King Pain

Jerry Simon walked into his kitchen, dropped his keys onto the counter, pushed the Play button on the answering machine, and began putting away groceries. He had three messages, one from Julie asking him to please stop smoking cigarettes in front of their son Samuel because he is asking why, if grandma died from smoking, how come daddy still smokes, and things are just too damned complicated right now to have to deal with any more stress205 Jerry pressed the Erase button. The next message was Julie again, but Jerry did not erase this one. She said that they needed to talk. She said she understood that Jerry had just lost his mother, but his distance was hard to take, and she wanted to know was there something she wasn't doing to help him through this. Then she said she hated saying things into an answering machine and hung up.
Jerry opened his mouth to protest, but realized that he would be responding to a recorded voice, and that would be pointless because, to begin with, he really didn't have anything to say. Not yet, at least. He didn't know what to say or to feel for that matter. If Jerry were being judged by anyone for appropriate emotional response at the funeral, he would have received a perfect score. He cried and embraced his father; he truly felt the loss and responded accordingly, and Julie responded to him. The follow-up event was something completely unexpected. He didn't think he'd still be under scrutiny, but apparently she was conducting phase II, and he was failing miserably. Jerry felt like Julie took issue with everything he did since then, and often headed any possible comment with hostility. This was how he survived. There were no pamphlets at the funeral home outlining what to do when the business of death has ended and the bereaved must return to a life full of holes.
Jerry paused, reached for the phone, but the third message kicked on. It was Al Sweeny, one of Jerry's former colleagues from Oakhurst High School. Last year was Al's first year teaching, and Jerry was his mentor. In the message Al said that he was just calling to touch base with Jerry, to see how things were going since he left at the end of last year. He also left a number where he could be reached. Last Jerry heard, though, Al had also quit this year at the semester.
"Christ on a Pringle," Jerry sighed as he put a large container of low fat peanut butter on the shelf and closed the cabinet door. They had never really been close outside of work, but Al liked to talk after school. He was older than Jerry, probably five years, making him around thirty-eight or thirty-nine, but he bounced with the nervous energy of a fifteen year old in love or trouble. Sometimes, not thirty seconds after the final bell of the day, he would tear into Jerry's classroom, noisily drag a chair from a table in front of Jerry's desk and straddle it, his elbows on the backrest, his hands out as if he were pleading or praying. Then he would launch into his latest grievance against the administration, how nobody understood guys like them, they were a dying breed of teacher 226 the ones who still cared about the kids and not the state tests or the red tape, and Jerry would listen and nod, and he would give sensible advice about not rocking the boat too much, after all this is only the first year. Al said he liked to take the bull by the horns whenever he could, and Jerry said he just wanted to see Al make it through his first two years. There would be plenty more bulls.
Yeah, Al was a talker, and he liked to tell stories. In the year Jerry knew him, Al claimed to have successfully finished law school, played for a traveling semi-pro softball league, drummed in a band that was this close to having a recording deal with Arista, and was married to the most beautiful, understanding, sexiest woman any man could ask for. She owned a lucrative construction business and, according to Al, hounded him to quit teaching and pursue that writing career he'd always dreamed about. Nobody at the school ever met his wife, and the rumors were that he was gay and broke, but nobody took the time or energy to really research any of his stories. Jerry simply did not care. He figured if Al wanted to talk shit, well, that was his business. His stories were all relatively harmless anyway.
Jerry knew there were no ulterior motives for this particular call; he was sure that Al really just wanted to talk. "What the hell? At the least, this could be entertaining," said Jerry and listened to the message again, this time writing down the number. Returning Al's phone call would give him a small sense of accomplishment. Since his mother died, Jerry spent many of the hours Samuel was in school doing nothing of any consequence. Today might be a springboard to better things. He pulled a tumbler from the cabinet, filled it with ice, poured two fingers of Canadian Club Imported Whiskey from the bottle they saved for when Julie's father came to visit, topped it off with water, and looked at the digital display on the microwave oven: 10:42 AM
Good. Samuel goes to school until one o'clock on Wednesdays.
