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Burn

Nancy Zhang

    I got off at 2 AM yesterday. The boss wouldn’t let me leave, telling me I had to finish stacking the damn cans of pork ‘n beans.
    I came home exhausted as usual. It wasn’t even much of a home — a dingy apartment filled with cockroaches fit only for a failure. I took comfort in reaching for the familiar location of my old Fender guitar. I found part of the body in an old dumpster one day; I was struck at its decayed beauty, couldn’t get my eyes off of it. I took that piece of junk to my old high school friend, Lennie. He owns a music shop down the street. Said I didn’t have no money to fix it. No problem, he said, I’ll do it for free. Payment for that time you saved my ass in English. Hell, I’ll even throw in your audio cables an’ amps.
    And so it was that I became the proud owner of a Fender 1976 Mustang. I wasn’t good at a lot of things, but it turns out I ain’t half bad at this guitar. Picked up a few chords, and suddenly I could strum along some basic lullabies. It’d be nice if I had a kid to play ‘em to, but oh well. I kept practicing and soon enough I got able to play some of that popular music these days. Hey, I thought, might as well make some YouTube videos. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll get picked up by some record agency.
    I got out my mic and started up the amp. I wasn’t feeling anything too rock-n-roll today, and besides, the neighbors would probably just scream at me. Damn druggies, all of ‘em. In the end, I picked an old Beatles song, “Hey Jude.” It had a nice lovely tempo and wasn’t overly stimulating.
    After I uploaded that video, I checked the stats of my old recordings. A couple dozen views at max, but hey all of them were “Likes.” I beamed. In this quiet hour, this moment planted a seed of happiness that spread through my chest. Someone, someone out there watched this video and enjoyed it. And wasn’t that enough?
    The next day, I was late to work. Accidentally slept through my alarm and didn’t care enough to rush through morning traffic. The boss was mildly irked, but she let it pass. My boss was an overweight woman in her 40’s with a uniform that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. Most of the employees frequently showed up late. I suppose they just weren’t paid enough to give a damn. I checked the shift schedule; I was on cashier duty in the morning. That wasn’t so bad. I just had to stand in one place and not piss off the customers. At least I didn’t have to do the heavy lifting like in the evenings. I put on my uniform and took my place in Lane 8.
    In the middle of my duty, a pale white lanky teenager appeared in line. He seemed well-adorned, with a classic white blouse and sharp black dress shoes. He unfurled the contents of his shopping bag on the conveyer belt, and a stash of frozen pizza and what appeared to be our entire inventory of soda tumbled out. Probably a damn rich kid going to one of his parties. I was a bit annoyed by his haughty demeanor, but I held my tongue like I usually do. Nothing good ever comes from running your mouth.
    “You seem much older than the other workers here.” The lanky teen had the guts to open his trap. “Is our economy that bad that poor old men are forced to work in low-tier retailers?”
    I was forced to respond. “No sir, I’ve just been here for a while. Job market’s hard you know. Got this job and needed a place to live is all.”
    “Ah, so you chose this place willingly. Poor sod. Why though? With a decent college education, you should be able to land any entry-level professional job. My friend, dumb as rocks I tell you, is an accountant at a local bank. They don’t let him do shit, you know. But he gets paid a decent wage.”
    I snarled. “I never get the funds ter go ter college.”
    “My, that shows a lack of preparation above all else. If you wanted a quick and dirty job, simply go to a trade school. I hear welders are high in demand.”
    His condescending tone whirled around my head, refusing to leave me alone. I was getting increasingly agitated. Who does this kid think he is? “Sir, please, I’m not smart. But I can do some things. I can play the guitar. I’ll be a musician soon, you know.”
    “Please!” The teenager chuckled. “I’ve had music lessons all my life. You’re looking at the Tri-state Area Piano Champion for three years running here. You know, I’ve had plenty of electric guitars before. Threw them away. I don’t listen to this trash modern music anyways.”
    The quiet flame of rage charged in me until I could hold it in no longer. I had a momentary lapse in reason and threw my fist at the kid’s delicate jawline. It crashed and I could hear a satisfying crunch.
    He screamed, his hands plastered on his jaw. All the customers and employees whipped their heads in the direction of the commotion. Boss came running to Lane 8 with a flurry. She apologized profusely to the incoherent teen while panting heavily.
    “I’ll habe you sued!”
    “I am so sorry about this incident. All of your items are free today. I can get you some coupons for the next year.”
    “I don’ care about that! It’s him.” He brandished an accusatory finger at me. “I wan’ ‘im gone!”
    “Oh yes, you won’t have to worry about Dylan. He won’t be working for us anymore.”
    I started protesting, “But but but, I’ve been here longer than you!”
    The boss flashed me a cold stare. Shut up.
