Part 4: Leeroy's Dream, Leeroy's Mission

    Hopefully, this will be the longest thought I ever write down. Being a Jenkins, I'm generally of the opinion that the shorter is sweeter. In any case, I'll get you to the story.

...

   My pencil wavers over the paper. I can't think of anything. Nothing. Heather sits across the table with little Karen in her arms, frowning at me. I was fond of Heather, but I was not in love. I wasn't happy, either. The only person I loved anymore was Karen."What's the matter with you?" Heather asks. "I can't think of anything," I say, "Is Karen doing ok?" She frowns, "Of course. What's the matter?"
   "Are you happy?"
   "What?"
   "Are you content with this ... I don't know ... blessed mediocrity? This slowly building disaster?"
   Heather's eyes narrow. "What happened to you?" She stands, stiff, and then turns to head out the door. She walked away, and I just watched her. Karen is looking at me over her shoulder. I smile, and shift my focus to the paper again, but I'm scared. What was the story about? Finding myself?
   I don't remember anyt-
   My eyes open. I don't sleep, I dream. I'm shaking, but I'm numb besides.
   The leaves blur, and then clear. I sit up and rub my eyes. It's freezing. I climb out of the tunnel slide, walk to the other slide to complete my pissing ritual, and then look around. The kids are back, sitting with their mittens and their beanies, waiting for me to speak.
   Being naked has it's perks. This will sound rather creepy, but kids love the "strange." They want to hear about it, they want me to tell them another story. Though I would never admit it, I really enjoy the attention they give. They just want to hear me talk! Besides, it lets me try to remember my book, or just make shit up if I can't remember anything. I sometimes get really dramatic, swinging my arms and raising my voice. You know, a guy has got to keep himself warm.
   So, what's the story this time? The kids are waiting. I begin, "Once upon a time, there was a man that lost everything." The kids smile and clap. They love that one, they love that the man redeems himself in the end. Whatever. I continue, "He loved his child (that's you guys!), he loved his daughter very-."
   Something flutters by my ear. I snatch it out of the air. It's a piece of paper. A piece of paper with my handwriting on it. I feel my eyes widen. "Holy shit." The scrap reads "everything I see is everything I lose." I don't remember anything, and nothing reminds me. A line from my book. From the sound of it, the world hadn't changed much. My face was warming up.
   "What's the matter with you, Mr. Bestever?" I'm startled out of my thought. "What? Oh right. Just something I found."
   "There's something on the back," the kids say. I turn the paper over. It's a chickenscratch note.
         In the animal shelter, with the donkeys.
   "What's it say, Mr. Bestever?"
   "Uh, the man redeems himself in the end. And my name's Leeroy."
   I leap off the playground and sprint in the direction of the shelter, whooping and shouting the whole way. It's freezing. My shriveled manhood raises a few pedestrian eyebrows. Whatever. The stoplight seems like it will never change ("Stay on the path"), and the man next to me is carrying a staff. What a delightful day.
   "What's that for?" I ask.
   "Magic." He says.
   "Oh, right. Well, uh, you should get that thing calibrated. Sometimes it takes something to bring out the best of you."
   The light changes, I sprint away towards the shelter.
   Leeroy, you're crazy. Who's leaving you messages? How do they know lines from your book?
   Shut up, Leeroy. Who cares?

Part 3: The Part Where it Rains Birdshit and Meteors

   I can't see the sky, so I can't be sure of the time, but I'm pretty sure Ms. Pigg is late. I'm not free during lunch hours, so we agreed to have a drink and some evening dinner, around 9, at Foo Foods. She likes Vietnamese. I like them alright too. But I'm not enjoying sitting alone in this restaurant as it pours outside.
   You see, people stare. And not always because I'm naked. More often they just look at my angel face . They don't usually seem like they like it. Whatever. A young woman in the corner is holding a baby. She's far, far too young to be holding a child. I daresay she looks even worse than I do. Is that egotistical of me? She's holding the future in her hands. She reminds me of my better half.
   We spend all of our lives searching for our better halves. We spend all of our lives losing them.
   Ms. Pigg is definitely late.
   The door opens, and it's raining even worse than I thought ("They say even God cries"). Ah, there's Ms. Pigg! Only fashionably late, I'm sure.
   Actually, she's naked. Well, I suppose that's a fashion statement. Hell, I know it is.
   I don't remember what we talked about or for how long, but it must've been fairly lively, because I remember talking to her. I got a little too drunk. A running theme in life. "A running excuse."
   When I get drunk, I become a gentleman. I held open the door for Ms. Pigg, tipped the waitress, and told the lady with the baby good luck. There's nothing more beautiful than a lady with a baby. I offer to walk Ms. Pigg home.
   On the way to Ms. Pigg's place, it's raining even worse than before. Even God cries. But not me. Not tonight. To make Ms. Pigg laugh, I spread my arms wide in a Jesus Christ pose. And with my arms wide open, with a sea of sewage and severed heads as my floor ... it starts raining pigeon shit. And I almost vomit. I must of looked quite funny, gagging while I'm simultaneously covered in shit and being cleansed.
   Just before I'm about to spew, the rain stops. Ms. Pigg taps me on the shoulder and points up. The sky is covered in shooting stars ("Make a wish and save me"), and pieces of rock showered around. After the cosmic fireworks end, I look at Ms. Pigg.
   We start laughing.
   We laughed a long time.

