all the money he’s cost me, all the lost sleep and anxiety, I don’t want Frank to get to have that moment. I think I hate him.
I think I’m getting a stomach ulcer.
February 21st 2021 – F-Minus 39 days
I’ve star.ted drinking again. I wasdoing pretty well for a cuple ofyears but i need to sleepand it sems like this is the onlyway. Whys tehre so much drilling to do? Thats waht I Don’t undrstand!!!11
March 26th 2021 – F-Minus 6 days
I think theyvv finishd now. i Want to crry. I want toomake THEM cry! NOMOREDRINIKNG!!! SOBERRUP!@!
Timee t0 ACT!
April 1st 2021 – FOOL’S DAY
Entry 1 of 2
I’m in his house. Yeah. HIS house.
It’s their moving in day. His wife hasn’t seen it since January. It’s changed a lot since then. He wanted to surprise her. She’ll be surprised, alright. Remember that scene from The Shining, with the elevator doors? Hahahaha.
I’m crying and I don’t know why. Maybe because I got the red everywhere. Maybe I got the red in my eye. Coronavirus. Lockdown. Alone. Hammer hammer hammer. Drill drill drill. I want to take a drill to Frank’s head.
Sometimes I wish I was crazy. Real crazy. Killer crazy.
But I’m no killer. I won’t hurt anyone. I’ll just ruin their special moment.
I just want to get inside their head. Make them feel invaded, violated, view their own walls with suspicion. Take away the sanctity of their home. Destroy their faith in their neighbor.
Like they did to me. Like they did when the lockdown stopped me from leaving the house. When I lost my friends. When it stopped being safe to see Ma. When I lost my students. When I was all alone. All alone, all the time.
My red hands. The red floor. I sit cross-legged as I hear her walking up the drive. Frank is walking behind her.
In a few seconds, she’ll open the door to her brand new house for the first time. Frank told me that the look on her face will make all his hard work worth the effort. Heartwarming.
Well, guess what, Frank? I’ve stolen that look on her face. It’ll be mine now. Mine forever. Even after 20 years of living here, she’ll still see my ghost appear from time to time. You both will. Imprinted on your memory. Stamped on your ill-gotten joy. All that hard work, overshadowed.
Overshadowed by the reams of toilet paper strewn across your dining room. Overshadowed by the five gallons of pasta hidden all over your house – your pipes plugged full of fusilli, your toilet cistern stuffed with spaghetti. Overshadowed by your new next door neighbor sitting on your living room floor, in nothing but shorts and a sadistic smile, and covered head to toe in Bolognese sauce.
This has been a long time coming, Frank.
Happy housewarming.
‘Do you wanna know how I got these scars?’
