SHAFTWAXER

It’s some holiday where everybody has the day off. I’m over at my grandmother’s place. There’s lots of uninteresting stuff on TV. Fortunately for us, there is also a taping of The Daily Show going on nearby.

As I’m starting to consider leaving, I get a phone call on my old, black cell phone. I don’t recognize the number, but looking at the area code and the extension, it’s local. The man who is talking to me has a thick eastern block accent, and I often have to ask him to repeat what he says. He’s trying to find a particular movement of some music about a war in the past. Once I find it, he wants me to extrapolate what the other 3 missing movements would be like and write those out too. He wants me to essentially write a play/musical that will help draw sarcastic parallels to the current Iraq War. I try and get rid of this man because something seems really odd about this. That, and I have a ton of other work that I have to attend to before I start taking these odd random projects up.

I make it out of the house and head up to the high school. I head through the front doors and head to the right down the 3rd hallway. Room 210. This is where the advanced studies happened. On my way out, I see Joe. Joe used to try and kick my ass every chance he could in 8th and 9th grade. Seems he hasn’t forgotten either. I fucking hate him. He’s toying with me. I’m defending myself this time. I’m also trying to find out what it was that made him decide to pick me as his target. Eventually he admits that I apparently made up a game that involved pennies. I supposedly changed the rules to beat him in the penny game. I’m enraged. On top of not knowing what the fuck he’s talking about, even if it was true, I can’t believe that I was put through all that shit for so long over something is stupid as that. I start to go after him and knock him back. I yell, “That’s right, Joe. All because I apparently changed the rules to a stupid game involving pennies when we were kids, you’ve grown up to be a big fat fucking failure! Fuck you, Joe!!!”

I’m furious. I have to get out of this room. I have to get out of this building. I finally do, and I run across the street. I’m not being followed. I’m with Jon Stewart, and we end up on this large pile of purses and clothing, materials that were apparently seized from some raid. There are 4 or 5 other women/agents who are digging through them. We talk for a while. I eventually say, “Don’t believe everything you have heard about me.” One looks back at me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m almost ashamed to tell the truth, there is something utterly petty about this. But then again, I’m dealing with high school bullshit right now, and I guess I have reverted back to a dumbass high school mentality. “Well, seems that somebody wants the world to believe I’m a bad guy for supposedly cheating at a game when I was in middle school. It’s not true… if it even matters…”

The sun is finally setting, but with it being the holiday, there are a lot of people driving around shooting guns into the air. It’s not safe. I shouldn’t be here. I need to get back home. I run like hell. I hope I make it, it’s going to be a bit over a mile. I try and get as far over into the sidewalks as possible, thinking in my head about whatever way I can get back home that will be the safest. In the distance, I head my sister-in-law playing with her kids in a ball diamond. Looks like most of my family is out there playing kickball. I run over there and hope that I can just catch a ride with them later on. Looks like I’m safe for now.

And that’s when I woke up.