Jerry took the paper with Al's number and the cordless phone into the basement and sat down in front of the computer. He dialed the number and turned on the computer. The tower emitted a faint beep and a tired whirring noise.
"Hello?"
"Uh, Al?"
"Yeah?"
"This is Jerry Simon."
"Jerrrrry," said Al, slowly creaking it out, and Jerry could see his face and knew he was smiling and nodding, probably leaning back in his chair, letting one arm dangle over the side. "How ya doin', man?"
"I'm doing OK, man. How about you?" Jerry double clicked the Internet Explorer icon and thought, entertainment or not, this phone call already may be a mistake.
"I'm good. You know, just decided to give you a call and see how the whole Mr. Mom thing is going."
"It's fine, Al. Actually, I love it." He was telling the truth, too. What he didn't like was how everyone reacted, referring to his situation as anything from playing house to taking a break from work to find himself. And the questions! What are you going to do all day? You are going to do something else, right? Go back to school? Write? Jerry figured, shit, he had found himself; he was a father staying home and raising a four-year-old boy, cleaning house, running errands, making dinner. Why was he the only one comfortable with that?
"Good. Good. That's good to hear, man. I'm glad you're enjoying it."
"What about you? What are you doing now that you left Oakhurst?"
"Well, that place was a joke. You know that! I had to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Those people there were trying to smother me, kill my creativity and professional drive. You know what I'm talking about? Of course you do! I'm sure that's part of the reason you high-tailed it out of there, right?"
Jerry sipped his drink and logged onto his e-mail, taking solace in the fact that without these two things, his life at this moment would be nearly unbearable. Hell, if this telephone conversation took place ten years ago, when he went through a spell of not drinking, he'd have to endure this with a pen and paper, doodling to keep himself from shouting obscenities into the receiver.
His e-mail account told him he had three messages, one from Julie forwarding on a list of condolence e-mails sent by her co-workers, most of whom Jerry had never met; one from a second cousin apologizing for not being able to make the funeral, but assuring Jerry that she was praying for the family and his mother's soul; and one junk mail inviting Jerry to indulge his darkest desires at fetishorgychat.com.
Al's voice faded back in. "I swear, these people are running things over there like it's still 1968!"
"Yeah. I know what you mean." A wave of excited fear swept over Jerry, causing him to swallow involuntarily as he clicked the link and his screen turned black, revealing rows of small images of leather-clad women and men tied to posts or being subjected to other forms of sexual torture.
"So, you guys able to swing this financially?" Al asked.
Jerry said, "Well, things are tight, especially now that Christmas is over. We're trying to hang in there until we get our tax return. And Julie is expecting a raise and a bonus come March, so things should even out."
The home page loaded and Jerry read the disclaimer: you have just received a one-day trial membership to fetishorgychat.com. This site is for ADULTS who want to indulge their deepest, darkest fantasies. Must be 18+ to enter. No child pornography allowed. Anyone who is found discussing or sharing images depicting child pornography will be booted, and his or her information will be sent to the authorities. What's your poison? Jerry clicked on the drop down box, and was given his choice of chat rooms.
"Yeah, we're lucky to have such good wives. I thank God every day for Tammy."
"Is that her name?" Jerry asked as he scrolled down the choices: Foot Fetish, Adult Babies, Barely Legal, Golden Showers, Scat. In Jerry's mind, he was no pervert, but he did listen to Howard Stern on a regular basis, so he was familiar with many of these fetishes. He clicked on Bondage & Sadomasochism because he felt that this one he could probably stomach the longest, and was taken to the admit screen.
"Yeah. Tammy. I never told you my wife's name? How rude, huh?!" Al laughed, and Jerry heard his breath whoosh heavily into the receiver. "Can you believe that she wants me to quit my part-time gig? She really wants me to get this novel finished."
"Really? We sure are lucky." The Bondage & Sadomasochism room, according to the site, was for Doms or Dommes and their prospective subs wanting to engage in their lifestyle in a discreet environment. Furthermore, One should not send a private message without initial public consent of the one he or she wishes to contact. Finally, it asked for Jerry's screen name, how he wanted to be seen by others in the chat room. He chose KingPain because, what the hell, wouldn't that be a fitting name for a place like this?