    After the store manager gave that snobby kid discounts for a year, and everything was settled, my boss pulled me into her office.
    “Now what the hell was that stunt you just pulled?”
    “I-I don’t know. Sorry. I’m normally not like that, I promise.”
    “No buts! If you can’t fucking control your temper with a single asshat, you’re not going to be able to work here.” The boss sighed. “Listen, I know how you feel. I hate it here also. I can’t stand all these damn teenagers. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re normally well behaved.”
    “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened either.”
    “Well unfortunately for you, if you don’t have a reason, I’ll have to fire you.” Her eyes warmed up a bit. “Look, I really don’t want to slam you, promise. In fact, I quite enjoy your company. That one time you brought your guitar to work was awesome. Rock on! But I’ve got my own boss to appease. Punching random customers just isn’t good publicity. You know, I got two kids at home and their deadbeat dad is useless piece of shit. I can’t afford to lose this job.”
    I hung my head, unable to look her in the eyes.
    “Look Dylan, I understand your feelings. Hey, I heard Subway is hiring down the street. I’ll help you get a new job. With time, you’ll be making about as much as you would’ve made here even.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” I said softly. Then I promptly rose and left.
    I headed to Jimmy’s Bar and Grill after work. It was a good place, except there was no Jimmy and there wasn’t a grill. I suppose the original store shut down and the new owners weren’t creative enough to think of a new name. So now it was just a pub, where the dregs of society gathered in solidarity.
    “The usual, please.” I asked the bartender.
    “Old Weller Antique on neat, no straw?”
    “You got it.”
    “Shit taste as usual.” The bartender grabbed the necessary items.
    I raised my haunches. “I’m trying to get drunk, not enjoy a fine night.”
    He passed me my drink. “You look like shit today. This one’s on the house.”
    “Well aren’t you being nice today.” I gulped my cup down, savoring the sweet burn on the back of my throat as the alcohol rushed down.
    The bartender bent over the table and leaned in to look me in the eyes. “Say, why haven’t you done it yet?”
    “Done what?”
    “You’ve got a twenty-two at home, don’tcha? It’s even sawed off for easy storage. No one I know has ever fucked it up with a shotgun.”
    I sighed. “I don’t know, really. I’ve always been meaning to, but I thought my videos would take off eventually, you know? That life would get better.”
    The bartender shook with a cruel laugh. “Kid, you’re naive. Hell, you’re 37 years old. You’re not even a kid, just a pathetic loser.”
    “Thanks for rubbing it in. Another shot, please.”
    He poured my cup full again and nearly slammed the bottle on the table. “Say, I’ve got a deal for you. Wanna hear it?”
    “Sure. I don’t have anything to offer though.”
    At this, the bartender took on a demonic aura. His eyes shone crimson red and his tongue flitted side to side. “You have your soul. I can take that. In fact, I would love it.”
    I scoffed. I was drunk enough to play along with this joke.
    “Alright sure, what’s in it for me?”
    “In exchange,” the bartender said ominously, “You can have any wish you want. All the desires of the world is at your feet. You could wish for riches beyond measure, kingdoms, even immortal life.”
    I thought about it for a moment. “You know, I don’t need any of that. What I’ve always known was that I fucked up. I think I just did this whole life thing wrong. I want to redo. I want to do everything over again, except this time I promise I’ll make it right. I’ll take school seriously, I won’t disappoint my parents, and I’ll even get a lover. Please... Just let me do it again.”
    The bartender’s dark eyes shone once again. “Your wish is my command,” he hissed.
    “Another drink, please.”
    #
    Robert Smith was having a good day. He had just been promoted at work, resulting in a $10,000 pay increase. His wife, Sharon, decided to make a huge feast to celebrate the happy occasion. She spent the entire afternoon shopping for meat, eggs, an assortment of vegetables, and even a fancy wine. She headed to the local bakery to get the freshest grains. She even took the kids to an that expensive homemade ice cream shop. “Dad’s been given an even bigger responsibility, so you’ll have a lot of expectations to fulfill from now on,” she told them.
    Robert Smith was a highly educated man going on his 38th year. He had a degree in Economics from Princeton and went on to get an MBA at Harvard Business School and now was working at a Fortune 500 company making six figures a year. Robert had married his high school sweetheart, Sharon, and the two had a son and daughter. The son excelled at sports and was at the top of his class. Everyone envied little William Smith. Violet Smith was the younger sibling, but he could already tell that she was going to be a beauty. She had delicate blond curls and a natural, rosy complexion. In a few years, he would have to begin warding off a hoard of boys begging for his daughter’s hand.
    Robert Smith’s parents beamed with pride whenever they mentioned their son. Oh how they loved to brag about him! “He was always precocious, that one,” they would say. “He always gets his way, that Robert. God truly has given this family His blessings.”
