, memories

[macaulay evander]

[macaulay evander]

"macaulay, when are you going to start taking your life seriously?"the quip was from an annoying, thin man with balding hair i came to see specifically for a boost in self esteem- even with god's worst intentions, atleast i would not look that terrible in my old age. i cracked my neck to the side in a lackadaisical attempt to switch the subject. for a court ordered therapist, norman neebly (that was his real name, i couldn't believe it) was mighty interested in the lives of his charges. annoyingly so. and yeah, by societies standards maybe i did need therapy but who is any government to tell me the way i think and act is wrong? who is anybody else to fucking judge me on the way i see the world, when we all see it a little bit differently. this was the primary reason i never agreed to take psychiatric medication- although admittedly there'd been a few times my negligence towards my mental health had been totally disregarded and the pills had literally been shoved down my throat. a hearty eye roll met the man across from me. "i'm feeling bored with this subject. can we move on to something else. how's your wife these days?" i ran a lazy hand through my hair. for the first time in our sessions together, i noticed norman's eyes weren't permanently glued to a clock he considered secret: a monitoring of his session length. "no, you're just suffering from experiential avoidance." i clicked my tongue.


that was the thing i hated about these people- every thing, every little fucking thing had to be something, even if it was nothing- thus turning the nothingness into something. probably to make themselves feel intelligent or important something to giggle to their wives late at night while boasting about the sad orphan kid that came in today. "um, no actually. do you realize, norman, that you're an extremely fucking boring individual? honest to god, no wonder it only took you six years to get your doctorate, you have zero personality and no sort of relatable people skills what so ever." the look on his face remained lucid which infuriated me. i chose my words carefully and said them casually meant to cut and scorn, and he was just sitting there with a confident, cocky look on his face that mimicked my own. "do you consider yourself relatable macaulay? you've never had any sort of functional long lasting- mostly, healthy relationship with anyone. maybe you should become more eager to address your own problems before you point out others. it's textbook deflection!"

it took two seconds for me to jump off my chair and pick up that crooked nosed little fuck for the squirmit he was. i don't remember actually doing it though, getting up off the chair but i must of because he was looking at me with out fear dead in my eyes. i was furious. my grip was almost enough to break his collar bone. i just wanted him to change the fucking subject. "do you remember how you were acting not five minutes ago, mac? you were crying because you accidently killed a butterfly- an insect. now look at you!" he placed his hands on mine in warning to loosen up- my fists were big, but his security was bigger. i knew this and still i didn't move. now you're letting your unreasonable rage get to you over meaningless words. this isn't normal- the way you act isn't normal and we can't get to your deeper issues if we can't medicate you for the one's that are clouding your mind to begin with.

suddenly i smiled. mostly because i was sort of impressed with what i considered to be a small minded neebly. he'd just displayed an excellent use of psychological method on what (being a bit of a psych buff myself) i consider to be a prime test subject. and i started laughing, and gave him a playful shove backwards and a pat on the back. "norman." i stated quite seriously before walking out. "take your lithium, saraquil, zoloft, prozac, medical marijuana whatever the fuck cocktail and shove it up your ass. just because the rest of the world can't cope with their problems doesn't mean i can't cope with mine.

"yes it does."

i spent four months in jail on assault for putting normal neebly into a comatose like state for three days. hey, atleast now he has a closed head injury to blame for his life long depression. I mean the ironic thing is that neebly could have been right.

[macaulay evander]

'mac, i'm home!" the door slammed as missy brought her hurricane into my home, entrapping me in her whirlwind. "that much is apparent." i snapped back as i lay on the couch, a bemused look on my face as i watched her scurry about in various actions; taking off her shoes, hanging up her purse, setting down her coffee and a hand full of files, and finally, taking her hair out of her messy pony tail, something i insisted on. she was incredibly adorable, beautiful- but the reason marissa was so endlessly fascinating to me was for nothing physical- she had a beautiful soul, something i hadn't really believed in previous to her. with a deep sigh, her arms now free of everything else she found something new to occupy them: me. her strides over to my body were wide and graceful, and when she wrapped her arms around me in a warm and playful embrace i felt something like home and longing, and her lips pressed against mine made me feel validated. "i missed you today." she said with a smile. i flashed a look of annoyance at her, not commenting anymore. it was a long-standing argument between us. call me chauvinist, but there was no need for any woman in my life to have to work, ever. so, hearing her constantly comment on how much she longed for me, how much she thought of me when she was away, it was just irritating. she did it to herself. "yeah, well..." i quickly broke my lips from hers and returned to the television.