"So, Jerry, how's the writing coming along?"
Once the room loaded, character names and their lines floated rapidly from the bottom to the top of the screen. Jerry could barely keep up with the exchanges between the thirty or so residents or understand the spelling and lingo being used.
""What?" he asked in response to both situations.
"Have you been able to write?"
"Yeah. Oh, yeah, quite a bit. You know, whenever I get the chance. What about you?"
"Well, you've read my stuff." Al's stuff was the first three chapters of a vampire novel that he gave Jerry to read early last school year.
"Have you added anything to your novel?" asked Jerry, smiling and shaking his head at the nicknames in the chat room: Pinstripe, Master Sinbad, sub_slut, Dominator, lil_sara. The ones with the lower-case names were referring to the ones with the upper-case names as Sir or Maam. A sexual caste system, Jerry figured. Suddenly, a small black box appeared in the center of the screen. It was a private message, sent without his permission:
snff_grrl18: hi KingPain Sir
"Well, no. But I've got it all mapped out in my head. It is going to be unlike any vampire story ever written."
KingPain: Hi, snff_grrl18. Is 18 your age? Because, you know they don't allow any children under 18 here.
"You see, it's coming from the perspective of the vampire, talking about everything he misses from his former life. He goes to a Cubs game, and I go into a whole thing about Wrigley Field and the history and everything."
"Yeah? That's great, Al." Jerry replied. "I think you told me about that before. How exactly are you going to tie the Cubs into vampirism?"
snff_grrl18: yes i am 18 just turned
KingPain: Lucky for me, huh?
Jerry wasn't stupid, of course. He knew that this could very well be a 45 year-old, 450 pound, German man named Gunther, but if this is what got this person going, he was at least willing to indulge. After all, Jerry was only going to be there for one day, and it wasn't like he was actually getting into it. He didn't frequent chat rooms, but had some experience with the culture when his creative writing class set up a web page for a project. The conversations on this site weren't very different in language and atmosphere than the ones from his classes, so he gathered that the clientele were mainly young people.
snff_grrl18: sur so what are u in2?
Things were becoming unsurprisingly inane, but Jerry decided to push on.
KingPain: I don't know. This is my first time here. What do you like to do?
snff_grrl18: i am into x treeeeeeeeeem torture i will do anything you tell me anything
KingPain: Why are you so enamored with this?
snff_grrl: wut do u mean?
KingPain: Why does the idea of your own physical pain excite you?
snff_grrl: i gess it makes me apreciate my body an my limits i understand what it means to be alive
KingPain: I see. Do you engage in this in real life?
Snff_grrl: yes Sir But i like it here better where it happens in the mind that is reality to me
snff_grrl: do you want to play?
KingPain: OK. What are you wearing? What do you look like?
Even though he was fairly sure he wasn't going to get into this sexually, Jerry figured this had to be what one asked. This is what the guys who made obscene phone calls on TV asked.
snff_grrl18: i am wearing a bra n panties i have dark hair i am sitting on my bed tiping and getting verrry hoooooooottttt
Jerry thought of Julie, and it did not make him feel uncomfortable or guilty. They began dating when she was eighteen, and had been married for ten years now. She used to enjoy walking around their first apartment in her underwear, to seduce him she said. The image he had was of Julie in her black bra and panties sitting on the couch laughing, her breasts full and pale before life had it's way with them, and she became forlorn about how her body was never going to look again.
"It's hard to go into. Once I write it out, though. It should make a lot of sense," Al said, and added, "I am taking the genre way past where other authors left off. Take Anne Rice. She separates the vampire's new life from his old one."
"No, she doesn't"
"Yes, Jerry. She does."
"Al. I've only read Interview With a Vampire, but I am sure that much of that novel dealt with the main character's attempts to bring his human life with him to his undead life."
"Well, I take it from an entirely different angle."
