Andy pulled into his trendy, Brooklyn apartment complex at 8:15pm on Friday evening. His ears were ringing because the twenty minute commute from work was once again spent in silence. His car had no working A.C. and the speakers had long since gone out. The beating wind from open windows and lack of music and conversation must have made the blood spin around in his ears. He thought about this while he jiggled the key to open his apartment door.
"Fuck," he thought to himself, "I gotta get new locks." He stepped into his stagnant smelling living room and stared at the innocent looking dog that had once again shit on the carpet, escaped his kennel, eaten the trash, chewed the couch, and ripped up more of the carpet in the far corner. "What a fucking way to come home" he thought to himself as he threw his keys and wallet on a shelf. " Go piss," he said to the dog and let it run out the front door. The dog galloped around the parking lot while Andy cleaned up the mess. The dog, Brink, was a brown mutt that enjoyed smelling every bush, urinating on it, and moving on. He was surprisingly obedient around Andy but hated to be alone. He spent 40 percent of his waking hours in a cage and the rest of the time basked in the pure comfort of sharing a room with a human whose love was as unconditional as his own. It was a sort of fair exchange in Brink's eyes. Every now and then Andy would leave him in the cage far too long while working extra hours, so every now and then he would shit himself and rip up the apartment. Like anyone in love, at the end of the day they could still comfortably enjoy silence in each other's company no matter how unkind they were to each other.
After cleaning up, Andy yelled, "Brink!" and when the dog calmly stepped in the apartment he shut the door, got a beer from the fridge, opened it, sat on the couch, and realized his television was still broken. "I gotta get out" he said out loud to nobody. Deciding that if he went out it could lead to a female returning with him, he cleaned a little deeper, especially in the bedroom. As he made his bed, Andy thought about how ridiculous it is that every time he makes his bed it is only simply because he may find it easier to fuck a girl in a made bed then an unmade one.
Feeling the house was satisfyingly in order, he sat on the old ragged leather couch, cracked open his second beer, and got out his phone. At 9:00pm on this Friday night he sent out the same text message to six girls at the same time: Hey! It's Andy Harper, Not sure if you have plans tonight but we should hang out. Let me know!
Throughout the course of the next two days he got the following responses:
Tiffany - 9:15pm - Friday - "Hey, Sorry I'm at a show. I will be out late. Maybe some other time?"
Rachel - 1:00am - Saturday - "Sorry Andy my phone died"
Katy - 10:30am - Saturday - "Are you the Andy from Basement Bar? or the one I work with?"
Angela - 7:15pm - Saturday - "Andy, I really shouldn't talk to you, it would be disrespectful to Dane. Lets forget about what happened okay? I was drunk and regret it. Don't text me anymore"
Lindsey and Cheryl never responded.
Andy waited for his inevitably negative responses by looking at porn on the internet for thirty minutes. Andy had made such a routine of looking at pornography that it was like eating a meal or taking a nap. It was just another part of his day. When he was done he took a twenty minute shower. After the shower he squeezed into a pair of super tight jeans and a size small tee shirt. He waddled into the bathroom and shaved. When he stepped back from the mirror his neck was bleeding and his shirt was so tight it was scrunching up in the armpits and hair was sticking out. He could also see the impression of his nipples through the fabric. "Jesus Christ..." he sighed quietly.
He took off the shirt and stepped onto the scale next to the toilet. It read 205. "Jesus Christ" he said again. He looked back over to the mirror and noticed his sides and belly folding over his jeans a little bit. "Goddamn my ass looks fat" he mumbled, "when did this happen?"
Andy cracked open a third beer and returned to the couch, "Boy's night?" he said out loud to Brink. He flipped through his phone address book and started with Alex Jones and ended with Zach Lyons and could not find one person that wasn't some sort of asshole or ex girlfriend. He finished his beer in silence. Still no bites on the mass text. Brink was licking his paws so loudly that Andy had to throw a shoe at him. The dog got up, licked Andy's knee, and sat back down to continue his paw licking.
Andy opened a fourth beer and called Sophie, the girl he had randomly been having sex with earlier that year but had not talked to in months. He took his tight pants off to end the torment the denim was causing his legs.
S- "Hey Andy"
A- "Hey Sophie"
S- "What's up?"
A- "Nothing, just trying to plan my night. You wanna come over and watch a movie on my laptop?"
S- "The T.V. is still broken?"
A- "Yeah... damn thing."
S- "Okay, yeah that sounds good."
A- "Oh cool! you coming now?"
S- "If you want me to, sure"
A- "yeah, do that!"
S- "Can we get coffee in the morning? I've really missed you, I want to catch up."
A- "umm..." Andy paused a minute, "you know what Sophie? I just realized, I'm really tired. I think I'll just go to bed early, sorry."
S- "Okay..."
A- "I'm really sorry."
S- "You are such an Asshole Andy!"
A- "I know..."
S- "Bye Andy."
Andy hung up and curled up on the couch. Brink tried to join him but he shoved the dog away.
It was 11:00 and Andy was starting his fifth beer. He got online and checked his e-mail. He read an article about how professional sports players usually sign on before the age of 21 and usually hit their peak around 22 or 23. "Three years past my prime and what do I have to show for it?" he thought out loud. He began looking at the online profiles of his ex girlfriends. A habit he had anytime he felt depressed and self-pitying. He decided to e-mail his girlfriend from ages 18-22.
"Sarah,
I want to start off by saying that I love you, I always have. I know you live in London now and I don't want to make things complicated but I'm nothing without you. I know why you left me and I don't blame you but I am not the same kid you remember as I'm sure you aren't either. I've changed Sarah. I have nothing going for me here. New York is empty without love. I will work and save the next few months and move out there. your mom can still get me the freelance gig right? i could work from home. Our home. Give you a break on rent. I know it sounds crazy but I'm serious. God I miss you. Please say you will take me back.
Love,
Andy.
As he hit send he knew his message would not be responded to. Perhaps it would never even be read. He immediately regretted it. He pictured the message transforming into invisible dust and floating over the Atlantic Ocean, bouncing around and mingling with all the other trans-Atlantic cyber space text files swirling about in the unknown. He wanted to grab it and stop it. Unsend the message. But it was too late. It didn't matter anyway.
Andy opened the front door to let Brink run around again, "Go piss" he said. While the dog happily re-marked each bush lining the parking lot, Andy sipped on his sixth beer and watched porn again. When he finished his hand was sticky with semen and he stood up to go wash it off. As he stood up, his leg caught the corner of the table and he stumbled over laughing to himself. His hand smacked on his shirt and the semen soaked through the fabric and stuck to his belly. Andy just lay on the ground, drunk and a mess, laughing to himself. The dog let himself back in after twenty minutes and plopped down with a sigh next to the couch. "Fuck it" Andy said, taking his shirt off and wiping himself down with it. He took his last sip of beer. He shut the front door and climbed into his neatly made bed. It was 1:00 A.M.
Through the walls he could hear his neighbor playing the piano. He recognized it as the same song Sarah had wanted for their wedding which never happened. Andy hummed along as he laid on top of his made bed in just his underwear. He felt hungry but just didn't care to up and make anything. Brink jumped up onto the bed and rested his chin on Andy's leg. As the two of them lay silently the music floated down the walls, through the vents, and out into the open air. Each note percolating through the atmosphere and mixing with all the Sounds of New York. This symphony floated out through the boroughs, across the East River and the Hudson, and drifted away to that unknown place where sound goes when it becomes too quiet for anybody to hear it.
