Chapter 8-
Author's Notes: I'm grateful for the reviews, and I'm sorry for the emotional crap… But, I feel the need for an emotional Banky. Especially since I've watched Chasing Amy 2.4 times in the past 3 days…
Today was miserable. I got up and the first thing I did was whack my head on the bedpost. Let me tell you, that was unpleasant. Then I looked out the window and noticed that New Jersey was again experiencing very nice weather. Of course, it was too fucking hot and sunny for me to go outside.
I'm a fucking invalid! I can't even leave my own home because of this fucking disease! If I get sunburned, then it just makes things worse. I was so tempted to call a friend, but I don't want their fucking pity! I just want things to be like old times, where some of us friends get together, go to the hockey game, go to Denny's, go to the arcade and play some skeeball, and then go home. Just like I've been doing for the past 15 years or so.
Obviously, that isn't meant to happen. I shouldn't have been so selfish over it, y'know? If they want to pity me, fine, let them. If it makes them feel better, then that's great. I mean, I'm slowly dying anyway, what's the point? In a matter of months, I'll be dead, in the ground, with weeds growing on my grave.
Actually, I should call up Randal. He would never pity me! If anything, he would tell me to get off my high horse and tell me to get on with my life! Then again, Randal's changed in the past few years. He's an asshole, yes, but he knows about pity.
Perhaps he doesn't care at all about my illness. Its just Randal being Randal. He'd just bring over his stroke books and Star Wars tapes, and we'd make a night of it. Just like old times.
Speaking of old times, maybe tomorrow's hockey game is my last chance. I might never get another chance to go out to a hockey game before I die. Hockey, drink, Zamboni, drink, Devils win, yell, scream, go to Denny's, piss, leave, drink, go to arcade, play drunken skeeball, go home, sleep, wake up with hangover. Die.
I just want to have one final hurrah. I want to be the old Banky that everyone knew and maybe even loved. I want to have one last good time before I get to meet God herself.
Someday I'll see my friends in heaven. I know that God has love for all of her children, and surely I'll see Jay, Bob, Randal, Dante, Alyssa, Veri, Caitlin, Willam, Hoop… maybe even Holden.
But, dying does have its benefits. Well, no. Dying slowly has its benefits. It forces you to think; about your past, your present, your future. I've been thinking about my past, and how I had always been a cynical little bastard. Well, maybe not always… I wasn't so bad until third grade when that Nun tried to teach me the Blessed Trinity. I don't remember why I lost it that day, but… I didn't understand her. I was too young to understand the many facets of God… and then, I just lost it…
From then on, I began to fashion myself into the man I've become; Sarcastic, bitter, angry, scared, lonely… I know that I'm successful… I was half the mastermind behind Bluntman and Chronic- One of the most popular underground comics since The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. I was the executive producer of one of the hottest Summer Superhero movies of 2001. I made a shitload of cash, and used that cash to better my community. I donated a large percentage of it to various causes- The Arts, education, charities, orphans… But, no matter what I did, I was still unhappy.
I'm still not happy. I know I'll be gone in a few months or less, but… I just want to be happy one more time. Just once. Not even watching DeGrassi reruns in my underwear makes me happy. It amuses me, but I still feel empty and alone…
Fuck it. I'm calling Randal.