Part 10: The Worst Part

   My feet stand parallel at the top of the slide, one shoe slightly behind the other. This was a ritual of mine.
   After I'm done peeing, I zip up my slacks. Everything I see is everything I lose. Heather had left me a note with the pants. She wrote, "Come back to reality, Leeroy." And she gave me the pants and a tie, so she could choke the breath and manhood out of me even when I wasn't home with her. Oh, my medium-sized American heart.
   The kids sit in a circle and watch me as I pick up an empty bottle of liquor and my suitcase. One of them asks, "Leeroy, where'd you get clothes?"
   Um.
   "Leeroy, could you tell us a story?"
   They just want me to make some shit up. A pause. I tell them, "All your dreams will come true and you'll marry someone you love and you'll be happy forever."

.   .   .

   The walk to the bus takes forever.

   That lucky drugged up guy lands a few feet away from me in a splatter of blood. So it goes.
   A woman was struck by lightning and burnt to a crisp. God was right; in the end, we can't make a difference.

   That painfully normal lady with the plants crosses over to the fountain.
   Brian still doesn't have any limbs. I still can't remember what Ms. Pigg looks like.

   That guy with the staff stands in the middle of the basketball court, casting spells. What the fuck.
   While I wait for the bus, I contemplate writing a book when I'm not working my 9 to 5. I contemplate living a little. Whatever. All my dreams will come true.

   The bus arrives, and I get on. I'm on my way to an office or a factory or a school. Heather works, but she'd make more money if she were a boy. And if I were smarter, I wouldn't teach. But I'm not as smart as I could be.

   The bus pulls away, and nobody saw, heard from, or cared for Leeroy Jenkins again.

Part 9: The Part Where Leeroy Remembers More

   So somebody wrote these letters to me first. And then I wrote my book on the back of these letters. Ugh. I'm getting too young to do this detective thing. Especially with these work clothes on.
   They're so heavy.
   I found a tie now. Everything I see is everything I lose. It's even heavier than the socks and the shirt. All these weights and wires make a young man tired. The note that came with the tie said, "You'll need to cover your manhood. You'll need to make sure we never see it again. Look in the diner." On the back I wrote, "Remember the promise we made as kids?" I did remember, actually. I don't remember much. I remember lots of boring shit. And I remember the promise. I promised myself I would be extraordinary, and Heather (who I keep reminding myself was my wife) promised the same thing.
   There's a massive line outside the diner. It smells like pie, and I don't smell much anymore. Oh God. It smells like apple pie. Heather used to make apple pie. For the first time in forever, I miss somebody. Oh, my medium sized American heart. A very hairy man stands in line. He's one of  the most interesting looking people I've ever seen.
    "Hey," I say.
   "Hey," he says back, "You found clothes."
   "Yep. They're so heavy."
   "Not cool. Liked you better without clothes ... I mean that in the most normal way possible. You weren't 'normal' without clothes. I guess you still don't have any pants. But that's not unusual these days. You should ditch the work clothes."
    "I can't."

Part 8: The Extra Ordinary Man

   I'm sitting down in Foo Foods, the same place I met and forgot Ms. Pigg. Brian Bunderson sits across from me in all his limbless beauty. Watching him eat is like watching porn. It's disgusting, it's exploitation, and yet it's strangely entertaining. He looks up from his food, squints at me, and says, "You found a shirt."
   It's true. I've found a blue work shirt to go with my dress socks. They're so heavy. They have weights in them, but no matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of the weights. They're so heavy.
   Hey, so, Brian, tell me about yourself, why don't you have limbs?
   "Well, society tries to get rid of your limbs anyway, Leeroy."
   Oh, right. I know what you're saying. The sky is blue.
   "So, I figured, I might as well get rid of them myself, so at least I made the choice to do it."
   Sometimes, my Mom made me dinner. I'm just going through the motions with this conversation.
   "So, tell me about yourself Leeroy."
   "What?"
   "Tell me. Why'd you all of a sudden start wearing clothes. Hell, for that matter, when'd you stop?"
   "Um." I play with my noodles a little bit with my right hand. My left hand has a note with the words "I am the Extra Ordinary Man" on the front and "You'll need 7 of these" on the back. "Um." I repeat.
   "Look, Leeroy," Brian says, "You were just waiting for your turn to talk. What's the matter with you?"
   I pause. "Well. See that old man over there, destroying his food? He's obviously high as nuts. Why in the world does he need to be high as nuts to enjoy himself? Why can't he just enjoy himself?"
   "Um." It was Brian's turn.
   I continue. "Nobody loves anybody, Brian. Nobody loves anybody, and everybody fucks everybody. My life was exactly the same, as far as I can remember. I don't remember much, but I have nightmares about it every night. I don't sleep, I dream. I had a wife and a kid. I was fond of my wife. I loved my kid. I was writing a book. And then I couldn't take that mediocrity anymore, so I ran away and stopped wearing clothes. And now some asshole has found pages of my book and is leaving notes for me on the back of the pages. I can't remember, but I think I know who it is. And this asshole is leaving me work clothes. I bet it's a woman."
   "I like women."
   "So do I."
   Brian thinks for a second. "Are you sure you wrote the book first? Or could you have written on the back of the notes people were leaving you afterwords, to exercise your demons or something?"
   "I-." Wait. I can't breathe. Everything I see is everything I lose.
   Brian's right.