The Good Old Times

            Me and Jim didn’t talk. We thought the same thoughts. But Jim’s not here anymore. And I’m trying to be happy. I have to be happy. For Jim.
            You know how I try to be happy? I put my head under my ass. Like this. Pretty cool, huh? But I don’t stop here. I go all the way. I lean against the wall, and I put my head on the floor, like this, my feet in the air. Yeah. I stay like this for hours. ‘Cause it’s only like this that I’m almost happy. I do this a lot. It makes me think of the good old times. The good old times.
            I was always like this in the good old times. I was like this for nine months. Pretty cool, huh? Only I was inside my mother. Right here. Well, not here, in my mother right here. But not exactly like here. ‘Cause my mother is different from me. She’s a woman, you know. And I’m not. And women are different in here. Well, in some other places, too. But mostly here. And that’s where I was. Inside. Upside down. Yeah, those were some fun times. What a life. No work, no worries, no nothing. I didn’t have to think about anything. Hell, half the time I didn’t even know what thinking was, much less how to do it. And I didn’t have to do anything. Didn’t have to look, ‘cause it was dark anyway; didn’t have to move, I was just kind of floating around; I didn’t have to eat or take a shit, drink or take a piss. I did not even have to breathe. Mom did all of that for me. Every simple thing I have to do for myself today, she did for me. She even smoked for me; she took pills for me; she got drunk for me; she even took drugs for me. I was pretty fucked up a few times, just floating there in the dark, not really knowing what to think, but seeing some weird colors around me.
            And all this time, Jim was with me. Right here, next to me. We were together in there. And we had a blast. We didn’t talk – I mean, even if we knew how, it’s hard to do that in there. But I could hear him. I could hear his thoughts. No, not hear them, I was thinking his thoughts; and he was thinking mine. We had the same thoughts. ‘Cause we had the same brain. One brain. Our brain. Mine and Jim’s. It was a good brain. Good enough for me and Jim.
            But they didn’t know. They though we would die. They thought we couldn’t be together. And they had to choose between us.
            Now, Jim’s not here anymore. But I still feel him. Right here next to me. You can see he was here, because I have this metal plate right here now. And I hear things with it. Sometimes I can hear the radio. But sometimes – I hear Jim. He talks to me. Jim says: “Are you happy? I hope you’re happy. You better be happy. I would be happy!”
            I know he would.
            I have to be happy for both of us now. But I can’t even be happy for myself. And I know Jim would be happy. Mom knew, too. That’s why she didn’t want me. They all knew. That’s why they named me Jim. After him. ‘Cause he would be happy. And I’m not. Jim would be happy. They picked the wrong one.
            I try to be happy, I do. I put my head down, like the good old times. And I’m almost happy. But I can’t. They picked the wrong one. They picked the wrong one.readeo.html