Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Later On...

I wrote this at 2am last night...

Inspired by these images https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSUdDksQ4iY

Wimpy Kid: Later on

Rowley made a note this time to roll up his sleeves before entering the church doors. Last Sunday he had wet the fringes of his shirt upon washing his hands in holy water and was particularly uncomfortable through the duration of the service. He shoved the wheelchair containing a now senile Memow over the ridges at the chapel entrance and proceeded to wheel her down towards the front pew, their now presumed seat during worship. His grandmother, or Memow as he had always called her, whispered to him as they travelled, “Do you know if Joanne is coming today?”

“I don’t. Please. Quiet now. It’s starting soon.”

Midway through Pastor Josephs sermon, Rowley began to wriggle within his seat. A large black man had sat what Rowley had considered to be far too close to him. Their thighs and shoulders touched and intermingled silently and dreadfully. He began to wonder to himself whether this person was in the right place? Does he not normally sit somewhere towards the back of the church? Somewhere where Rowley did not usually see him. Beside him normally was Mr. Jones or Memows friend Joanne, white people who did not sing with such an obnoxious baritone. He took one exasperated breath and began to scan the room, trying to find where this man ought to be. His seat at the front of the church didn’t exactly provide the greatest scope of the audience but Rowley was certain he couldn’t see any other people of his type in his particular area. Despite all of this, as he was now in God’s space, he slid his bible between his and the black man’s thighs as a partition and participated just as usual in the service.

With the conclusion of the last hymn, sung graciously by all in the church, Rowley quickly removed himself from the pew and scooped his bible up with his right hand. Here he discovered a ruffle in the fold of his sleeve and hastily undid it as Pastor Joseph approached. They exchanged with the usual routine, Rowley thanked the pastor, complimented his sermon and elaborated on some of his points about the right of man, referenced some passaged of John and Abraham in the conversation and offered his help with anything the church may need. At the conclusion of this Rowley was asked something outside of the routine however welcomed into the conversation with excitement.

Pastor Joseph asked Rowley “May I implore who you’re voting for this afternoon?”

“Ah that’ll be Mr. Trump of course. And I’ve made sure old Memaw is too. Isn’t that right?”

Memow, from down in her chair responded with a faint but distinguishable “yes”

“I see. Very well. Have a good day Rowley. God be with you.”

And with this the two disengaged, leaving Rowley to prepare for next weeks conversation.

Fingers tapped innocently into a keyboard. The words “I love you” and then “I miss you” found themselves lined up into a row and were then sent away. The message was given away with an x, o and a picture of a brown-eyed woman in a nightgown. The sender was listed as “Francesca” but the eyes that stared into the screen were not Francesca’s. Fregley was 19 and had somehow found himself madly in love. The circumstances of his identity were wound up in a spider web of passion and shame. To his lover he was a blonde, voluptuous and playful secretary, but to the rest of the world, he was ginger, lonely and unemployed. Through means that he could barely remember he was now in a relationship online with the wondrous and humble Chad, an accountant from New York who was everything that Fregley had wanted in a partner. This made the reality of the fragility of their relationship tenfold more daunting for Fregley. He couldn’t stand to lose all that Chad had given to Francesca. He was the man he was because of what Chad had taught him. He was smart, politically apt, driven and, put in the least crude way possible, had a big and beautiful package. With these thoughts Fregley typed again “Chad, you are everything. Don’t you love me too?”

The screen lit up.

“You’re my world.”

An intimate picture was shared. A demonstration of what could be Francesca’s if it weren’t for the distance between the two.

A sum of love, passion and sorrow swelled up within Fregley. He noticed the disproportionate length of his fingers as he typed more and more confessions into the computer.

A voice from down stairs prompted Fregley to shut the laptop, slamming the screen into the keys and causing the machine to breathe what sounded like a sigh from its cooling fans.

“FREGGERS! DOOR!”

“Alright, mom!”

He adjusted himself, hid any signs of arousal that were visible in his lower half, and took himself downstairs. In the doorway stood an equally tall, brown and weak looking man, Chirag, Fregley’s old friend.

The two combined their sweaty hands and shook.

“Hey. I know it’s been a while. Life’s busy with the new girlfriend and all.” Chirag set his sachel bag down onto a couch.

“No. That’s okay. I’m excited to meet her.”

“Yeah… I’m just here to pick up those headphones I left a while ago. I’m on the way to a lecture.”

“Computer sciences yeah?” Fregley always failed to keep up with Chirag’s constantly changing education. Last year it had been medicine. The year before, physics.

“Yeah. Can I use your bathroom?”

“Of course.”

As Chirag took himself to where he remembered the bathroom to have been. Fregley dug out from under his bed, the red headphones that were desired. He sat himself on the couch, waiting to make the exchange and then see Chirag leave, allowing him to return to Chad. He paid a glance to the laptop sitting on his bed as he waited. Fregley decided it wouldn’t be out of his place to put chirag’s headphones in his satchel for him, in order to speed up the visit. In the depths of his blue canvas, Fregley saw what looked like Chirag’s phone lighting up. Curiosity and a lack of social understanding took a hold of him. He dug out the phone and saw that Chirag’s phone had a new message, and did not have a passcode. He welcomed himself in.

