I am That Guy. Everyone knows me. Everyone knows my name. I'm the most talked about person, tomorrow. "Did you hear about That Guy that told jokes till everyone was literally crying for him to stop?" "Didja you see That Guy who set himself on fire last night?" "What about That Guy that spent the whole party sleeping with different women?"
I've lived my life hard and fast. Music, women, drugs. Ah, the stories I could tell you would make you weep that you weren't me. I had become such a Facebook sensation that I was invited to parties by people I'd never met.
Out of state, this one in particular. Big bonfire, loud music, women everywhere. It must have been an amazing party. At least, I hope it was. I didn’t know what all the booze and drugs were, but I can safely say I won't mix that concoction again. I drempt of all my greatest triumphs.
There was one in high school, my first one, Jessica. The sister of a friend of a friend. I stole her from someone else. When her family moved away, I drove to Maine to get her one summer. We spent an amazing week together, riding four-wheelers, laying out underneath the stars. Near the end of the week, she told me she loved me, and opened herself up, like a lotus in bloom, and gave herself to me. The next day, I overheard her talking to a friend. I yelled at her and accused her of trying to go back to her ex. She wept, but my mind could not be changed. I left her, crying on the porch of his house, states away from her own.
Then there was Mikka, a cute Brazilian whose parents had fled the country after some coup d'état or something. She was THE ONE. Smart, funny, sexy, vivacious. The Blonde Bombshell. We talked about spending our lives together. We went through it all; house, marriage, kids, growing old, his and her towels. I had promised her a life I knew I couldn't deliver. When I left her for a thinner girl who was younger and had more perky breasts, I heard she was mad. But I have better things to do than worry about how my life affects others.
Mandylin was gorgeous. Beautiful smile, legs for days, the voice of an angel. Her mother loved me, her father... not so much. We went to dinners, movies premiers, gala events, slept together more than we ever slept with each other. Anywhere we went became the place to be. She was in love and I was in over my head. She bought a ring, proposed to me, made a ceremony, and I, I got to drunk to attend. She heard rumors that I slept with all the bridesmaids that night, and her sister, and her mother, and one of her cousins. I can't confirm that extravagant rumor, and I couldn't then, when she asked. I CAN say her mother likes me still.
Why, you may ask, am I recalling all these memories? You may wonder what has possessed me to relive all these moments of my life, as you may have noticed, there are higher moments better suited for reliving. The simple truth is this; I can't stop. When I arrived here at the party, I noticed a group of women dancing on a platform, a stone table. Far be it from me to question why a large stone table would be in a field, or who would drag the behemoth out here just for this event. As it matters not to me, and the thought never crossed my mind, I approached for a closer look at three magnificent sirens. The closer I got, the more transparent their clothes seemed till I was hips up to the table, hands on the surface and said, "The things I would do to you three... are illegal in all fifty states."
I woke up, still standing in this position. I see my body lying on the stone and I think I'm unconscious. Something does feel different though. Everyone from the party is gone. I'm not sure if there even was a party anymore, but there are a few things I can tell you for certain...
Jessica got back with her ex, after I left her there. They got married and had two children. Everyday her husband comes home from work and beats her and the oldest boy. He's already killed the youngest. It was ruled accidental.
Mikka wasn't just mad at me, she went mad. The next person she dated, upon separation, she beat into a coma with a Valentines' bear (holding a rolling pin) he had bought for her.
Mandylin got a job at a gentleman’s club before eventually being turned out for tricks. She was molested, raped, beaten, stabbed, shot, riddled with disease, and eventually died of a guilt and shame induced drug overdose.
I know all of this because I feel it. Every punch, every slap, every needle jab, every shamed decision. I relive all of the torment that could have been spared to them, if it weren't for me. When my body was found, the headline read, "ANOTHER SUICIDE FOUND IN IOWA NEAR PECULIAR STONE." And even though my body is gone, long since turned to dust, I stand here, hands on this stone, for eternity, alongside that guy, and that guy, and that guy, and that guy.