baby! come on, don't act like that." she said in a voice that was shrill, annoying- but still beautiful. she wrapped her hands in mind, and crawled into my lap instantly blocking my view from the television. "i mean it, i really missed you." her hands ran along my chest, one to my cheek and i'll admit it, the way i looked at her was almost ferocious. i wanted her, and she knew i wanted her, and she wanted me too. and then she kissed me again, only this time it wasn't the sweet, familiar uniting of souls that had taken place only seconds before. this kiss was hot, passionate- and hungry. there was certainly no doubt that she had missed me exactly as she said she did. just as there was no doubt this could happen. "come on missy, not right now. i proclaimed weakly, turning my head to the side so her lips would no longer meet mine. she only took this as an invitation to spread them to my neck. "no- missy. i'm really serious. cut it out. she grabbed my crotch, and i stood up instantly tossing her in a sprawled mess beside me. my face was red with anger and frustration not because of the situation- but because she understood the situation and still put me in this position.

"listen, you need to stop doing this crap. this is not something we can do- you're my fucking sister for christ sake." the look on her face was honestly earth shattering; defeated and with a shadow to it i never wanted to see stretched across her own. tears welled up in her eyes and i reached out to her. i've yelled at a lot of people in my life, did a lot worse things to them at than that, but not to missy. she was special and i'd always protected her from me and everything else. she looked away from me.

"fuck you, mac." she stated, before walking into her bedroom. i didn't follow after her to try and make it better- i thought it might have been cruel to.

[macaulay evander]

i'd been watching her for weeks up until that day. a pretty blonde with bright green eyes that knocked the wind right out from you if you caught them too quickly. her name was chole- i know this because it was the name written on the side of her coffee cup. decaf with two sugars, something i found equally intriguing and redundant. it was sort of out of character for me to wait as long as i did to approach her; i'm the sort of go-getter type, but honestly this girl was just too fucking beautiful to shove off as anything less than a prospect, and this (me hiding behind my newspaper and espresso and in retrospect nothing short of stalking) was essentially my way of courting her. and i'll tell you why the fuck this girl had be in such a state- because she was fucking glorious. motherfucking effervescent with her corn silk and emerald, and she did have me on another level which is even more unusual. and i think i'm overlooking the most curious thing of all; that i was in love with this girl, and i'd never said as much as two words to her. and these are no childish notions of puppy love- it was true and undaunted love and it meant something.

but back to the day- it's hard to get lost on tangent with this one but i got to the cafe early. chloe always arrived between ten fourteen and ten seventeen am depending on the time the metra arrived. ten-ten was sufficient. i didn't need to check my hair because i knew it looked fantastic and i didn't need to freshen my breath because i salivate wintergreen. i purchased her decaf, two sugars at exactly ten-twelve to ensure that it would be piping hot, but not delayed when she arrived. when she walked through the door she was wearing a red pencil skirt that really made her ass look incredible. i approached her with a wide step and wide smile and said casually "hey chloe. i'm macaulay, i just wanted you to know that i think you're incredibly beautiful. i actually see you come in every day. i got you something to drink if you want to sit down. decaf, right?" i held up the cup hopefully with a smile that no woman could resist. only something wasn't right- she was looking at me sort of confused, crooked- and most of all creeped the fuck out. i'm man enough to admit when i'm being weird, but this wasn't one of those situations. after all, i was talking to my future wife. the crooked look she gave me was enough to snap me out of my delirium. "how did you know my name? um...no thanks." she stated with no sort of light, emotion- appreciation even in her eyes. she took a step backwards knowingly or not, and i felt like a moron. just standing there, with two cups of shitty coffee from an overpriced cafe i went to for the aesthetic and not for the beverage, and a shot to the ego.