Fregley saw within Chirag’s messenger some strangely familiar photographs, which for a moment plagued him with confusion, but soon dread took over him. He saw the username “Francescaxx” title the screen and felt his body sink into itself before his brain could compute. Messages of love, all from the depths of Fregley’s heart sprawled themselves upon the screen, much like how Francesca was sprawled across a bed in the images shared. To add to his devastation, the sender, from Chirag’s phone, was listed as Chad.

The bathroom door began to unlock. Fregley, teary eyed, hurried to return the device to its original hiding place. As Chirag approached, his face was unrecognizable, unbearable. Chirag read Fregleys expression and somehow knew what Fregley had found.

Chirag snatched his bag, disregarding whether the headphones were inside or not, and made way for the door.

“Thankyou. Goodbye” he uttered.

It was that time again. 5:30. This is when Rodrick’s bones began to tickle, when the flesh in his throat began to draw in tighter and tighter, when he could feel his eyes begin to bulge out of his skull. He knew it was time for another hit. An indescribable thirst washed over Rodrick as he staggered his way towards the upper end of his apartment. He passed walls washed with spilled liquor, holes and chipped paint, taking no notice of anything that wasn’t hidden within a wardrobe just beyond the hall. A smile, of which Rodrick was unaware, formed across his face at the thought of the sharp prick, then ecstasy that he was about to indulge in. He dug out a shoebox from the wardrobe, upon reaching his bedroom and opened it up to reveal to himself a group of old friends; A needle, a spoon, a lighter and a small bag of brown happiness. With the care and precision of a brain surgeon, Rodrick prepared the concoction and lay down within the heap of clothes that were at his feet. He bared his teeth and thought to himself “here it comes”…

Hours later, Rodrick found himself wandering streets which he did not know the name, unsure even if he still in Philadelphia. The buildings had a strange colour in their bricks and the roads were of a wider and more comfortable width than he had remembered. Suddenly his vision allowed for him to recognize street signs. They swirled around him, soliciting to him the possibilities that they promised. A library, a gas station, a playground. In the distance he saw a neon sign, red and blue, reading “Icandy”. The colours and the promise of childhood treats drew him towards the back door of a red building.

As he opened the door the words “don’t be a drag, just be a queen” screamed at him. Music was blaring relentlessly within the place, whatever it was. The lights were down, the air was smokey and voices were chattering below the sounds of singing. Upon venturing in, he was greeted by an array of strangers, a man with big arms, bulging out of a see-through mesh shirt, a man with tough and tall hair, carrying a drink of a bold colour Rodrick could no longer distinguish, and a third man, taller than he, with a face too high up to see. Beyond them was a swarm of men, some dancing, some talking, some sitting together, intertwined in kisses. He found platforms spotting the floor of the room, raising up more men into his gaze. The men danced on poles, to the beat of a song that now sang “let your body move to the music”. He was drawn in, entranced by the way the dancers. From his eye level he could see, closest to him, a pair of boots, tight to the man’s flesh and with a significantly high heel. The dancer lowered himself, allowing a buttock dressed with latex to meet directly with Rodrick’s gaze, as it was thrown up and down with a movement of his back. For a moment it froze. Rodrick looked upon the roundness, the volume of the ass. It was something curious, almost familiar. Before he could follow it more, it snapped back up to standing and swirled around the pole once more. A dollar bill was thrown onto the dancer’s platform, and trapped under the man’s boot. Rodrick craned his neck to see more of the man and especially more of the ass. First he saw a stumpy midsection, a pronounced chest with few hairs and then some short arms. The face turned to see him.

Rodrick tumbled backwards with this, into a group of cackling club-goers.

“Greg?!”

A face which he hadn’t seen for years drew closer to him under the red lights of the stage. He was spotted by his brother, who similarly tripped over his high heels at the sight. Rodrick felt a fear come over him, as if he had seen the devil himself within this room. He saw the roof come crashing from above the walls and come down to smite him. Rodrick ran to the door and threw himself out onto the street, crashing into the pavement before he could even recognize that he had left. A clacking followed him, hurriedly, like a clock beating too fast. He couldn’t turn around. Rodrick picked himself up and stumbled unto the road. As he began to run Greg’s voice called out to him. An “I can explain! Please” was screamed into the street.

Now at the other side of the road, Rodrick turned for a moment towards the club, just to see his brother for a second in the light. As he looked a truck rushing before him, separating Rodrick and Greg a final time, blocked his view.

Rodrick tucked his hands into his pockets, turned down a sleeve, instinctively trying to hide track marks from other street walkers, and travelled onward into the city, never to look back, only to try to find his way home and to his shoebox in the wardrobe again.