In the interest of keeping up appearances, I don’t usually tell people why I live under a rock now. Even when they press me for information, I just tell them that I prefer the sunsets. But if I have to be honest, the sunsets are nothing to write home about. You can barely catch a glimpse before the crows blot out the sky anyway. No, the real reason I now live under a rock is because of you. I couldn’t stand being your friend any longer, and if I had to do it all over again, I would make sure you were nowhere near me. My only regret is that I didn’t move sooner.
My motives may surprise you, but actually they shouldn’t. It’s no secret that you were a miserable louse when we met, and no one can deny that I was doing much better than you in the looks department. If I had to describe you in one word based on our first encounter, I would have to use the word “shabby.” And not as in “not too shabby,” but just the word “shabby.” Furthermore, you were bookish in the most annoying way, and you took an unnatural pride in being “caught up” on the “latest.”
Still, I have to admit that somehow I was taken with you, even if you did have one subscription too many to The Nighttime News Gazette or whatever you called it. But then the real you came out, and it was nothing like I’d imagined. I always thought the real you would talk a lot less or at least be more into nightlife, but as it turns out, you embodied none of those qualities. I had high hopes for you, and you blew it in a big way.
You were too dumb to realize this, but I was our biggest fan. I was always privately rooting for us, the way you privately root for yourself when you drive a really fast car, or the way a man privately roots for his wife. I truly thought we had something special, but what started out as a meaningful friendship quickly turned into a nightmare I couldn’t sleep through without sweating a lot. Moreover, whatever we had between us was gone, and its ghost was beginning to affect my performance in bed.
I understand if you’re angry because I left, but I also understand that I don’t care. I love my new life under a rock. The people here are very laid-back, and I’m pretty sure the rent is optional. I happen to live right down the block from a Tex-Mex restaurant, and whenever I’m there the cook says things like, “if you take another soft taco, it’s coming out of your paycheck,” so I guess I am what you call a “regular.”
I’m adjusting very well to my new life, partially because I feel much safer. Compared to the city, there is not much crime under a rock, although I think that’s because not many things are considered a crime. For example, it’s perfectly legal to lend, lease, and borrow here. As far as I can tell, there’s really no need for a strict legal system because, unlike city folks, people under a rock treat each other with respect. Almost everyone holds the door open before they push you inside, and when people here shake your hand, they also grasp you by the throat. I think that might be the best thing about life under a rock—it’s a life built on mercy.
The other best thing, however, is that life under a rock is simple. You don’t need much, and not much is provided for you. You never knew this about me, but I’ve always dreamt of a simple life, the kind of life where you don’t have to read a lot of books or watch a lot of news programs to be taken seriously. Also, I don’t have to lock my front door around these parts because I can climb out my window. That’s simple living, I tell you.
But you wouldn’t know anything about that. You never cared for the simple things. The only thing that’s ever mattered to you is who’s in the presidential election. If it’s not that, then it’s current events. There was a point in our friendship where every other word out of your mouth was O.J. Simpson trial this, and O.J. Simpson trial that, and is he innocent, and have you finished The Wire yet. Well, this will probably break your stupid little heart, but no one under a rock has even heard of The Wire. And no one yells at me for using today’s paper as a bath mat or an oily dishcloth or whatever I may need today’s paper for.
This is probably the most upsetting thing you’ve read in the past 12 years, but you need to know that I am never coming back. Sure we’ve had our fun, but even if you combined all of the trivia wins we’ve shared or all of the times I returned your car undamaged, it wouldn’t make up for your many louse-like qualities. If you ever decide to change, you’ll know where to find me. But if you want me to read The Da Vinci Code, don’t even bother.