"you know what? nevermind." i stated in a hurry, throwing the cups into the trash in a matter that screamed 'give me attention. "you have to be a real bitch to stomach decaf anyways." and then i walked out. naturally i came back the next day although she never did. that was chloe. the twenty-ninth person i fell in love with.

[macaulay evander]

my knees were shaking. i was tapping my toes against the ground in some sort of desperate attempt to exert the steam that was building up inside of me. "robby-" i stated carefully, not looking at him when i spoke because i knew that if i did i would hit the roof, "shut the fuck up right now. i'm serious, you better shut your fucking mouth or i'm going to punch you in your stupid fucking face." and i would of, and i was going to and he still didn't stop talking because robby didn't know how to stop talking. he had to beat every single issue to death and then some, and if he didn't, he would certainly argue it until we were both long over it just for fun.

what were we fighting over? my sister. the reason? because robby couldn't keep his eyes off of her. the cause? because she was a woman. more importantly, she was a woman that was close to me and involved in my life, and if she had my stamp on her. this meant that robby had to try and steal her away. which was fucking ridiculous because he was my god damn boyfriend. "go head and hit me, you stupid fuck." his voice echoed through our apartment like poison. i could taste it in my mouth and i could feel it in my chest. i'm no pussy- i can put my foot down when something bothers me, but these fights- they were more routine than they were actual arguments- and i know why he did it. to try and push me away, but that was the thing with robby. he would bitch and he would piss and he would moan. he would run around with his life and he would make our relationship as miserable as possible, but he would never just leave. he'd always be there when i got home, acting like nothing happened until the next day, until the next issue, until the next insecurity flared his fucking ego.

robby put me through shit. a lot of shit, and i guess i put him through shit too-- but i never not wanted him. the bullshit, knee deep and smelling like roses, it's just something that comes along with the title. only we never had a title, because he never wanted us to have a title, so it was just an unnecessary a comedy. but i guess i know what it's like to fight with something inside yourself that you don't understand and something that might be a little scary (to him atleast) and i coped with it. because i saw the good in him and the right in us and i didn't have a problem reminding him of it on our worst of days. but there were a lot of times i regretted it. a lot of times that i would lay in bed exhausted and try and think up five things that i still liked about him and struggle to come up with the last two. i've always been good enough for everyone else. i've always overcome the worst shit to make something of myself, and even if people don't like me they can certainly respect me for that. but i was never good enough for robby.

when i stood up, robby's entire demeanor changed. the kid kept me guessing eighty percent of the time, but there were still parts of him that were so undyingly predictable it killed me. sure, he wanted to argue but he didn't want to push the line too far. meaning my fist in his fucking face and a domestic violence charge for any one of us. "rob-" i made sure to keep my voice pretty calm, you know? i was dying to yell til my fucking throat bled but there were extenuating circumstances. only before i could talk again, he opened his mouth and cut me off. "no, mac. i don't want to hear what you have to say. fuck you." and i had it. i snapped, because he was acting like a stupid little bitch and i really couldn't handle it any longer. i grabbed the closest thing to me- a kleenex box and threw it at him as hard as i could. granted, it weighed about six ounces but i blasted it at his chest hoping for some impact. he didn't flinch, and i panicked, because i literally could not believe this dick. "fuck me? no, fuck you, you stupid piece of shit. my fucking daughter is sleeping in the next room and you're bringing all this bullshit to me. you're in my house. you're with me. keep your fucking hands, your eyes, your thoughts off and away from my sister. seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?! how many times did your mother drop you on your fucking head with you were a baby?" and i pushed him. not because wanted to, but because i wasn't going to let this happen. we were going to fight it out, or we were going to live in peace. "stop acting like a dumbass, calm the fuck down. play some call of duty, have a beer. jesus fucking christ."