    But still, Robert Smith was not a happy man. After he had received an offer from his dream job, Robert found that he was hollow. He had no passions in life beyond beating out his competitors and receiving the higher paycheck. He could not enthusiastically make love to Sharon, seeing her as only a beautiful piece of plastic. It was true, Sharon was stunning. She was a star of the cheerleading squad back in high school, and every woman in the neighborhood was jealous of her spirit and vitality. But he was never able to passionately embrace her. He loved his children, yes, but he was distant. He did not understand what it meant to nurture them, to take care of them.
    After dinner and when the kids were all set to bed, Robert confided these thoughts to his wife. She sniffled a little and buried her head deeper inside his chest. She wrapped her lithe arms around his bare skin and caressed his strong back.
    “Oh Robert! If only you knew how much you mean to us, how much you mean to me! Don’t worry, I’ve been reading up on this kind of stuff online. I think you’re having one of those midlife crisis. Some of my friends’ husbands have this problem too. I think they’ve had luck with a Dr. Tufas downtown. Oh yes, I’m sure he’d fix you up right quickly.”
    “I see...” Robert murmured. “Well Sharon, thank you for the advice. I will make an appointment soon. He softly touched his lips to hers and let the saliva elongate between them as he pulled back. “Good-night, dear.”
    Robert checked into the receptionist bright and early. “I’m here for an appointment with Dr. Tufas.”
    “Ah yes.” The girl behind the counter spun around. “He’s been having a lot of patients recently. Please sit down in the waiting area, and he’ll come get you when he’s ready.”
    At last, an old man with a greying, but still brown beard appeared from behind the door and stepped into the waiting room. He had on a smart corduroy and mahogany pleats. The man looked very comfortable in his business casual get-up. “Mr. Smith?”
    “Ah yes, that’s me.”
    Robert Smith followed the lightly smiling man into his office. “Please, sit down,” said Dr. Tufas.
    “So I understand that you’ve been having depression problems.”
    “No — I mean, it’s not depression, it’s just... Well life, you know?”
    “No no, Mr. Smith, I understand. This is fairly typical of a person of your age and calibre. I believe your wife Sharon called it a ‘midlife crisis’?”
    “Ah, yes, why how did you know?”
    His eyes flashed a brilliant red, and he whispered, “Oh, I can tell. I’ve seen a lot of patients like you.”
    Dr. Tufas proceeded to ask Robert Smith his usual battery of questions — where he was born, his parents, his experience growing up... Suddenly, Dr. Tufas stopped. He curled his thin lips into a smile, his tongue reaching up and down. “I think I know what the problem is.”
    Robert Smith’s heart elated. Oh good, he thought, there’s a clear cut problem, he’ll put me on meds, and I’ll be fixed in no time.
    “You don’t have a soul.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You heard me right — you don’t possess a soul. You know normally, in this situation, I would exchange a barter. Your life for a wish! But in this case, you have nothing. Not even your own spirit to offer. You’re disgusting.”
    “Listen, Dr. Tufas, I’m not here to play games. You know the last time I went to church? Twelve years old.” Suddenly, tears started streaming down Robert Smith’s cheeks. “Doctor, please, just help me.” He started begging. “All my life, I thought I had done things right. I took my education seriously, I got a good job, I got a wife and kids, my parents love me... So why then... Why can’t I be happy?”
    At this point, full-fledged droplets were streaking down Robert’s face. He became unable to contain himself. “I-I’m sorry for showing you this mockery of myself. Why, the last time this happened was years ago.”
    Once again, Dr. Tufas’ eyes slitted and shone blood red. “I’m sorry Mr. Smith, but without a soul there’s nothing I can do for you. Except, pray for your salvation perhaps.” Dr. Tufas laughed cynically.
    “It’s okay, I understand.” Robert Smith left the clinic with his eyes glazed over and his shoulders slumped.
    On his way back home, Robert stumbled upon a dumpster. Normally, he would have grimaced at such unsightly things, but today, for some inexplicable reason, he was drawn towards that grimy green metal cage. He inched closer and found the decaying corpse of a 1976 Fender.
    Truth be told, Robert was always a guitar nerd. Ever since he was little, he liked to play loud rock music. Unfortunately, his mother advised him that that was unbecoming of a young gentleman, referring him to the more classical piano. However, Robert would always grab guitar magazines and ooze over all the different makes and models in secret, waiting for the day that he could play his own instrument.
    Robert grabbed the guitar and wiped as much dirt off of it as he could. There was still life in the instrument, Robert decided. He knew a guy, Lennie. Owned a music store down the street. Real nice guy. He could fix the guitar right up. Maybe throw in a free amp and audio cords as well. Robert got to work.

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