The day the voice inside my head got what he deserved

Sometimes the voice in my head is really, really annoying. Like today, when he showed up with his usual enthusiasm, smiling that snide, sideways grin of his.

“Good morning, Shithead. I’m here. What can I do to screw up your day today?” he sang.

“Not today. Please, not today,” I responded.

“Why? What’s so special about today?”

I tried to ignore him. Whistle. Hum. How about those Phillies?

“I’m waiting.”

“Go away,” I tried again.

“Fat chance. You’re stuck with me, buster. After all these years, you should know that by now. You were saying? Something about today?”

“Leave me alone.”

“I live inside your head. How can I possibly leave you alone? We’re conjoined twins.”

“Don’t remind me. Then shut up. Please, for once in your pathetic existence, shut up. Please.”

He coughed a big laugh. “That day will come, Boss Man. It’s the day you don’t want to think about. The day we both go to the big vaulted chamber of self-doubt in the sky.”

I ran my hands through my hair and covered my ears. A lot of good that did.

“Hey, stupid. I’m inside your head, remember? So, you were saying?”

“Bite me.”

“That’s the spirit. Have you forgotten? I’m inside your brain. I already know.”

I sighed, big. Then sighed again.

Another big guffaw. “Gotcha, you pathetic little pan fish. You wanted the worm but you didn’t see the hook. Now, watch me chop off its head, gut it, fry it and eat it. Bones and all. And it’s gonna taste real–”

“–All right, already. Enough.” I sighed again. “I thought this might happen.”

“What might happen?”

“I hoped it wouldn’t. But in my heart of hearts, I kind of knew it would.”

“What?”

“I expected it. I’ve been working really hard, trying to figure it all out. Expanding my horizons. Getting out of my comfort zone. Learning new skills. Doing new stuff. Now it’s here. It’s happened. It’s real. And I have to deal with it.”

Long pause.

“Spit it out, scumbag!” he screamed.

“I’m excited about the future!” I screamed back.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

“Duh. Of course I heard you, Cracker Jack. I live inside your head. I just want to hear you say it again.”

“Screw you. I already said it.”

“You’re what about the future, exactly? Nudge, nudge. Doth mine ears deceive? The E-word? Did I actually hear you utter the E-word?!”

“Yes. I’m excited about the future. OK? I said it again. Happy? You got a problem with that?” He was really pissing me off.

“Well, smack my ass and call me Sally. Boy, you just made my day. You’re in for a heap of trouble, son. A big, fat, stinky turd of a shit sandwich. That’s right, Grasshopper. The E word leads to the D word. Every time.” He was enjoying this way too much.

“I know, I know. You don’t have to spell it out.”

“I didn’t spell it out. I used initials.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir. The E word leads to the D word.”

We said it in unison: “Disappointment. With a capital D.”

“Hell’s bells, boy. I’m impressed. You’re a lunkhead of an idiot of a moron, but I believe you’ve actually learned something,” he said.

I was silent. He was undeterred.

“I can’t believe you. Who do you think you are? Excited about the future. A romantic, irresponsible, self-indulgence. You’re cartwheeling towards a big, fat cinderblock wall of disappointment. And I’m gonna laugh when you crash and burn. Splat!” He laughed and laughed.

“Although, I gotta be honest. I’m disappointed,” he continued. “How many times have I told you to never, under any circumstances get excited about the future? Or anything else, for that matter?”

“Gee, I don’t know. 83 million gajillion?”

“Then why don’t you listen? Excitement only leads to one thing. Disappointment. It’s built in. Rock solid. Guaranteed. Every time.”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me, worm. You live inside my head, remember?”

“You don’t say no to me.”

“I just did. Guess what? I’m gonna say it again. No. I call bullshit. Yeah, you get disappointed. But not every time.”

“You’re playing with fire, boy. Now, I’m not gonna dignify your cockamamie theory with a response. I’m just gonna remind you of the lesson you should have learned by now. You’re a really crappy student, by the way. I’ve been teaching you only a half century, for the love of Mike. You know this. If you never get excited about anything, you’ll never be disappointed.”

“You’re right.”

“That’s my boy. There’s hope. You can be taught.”

“And I’m sick of it.”

“What?”

“I said I’m sick of it. I’m sick of living like a zombie. Dead from the neck up, day in, day out, on account of you. Let me ask you something, Einstein, did disappointment ever kill anybody?”

“Of course it has. You can die of a broken heart.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.”

Silence.

“Did you hear what I said? I’m willing to take the risk,” I repeated.

“Now, hold on, son. Let’s not get crazy. No, no. That’s not what I signed up for. Excitement is not happening. Not on my watch.”

“Oh, it’s happening. Deal with it, Shit For Brains. I’m excited about the future. I know I might be disappointed. And I’m willing to take the risk. That makes me human, OK? Not like you, a cheap dime-store shell of a tinfoil, broken-record robot.”

“Stop it.”

“A outmoded, outdated, obsolete, forgotten automaton. With dead batteries. You’re useless, you know that? I wouldn’t use you as a doorstop. It would be an insult to the door. And your leaking little toy robot batteries would mess up the rug.”

“Take it easy, son. You’re getting a little big for your breeches.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Does me being human make you uncomfortable? Gee, what a shame. I’d hate to see you uncomfortable.”

This time it was me, laughing. And the more I laughed, the smaller he got. He actually shrank, before my eyes.

“C’mon, buddy. We’re a team. I’m just trying to protect you,” he pleaded.

“Protect me? From humanity? No thanks. Go protect someone else.”

“Now stop that. You’re losing your mind. Are you crazy? You can’t be human. I won’t allow it.”

As he shrank, his voice got higher, like he was puffing helium. I was in tears from laughter.

“Stop it! Stop laughing at me,” he raged. “Everybody laughs at me. I won’t take it! Stop!”

I looked down to see he was the size of a GI Joe doll, jumping and screaming at me in the weeds, sounding more and more like a rubber duck.

That’s when I realized I could no longer make out the words. He was yelling and carping and foaming at the mouth. And all I could hear was squeaking, a rusty brake on a junkyard car. For a fleeting moment, I thanked the universe. Finally! He’s speaking another language. He can’t get to me!

But it was a whole new level of annoying. Squeak, shriek, creak, squeal. He was aggravating before, but this was nails on a chalkboard.

So, I kicked him.

Not just a get-his-attention-and-knock-him-down kick. No, this was a field-goal-when-you’re-down-by-two kick. I wound up as far as I could and booted him long, with the smoke-belching fury of a steam locomotive. He rocketed airborne. Flying in a wide arc, arms and legs flailing, screaming like a two-year-old. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee …

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I heard a few words, just a tiny squeak, right before he hit the ground and went silent, three miles upwind.

“I’ll be back …”

=SE

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