and he didn't really say anything but i could tell he was still pissed. after that long together you just know each other, things no one else will ever know. it's a sort of closeness that's indefinable. but there's something between the closeness and between robby and i that has something more to do with him than it does me. some sort of wicked internal battle that i don't really get that it warps rational thinking (or what i think is rational atleast) and it fucking sucked that it had to be my sister, his friends- all these random all girls that were almost unobtainable, that he purposely went after as some sort of display, 'i can have what you don't allow yourself. i take what you want', only he was sort of mistaken. if he'd just give me everything i asked him to, i'd be satisfied. there'd be no need for any other shit. but you know. people are different, and he wasn't me. i wasn't him and we weren't each other. but i still wanted us to be.

[macaulay evander]

"fuck!" i exclaimed and i slammed my fist against the desk in a state of ferocity i have yet since experienced. "seriously? seriously? what the fucking fuck!" the haze of disbelief that had become phased through my body was something intense. my mouse scrolled down the page, eyes glancing over the various letters that compiled into words, to make up one article that served as a representation of physical, living bullshit. "ughhh..." i finally moaned in a final phase of disgust, having to turn away from the computer. i could take the site no more. i kneeled down, resting my head in my hands. i was caught in a state of perpetual confusion. i knew what i was reading. i saw what i was reading. it was right in front of me in live and living color, and yet i simply could not believe it-- mostly because i was a nobody. seriously, a nobody. i lived in a two bedroom apartment with three people and a baby, spent most of my time on the phone begging investors for a few extra dollars, and made some really awful, really low quality movies. i was not stephen speilburg. i was not christopher columbus. i served no real purpose in the world of cinematography, other than as a perfect of example of what not to do if any given individual felt so comepelled to venture into film. and i was alright with that, for the time being-- because i knew that it wasn't the quality of work, but the quantity of cashflow i had to work with, and i did the best that i could.

but this. all this nonsense, one thing after another- a constant parade of people and faces i neither knew or recognized. it was frankly just a little fucking uncalled for. and really, it was all because of neebly. little fucking neebly. small minded neebly. neebly that was never good for a damn thing, other than attempting to be good at something. i beat his ass, so what? i served my time for it. four months in york county jail, and it sucked, and yeah, i sort of learned my lesson in one aspect; probably not the lesson the courts wanted to teach me, but regardless. the point is, any trouble i got into after that- the cocaine charge (definitely learned my lesson with that one) and the public intoxication- they're hardly in the same ballpark. those were stupid things that honestly, i could have prevented and they actually were my fault. i'm ashamed because i put my daughter at risk, and really caused myself a whole lot of unnecessary trouble. i didn't need any additional punishment, and yeah, they're crimes, but they're petty and i didn't hurt anyone but myself when this was all going on. "fucking tmz" i stated to myself a final time before exiting out.

for the first time in my life i found myself stuck. people tell me i'm complicated all the time, but truth of the matter is i'm pretty god damn predictable. i always revert to childhood coping mechanisms when it comes to stressful situations. aka: freak the fuck out. and it's not always violently- sometimes it's just weird or sad, or a little off-putting, but it is always the exact wrong thing i should be doing at the time. it was this last component that made my plan ever effective in every life situation i've ever been in aside for this one. mostly because my instinct- what was most natural to me, told me to act wild, and acting wild was exactly what they wanted me to do. they. they paparazzi, referred to as some sort of enigma because they were all knowing and all seeing (so much so they often "knew" ei, made up things that i didn't even "know" about myself). and again, just let me express- let me fucking elaborate that i'm not famous. i'm not even well known. go to the library and ask for a copy of one of my movies. it won't be there. it won't be at the movie store. a few of them might be at the adult video store, but for the most part i make my appearance at sundance and cannes, and then i'm below the grid. apparently i have potential.

but the point is, the only way to get them to leave me alone is to essentially act boring. and believe me, that's really the opposite of who i am in any sense of the word. a little reverse psychology, you know? yeah right. just another example of how fucking bunk psychology is. it only made them all the more persistent. figures, right?