"I see." Jerry had completely lost interest. "Cool."
"So, what do you think, man? Should I keep up with this?"
"With what, Al?" Jerry's impatience began to surface.
Al continued, "With this writing stuff. The crazy thing is I already have the plan. You know, when it is made into a movie. I already know who I want to play the characters."
"What? What are you talking about, Al? Man, you got to slow down here. Concentrate on writing the novel."
"Yeah. I know, I know. I'm getting way ahead of myself, but Tammy knows someone at Simon and Schuster and said she would be more than happy to forward on the completed copy. I just want to know, from a fellow writer, someone who has been in the trenches, if I should continue this. Is the story good enough for me to keep writing?"
Jerry grabbed his glass and headed upstairs for a refill.
"How the fuck should I know, Al? Everything I have ever sent anywhere has been rejected. Who am I to tell you whether you should keep writing? I don't know."
Al was quiet for a second, and Jerry wondered if he had hung up, but then heard him take a breath to speak, "Jerry. I know. I'm asking because I trust your opinion. I just wanted to know about what you think about the story, that's all."
"The story is fine." He lied. "I want to read the rest of it when you finish." He lied again; he never even read the thirty pages Al him gave last year.
"Will do, my man, will do. Of course." And Al fell back into his usual rhythm, "Hey, how's your mom? I heard it through the grapevine before I left that she was sick."
Jerry sat down and looked at the computer screen:
snff_grrl18: fuk me up KingPain you know pain makes me cuuuuuuuum
Jerry took a long swallow of his drink and set it down, the ice clinking against the bottom of the glass. "Actually, my mom died about three weeks ago. Lung cancer. Horrible way to go." He continued typing.
KingPain: Do you want me to beat you?
snff_grrl18: yesssssssssssss haaaaaaarrrrrrrrd!
KingPain: OK. I pick up the fat end of a pool cue and break it over your back.
"Oh, Jerry. I'm sorry to hear that man."

That ought to have slowed his fucking roll, Jerry thought.
"You know, my mom's been sick, that heart thing I told you about, and gout205"
Nope. Like the goddamned Energizer Bunny.
snff_grrl18: fuk yes that's wut im talking bout keep going treat me like your pain slut im on my hands and nees now in pain
KingPain: I kick you in the ass, you stupid kid!
snff_grrl18: there u go u can call me whatever you want keep torturing me call me cunt whore bitch slut wutever
KingPain: I kick you again and pick up the broken pool cue. I swing it at your head and tell you to shut the fuck up.
snff_grrl18: ur brootl
KingPain: I can be.
Jerry had no idea where he was in the phone conversation. He knew Al had been talking for a while, but he had never paused for Jerry to answer or add anything. He was sweating but surprised that he was not aroused, as this administering pain seemed to come quite naturally.
Al continued, "So, I'm going back and forth about whether to put her in a retirement home, even though she insists on wanting to go to one. You know those Irish mothers, never wanting to be a burden on anyone, especially their children."
Jerry did know.
snff_grrl18: I want you to kill me
KingPain: What?
snff_grrl18: take me out kill me beat me to death put a plastic bag over my head something
Al's voice was strained. "Damn it! I get all choked up when I think about talk about this. You know all about it. Remember last year, when it all started? I'll tell you, Jerry. With God as my witness, I am not putting her in a home. I do not want her to be in some sterile, uncomfortable institution when she finally does go. Do you know what I am saying, Jerry?"
"Oh, sure."
"She is always looking out for everyone but herself, though."
KingPain: You are fucked up!
snff_grrl18: took u long enough to figure that out come on u know u want to
KingPain: My mother died three weeks ago. Lung cancer.
snff_grrl18: dont break the mood keep going use this as a realeeeeease
"Well, Al. You know how those Moms are."
Al laughed and agreed. Those Moms could be holy pains, he said, and went into a story about his mother yelling at his sister for making breakfast, or something. Jerry wasn't following. He was typing frantically now and sweating. His stomach moved against the words that Al was forcing into his ear, against his own cognizance.
