The drive to work is one of my favorite times of the day!
Why? Because I get to sing and dance in my truck! Yay! Being that I have 5
jobs, I get to do it often! Yay! So, I had my Rico Suave going on this
particular morning as I was getting into my truck and just as I was about to bluetooth
my Spotify to my radio, my neighbor (from Episode #1) tapped on my window,
which startled me and I let out a small shriek. I rolled down the window.
“Sorry, to startle you, but I really need to see if this CD I burned works. It
won’t play in my car.” Ugh, it was always something with him. “I don’t have a
CD player in my truck.” His faced turned into something sinister. “What do you
mean you don’t have a CD player. No internet? No CD? What’s wrong with you?” I
really thought this was once bitchy dude. “Actually, I have internet. I’m late
for work.” I was about to roll up the window and he stopped me. “I promised my
wife I would make her a Best of
Michelle Branch mix.” My heart swelled. “Michelle Branch? O-M-G, I love
Michelle Branch!” I thought this was a convenient coincidence. “Okay, just get
in my truck and we’ll find a place.” My neighbor got in and it was awkward at
first, but I didn’t care because we had a serious goal to achieve. I really
didn’t have the time to make a Michelle Branch playlist on Spotify or purchase
the songs on ITunes between dealing with my A.D.D., playing online with Fisheater2013, and my 5 jobs, so I could
upload this CD to my computer later and transfer the songs to my Iphone. “What
you want to listen to?” I asked him but I was going to play whatever I wanted
anyway. “You got Fine Young Cannibals?” And like that my neighbor, Nate, and I
became friends. When we got to Best Buy, we got one of the geek squad members
to assist us in solving our CD issue. To make certain, we tried the CD out on
every CD player on display. We determined Nate’s car was the issue. We were also
able to burn me a copy of this Best of
Michelle Branch mix there even though my radio was too modern to play CDS. Before
I dropped Nate off, I realized that I had known him for quite a while before I
actually new his name. “Thanks buddy, have a good day at work,” he said as he
left my truck. Then it occurred to me that I was 3 hours late for work.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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