The clock crept closer to eleven-thirty while Dave and Elizabeth sat and told each other about their days. They recited ballads of the demons they faced and the giants they slew. They told tales of heroic feats to appease the mean, cruel, greedy, and generally undeserving gods of the cold world beyond the drive-through window and phone line. That’s how they saw it here in their own little world.

Why is it so cathartic to tell her about the boulder I pushed up the hill today? wondered Dave. It’s the same boulder as yesterday. It’s the same hill as yesterday. My rock and hill aren’t really different from hers, I don’t think. Conversation is a curiosity. I think, rarely do I feel more as though life is worth living. It’s not the sameness that’s antagonizing me… it’s something else.

Two dim lamps worked to light the townhouse living room. The Craigslist couch and loveseat stuffed the room like fat legs in skinny pants. In good light, the walls were solid white, but at any other time, they had the privilege of being gray or yellow. Landscapes painted on five by seven canvas boards hung here and there. Dabs of color like windows into dreams.

“I love you,” said Dave. “Let’s go get food.”

“Are you sure?” asked Elizabeth.

“Of course I’m sure I love you,” said Dave with tired eyes.

“No, silly! Are you sure you want to go out? We’ve been eating a lot of fast food lately.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Let’s just go get some salad.”

“I don’t want salad.”

“Are you sure? I’ll make it.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“Or we’ll get a frozen lasagna.”

“There you go. I’m down for that.”

“Cool. You’re driving.”

“Nooo, don’t make me drive.”

“Fine, I’ll drive. Lasagna and Lambrusco?” “They don’t sell wine after eleven.”

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. It’s on all the signs in the grocery store now.”

“Well, that’s stupid. I mean, what kind of law is that? I’m allowed to buy wine in the store now, but not after a certain time, even though I can buy beer whenever I want from a grocer or a gas station. That’s bureaucracy for you! It never quite gets the house clean.”

Elizabeth sat and nodded her head, watching with the patience of experience.

“Beer doesn’t pair with lasagna!” he went on. “How are people that don’t get off work until eleven supposed to pair their drink with their pasta! Whatever…”

She stared at him with a soft smile that silently and politely asked, ‘are you done?’

“Beer it is, then.”

“No. No, I don’t want beer. Hard lemonades.”

“C’mon! They’re too sweet.”

“That’s too bad!”

“Fine. Lemonades it is,” said Dave with a sigh and smile. His distress over the wine was vaporous. He liked investing his emotions in something, anything, even if it was petty. It’s a reason to care; that’s all I’m looking for in the end.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

There life was to Dave, all expressed on the theater’s stage: politicians bellowing about life and death the way they had for thousands of years and celebrities feeding off of their audience like spiritual vampires from the realm of righteous feelings, but the businessmen walked down the isles shushing those who asked what was happening on stage.

It was a big stage: impossible to follow everything. Dave did his best to care about what he could, but my opinion has no effect on the performance. It seems pointless to worry and therefore seems pointless to feel any joy; either way, the show goes on. To what end?

Nothing outside the small sphere of day to day struck Dave as particularly real. The world events echoed in his head like a dream from the night before. Thinking about the dream too much left him realizing how small he was next to the oceans and their unlit depths. I can’t stop injustices. I’m just a guy in the audience. It is what it is, I guess.

Dave drove to the store with Elizabeth. His brow furrowed like a crumpled post-it note that read ‘lost in thought.’ If I’m so detached from the world stage, why is everything still so heavy? If nothing matters, there should be no weight. If I die, some things I believe in will happen. Or won’t. Either way, what goes through my head makes no difference on what will be. Can’t know for certain. Can only believe. Maybe this heavy feeling is just how much a body weighs when---

“Dad called again today,” said Elizabeth.

“Oh yeah?” said Dave, a little irritated she hadn’t read his note.

“Yeah. Just wanted to see how I was doing,” she said. Her wistful sigh hit Dave in the chest.

“Oh, okay.” I’m not sure what to say anymore; dude’s always messing things up.

“I asked him if he was still coming out on Tuesday so I could see him.”

I wonder how that happens.

“He said he was.”

How does life become a chain of mistakes?

“But, we’ll see about that.”

Elizabeth looked out the window.

“I hope he shows up,” said Dave. I really hope he shows up. For her sake. He can’t keep doing this. I wish I could do something about it… I’m just stuck here in the audience.

“Yeah, me too...”

They went into the apartment. Dave put the lasagna in the oven and the drinks in the fridge. Elizabeth picked up the living room and turned on the tv. She pulled up The Joy of Painting and got out the paints, brushes, and a couple of five by seven canvas boards.

Dave let the dog in. He sprinted through the kitchen and into the living room. He circled around, bounding from the loveseat to the couch to the floor at least thrice before the couple could follow him in. Elizabeth snapped at the dog. Dave shrugged his shoulders.

“Camus! Get down.”

I wish I knew how to keep him from doing that.

Camus ran up to Elizabeth’s feet and sat, licking at her knees in frantic apology. His body rocked with excitement.

“Uh-huh! You’d better be sorry, mister,” said Elizabeth. She reached down and ruffled his ears while he licked her face, still apologizing. Dave and Elizabeth started painting while they waited for the lasagna.

The dog spent the day tied up outside on a long lead. He was something of a terrier, something of a boxer, something of a beagle, but mostly a mutt; nothing’s simple, nothing’s clean, but sometimes something’s perfect, thought Dave as he watched Camus chew on a rawhide bone. He looked back to his canvas. Sometimes it is what it is.

Dave sat in the dim light downstairs scrolling on his phone. He’d told Elizabeth he’d be up in a minute. It was one o’clock in the morning. He had to squeeze the last bits of value he could out of the day.

He scrolled hoping for an article to read or a video to watch; learning was a favored pastime. Who needs college? Everything they teach is free somewhere on the internet. There was always the hope that he’d stumble across an edifying moment or the sanctification of enlightenment, but rarely did pixels offer these diamonds in the rough of the human experience. Who am I kidding? None of these people are any better off than I am. They’re just louder and wealthier. They have nothing to offer. I’m just looking for distractions.

He scrolled along social media looking at the past, at all the circumstances that had changed in his life, at all the people who had pranced and strutted across the stage, only to exeunt for the rest of the show. I don’t feel apathy towards these people because I’m a jerk; I feel apathy towards these people because I’m lazy. I don’t have the force of any motives to keep myself in touch with them. I’ll never know if they were worth keeping in touch with. Meh, I’ll just assume they weren’t.

He finally made his way upstairs. His wife had put away her phone, the last light left upstairs. The full dark of night entered, and now welcomed sleep, but the buzz in Dave’s mind drowned out the invitation.

“I’m glad I got to talk to Billy yesterday,” said Dave.

“Yeah? How’d that go?” asked Elizabeth.

“He’s an alcoholic now.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, but he goes to A.A. meetings.”

“Good! That’s really good.”

“I’m really hurt I wasn’t there for him. I wish I could be there for all my friends.”

“You can be there for him now.”

“Yeah… I can try. I think the problem isn’t circumstances. I think the problem is me.”

“Oh… okay,” she said as she cast off into the sea of slumber.

“I think I’m just an ass.”