KingPain: My father and I took her into the emergency room on Wednesday. She couldn't breathe, and this terrified her. It terrified us. She was admitted and given pain medication. My father kept vigil at her bedside, and I came up whenever I could get away.
snff_grrl18: come on baby snuff me ur buming me out
"205 Jerry? Jerry? You there, man?" Al had just finished asking some needlessly elaborate question.
"Al? You are going to have to shut the fuck up for just one minute here. OK?"
The line was quiet for second, and Al took a breath, "Man, that was rude!" Jerry could hear him smiling behind the accusation, not quite willing to accept the fact that Jerry was serious, then added, "I know you lost your mother and all, but you don't have to be a prick205"
Jerry set the phone down onto the desk and continued typing into space he never even knew existed for him until that moment. Everything he felt was being pumped into some void that would disappear as soon as he logged off this site, and he was cool with that.
KingPain: I hated being that close to death, because I knew it was close for her. Every day my Dad had to leave my Mother's side 226 for sanity. I went in and held her hand when she couldn't breathe. That was the only time she woke. I gave her water when she was thirsty. I asked her a thousand questions when she couldn't articulate what it was she wanted because she was so lost in the fog of Morphine and Xanax. She would look directly into my eyes and motion with her hands, and I hadn't the slightest fucking idea what she needed.
snff_grrl18: hello?
KingPain: It was only for a few hours, but it seemed like days. Excruciating. I dreaded it beforehand, but afterward, when I was driving home?
snff_grrl18: Hello? KingPain?
KingPain: I realized that each experience was more precious than the last.
snff_grrl18: ur freeking me out
KingPain: Late Thursday night, she woke up, and motioned for my father to come to her. He came to her and helped her take her oxygen mask off, asking her probably the same thousand questions I had asked her earlier. She told him she wanted to hold him.
snff_grrl18: awww.
KingPain: Don't talk. Please.
snff_grrl18: shold I go
snff_grrl18: ?
KingPain: He thinks it was more to comfort him. There in the last hours of her life, and she wanted to comfort him.
snff_grrl18: KingPain?
Snff_grrl18: ur not gon snuff me are u
KingPain: They were both real and alive at that moment, through the whole thing. I went home and ate, drank, slept, thinking that I was handling everything. I knew everything to say to him then, and when she died, I barreled through the funeral arrangements and the next three days.
snff_grrl18:? im soooo turned off
snff_grrl18: Hello?
KingPain: And now I can only think of the last three days of her life; the hours waiting for her to die. Isn't that a waste? I can't talk to my dad. I can't talk to my wife.
snff_grrl18: byeee im gone I don't even now wut ur talking about
KingPain: I don't know where my mother is. I don't know where she went.
The user snuff_grr18 has logged off.
Jerry jerked sideways and pulled the waste-basket to him. His eyes squeezed shut and the stench of whiskey stung his nose as he vomited into the wastebasket.
He gasped and wretched two more times, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and picked up the phone. "Al, you there?"
The line was silent, and Jerry was about to hang up when he heard Al draw a breath, "Jerry, are you OK? Sounded like you were a little sick there."
"Yeah, well, I am. Good observation." Jerry was still holding the wastebasket on his lap. He was getting used to the smell.
"Look, it sounds like you are busy there, right now. Maybe we'll get together for coffee sometime when you are feeling better. You know, trade stories about writing or something."
"Sure, Al. Give me a call whenever."
"OK, Jerry. Take care, man. I mean it. No offense taken today. Really. You just take care."
"Yeah, Al. I'll try. Say hello to Tammy for me."
"Will do, my man. And you take care of yours. MmmmBye-bye."
Jerry switched off the cordless phone and thought that, besides blood relatives and Julie, he had always been a magnet for weirdos.
He closed the window, and a popup appeared asking him if he wanted to subscribe to fetishorgychat.com for a monthly fee of only $12.95. He canceled that screen out and began an e-mail to Julie.
J-
Remember our first apartment, and how you used to walk around in your underwear? Let's talk tonight.
<3, J
Jerry pressed the Enter button and sent the message to his wife.