Imaginary Man: Archived Pg. #102

Imaginary Man

I’m not exactly sure why I constantly have to remind Blake to relax when we’re not home. It’s been over two decades of the same thing. And this is only the noise on the inside. It honestly doesn’t matter where we go; the profuse tapping of the rain on these rusty motel bearings continues to follow. This is stop No. 4 of Lord-knows-how-many stops we will be making. All I knows is that I’m running out of socks. We haven’t passed a laundromat for miles.

Tonight feels like the same frigid night I stood in when we first took off from our city. Though it has gotten to the point where I’ve lost all sense of time, I’m still flummoxed by the fact that we have made it this far. The first night took us to a motel like this one: large red neon arrow, bulletin sign with backwards letters, honeycomb room key, withered ornate wallpaper, two – it’s the worst when there’s one – beds, and an emotional drive that won’t give in.

I’m not sure why I left the comfort of the office to join Blake in this.

I…don’t know why I changed my mind. I’m not the type of guy who walks around with a fickle heart beating in his chest.

That night though, something changed within me. Nothing supernatural; it could have easily been something that had already been festering there. All I knew was that Blake was my own blood, he had a passion, and I’m typically fresh out of those.

Maybe I can make something out of this empty-container-of-a-soul.

“Clive, was your toothbrush the blue or pink one? I’m having a tough time remembering much from last night.”

What are we? In college? When was the last time I heard a line like that? And how could he forget what color toothbrush he has after attempting to instigate a game of rock-paper-scissors with me over using the blue one? I’m not the type of man who cares which color. Because of this, Blake has to poke at my manhood to get me to pretend that we care about the same things. I’m above stuff like that.

“Blake, you lost and had the pink one.”

Okay. He pushed me, so I didn’t hold back.

I’m too tired to review for good time’s sake why Blake decided to leave, but what I knew when I looked at his face was that he was looking for something. He was always searching for a person or a moment or maybe even just the right day. I knew that gifts acquaintances bought him for Christmas never quite did it for more than a month. I don’t understand this, because for me, some new music on my iPod and a hot girlfriend can potentially set me over for life. But one year, Blake just started moving around a lot, meeting new people, trying new things. He didn’t necessarily become more extroverted. Despite how loud he could yell, he was still a little boy on the inside. But I knew he wasn’t satisfied as easy as most little boys are. No matter where he went, whenever I called him, he was at a local library, reading God-knows-what: he never tells me.

I feel like he’s looking for someone or something that brings life to the pages that he’s been reading.

Yeah, I definitely don’t know why the hell I’m still here. The morning will tell me two things:

1. Me and this little boy cannot continue playing asinine games.
2. For whatever reason, from this child, I’ve truly got a lot of growing to do.

Time to commit to a channel on this television and wait until tomorrow.

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