Part 2.5: The Sun in Front of Leeroy

    Earlier in the day a swinish-looking woman came by and asked me if I was lost. I said, quite simply, "Yes." The swinish-looking lady looked a bit like she didn't know how to respond. I thought she looked quite swinish. I would never say such a thing, of course, but my thoughts are my own. Finally, she said, "My name is Ms. Pigg." I snorted. Oh the irony of life. The "parallelism." Attempting to hide my giggles, I said in a flat voice, "Nice to meet you. My name's Leeroy."

...

   That was earlier. As of now, I am laying on my back, catching a tan on the roof of the play set as passers-by watch. When I tan, I usually try to remember lines or ideas from my book to keep my mind off testicular-cancer. Skin cancer I can handle, testicular cancer not so much. I'm getting too young to worry about testicular cancer.

Part 2: The Part Where Leeroy Pisses on Everything

   My feet stand parallel at the top of the slide, one foot slightly behind the other. The slide twists down towards the ground, to simulate some kind of fun for the children. Oh, look! Now the slide is a water slide!
   Except the water is my piss.
   This is a ritual of mine.
   Every night, at about 10 o'clock, I wake up from my nightmares ("I don't sleep, I dream") only to piss them away.
   Every damn night.
   There's only one rule in this life ("Stay on the path"), and it's meant to be broken ("Stay on the path to enlightenment"). There's only one destination ("In the end, it won't make a difference"), and it'll only kill you.
   Stay on the path.
   This is my way of breaking the rule. This is my way of "being myself," or "not conforming." Whatever. When I piss I try to remember lines from my book. Lines like, "stay on the path," and "be myself." My book was the only thing keeping me going. What was it about? I don't remember. I can't.
   So, I'm peeing/pissing/living down the slide, when I feel like I'm being watched. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. I look up from my stream of waste and corruption to meet eyes with an elderly lady waiting at the bus stop, rather nondescript looking. She was kinda pretty in that way, I guess. Maybe a little nervous. She seemed to be thinking quickly. I could see it. Every few minutes, another thought.
   10:15: Where the Hell is the bus?
   10:18: Who is this strikingly handsome naked man, and why is he pissing everywhere?
   Like that. I'm still pissing. I had to go. And she's just watching, kind of disgusted. Just watching. I did a lot of that in my single-serving home. I try to think of something deep to say ("Hey, how are you?"), and this is what I come up with...
   "What? Haven't you ever wanted to watch the worst parts of you just float away?"

Part 1: Meet Leeroy

   When I think of myself, I see a well-dressed, middle-aged husband in a single-serving American home, not unlike yourself. I have two single-serving American kids and a single-serving American wife. I've only cheated on this wife a couple of times, but those women were even worse. More like appetizers, or something.
   That was a long time ago.
   If I were to look in a mirror, I would see the disheveled face of someone who has lost everything except for a slew of ideas. Or perhaps I have lost it because of this slew of ideas. Whatever. I am now completely naked with a full-grown beard, and am camped out in the playground, scaring off the kids. Any minute, a cop could roll up and say, "Sir, please quit flogging your dong in front of these kids." Or, they'll say, "What a sick individual! You disgust me! Get in the car!" These people pretend these kids have never seen a porno, or seen their dad's schlong. They pretend they're growing up in a perfectly average neighborhood with perfectly average parents. They make good grades, or if they don't, they're probably "exceptionally challenged."
   Oh my medium-sized American heart.
   I have nowhere to go, thanks to my decisions. I wanted to "start over." I had "hit rock bottom." So I went to my most basic, and became a nudist. Lived like a dog. I am living like a dog, actually. In fact, I tried to stay at the animal shelter, and the owners were cool with that. So cool. They were cool with that until I started "cleaning myself." That's what they called it, like I'm some kind of dog. I most certainly was not cleaning myself. Regardless, they kicked me out. Maybe I should have tried the strip club ("I am nothing. Save me.").
   But I can't do that. She wouldn't like that. I need to pick up the pieces, and find myself. Clean up, and put myself back together. You know, "put my self back on the market."
   Ugh. I'm getting too young to do this.