The Most Ridiculous Story Ever Told – CH2 – CH3

CHAPTER TWO- THE MEETING

My meeting with Mark Wahlberg took place under a stoplight by Albertson’s. I advised him I couldn’t get too near the entrance because I had been caught refusing to conform to big business pricing, or “stealing” as the conservatives call it. Mark was an older guy, with a kind of “I might secretly follow you home, hide in your closet and sniff all your thongs while your at work, or I might just be an lonely old man whose kids and grandkids are too busy to call, even on holidays, and you’re a paranoid jerk for thinking those thoughts about me” vibe. He was wearing a dirty brown trenchcoat and he smelled like a hot room with a trashcan full of dirty diapers.

“So….do you have information on my suitcase?” I asked tentatively.

His eye twitched.

“That depends….”

“On what?”

“On how far you are willing to go to learn the truth.”

I began to feel a sense of foreboding; like the feeling you get before you realize you locked your keys in your car AGAIN and you hope, just hope they’re in your purse because you know for a fact you locked all the doors but they’re not and deepest despair fills you as you peep in through the window and see them in the fucking ignition.

“I’m willing to go all the way,” I said bravely.

He handed me an envelope.

“Read everything in here. It will show you everything.”

And he was gone.

CHAPTER THREE- THE SUITCASE

I was too lazy to open the envelope when I got home. Then I just kind of forgot. I ate a sandwich, watched Pretty Woman and was considering taking a shower when I decided to call Damian. I knew he was wondering about what happened at the meeting.

“Hello?”

“Hey sugarplum,” I said, feeling weary, “Well, the meeting wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t tell me anything about the suitcase.”

“If you don’t stop calling me I’m going to change my number. I can’t take this anymore. Your driving me crazy!”

“I guess he’s just some crazy homeless man who saw me on the bus, tracked down my phone number somehow and is just playing some stupid game with my mind.”

“—-, listen to me. We are not together. I don’t care about what happens to you. I just want you to leave me ALONE!”

“Well, I better go. I’m late for work,” I sighed.

He’s such a worry wart!

I was on my way to work, walking, (only rich people own cars these days) when a black Ford Explorer pulled over to the side of the road a few feet from where I was walking. A tall man wearing a blue fendora and high water pants gracefully stepped out. He had large, almond shaped eyes, thin lips and a foreboding deposition. He looked to be German, with bright blue eyes and fine blonde hair. He also appeared to be in his late thirties.

My heart skipped a beat, then stopped, then restarted at maximum speed. He was carrying my suitcase.

“Is this your suitcase, young lady?”

His eyes seemed to see right through me. But he had my suitcase.

“Yes… how did you find me?” I asked nervously. There seemed to be no cars coming and the sun was going down fast.

“We have our ways. I need you to come with me,” he said after clearing his throat for what seemed like an hour.

I decided not to argue. I followed him to the car, all the while thinking of all the reasons why I want to live and remembering the great times I have. South Park, eating fried onions at three in the morning and watching Adult Swim, laying in bed all day watching reality shows on Fox Reality, me and Damian screaming at each other and then me waiting for him outside his apartment for four hours in the rain, lending Sashley fifty dollars every Friday, getting drunk alone and crying myself to sleep, briefly contemplating suicide while dealing with angry customers. It can’t all be over. It won’t end like this, I vowed.

In the car I sat next to the blue-eyed man. Another tall man was driving and an Asian woman with smeared eyeliner were in the passenger side.

“We know a lot about you, female,” said the blue eyed man as they pulled back onto the road.

I looked at him, knowing that I would finally find out why it is that I stare at the stars every night, trying to figure out who I am. “You do?” I whispered.

“Yes,” he licked his chapped lips and cleared his throat again. “We know that you have had three suicide attempts and have been diagnosed with depression,”

“That was like five years ago!”

“We know,” he continued, “That you have participated in taking drugs for recreational use-”

“I was depressed!” I started to get angry. Who was this weird ass guy to judge me?

“Last year you were arrested twice for shoplifting, another time for a hit and run while driving your mothers car, you have had ten different jobs in the past two years and you never call your family to see how they are doing. Society will not miss you,” he concluded.

A silence fell over the car for a few moments as we pulled into a Burger King. The Asian woman sobbed quietly to herself while rocking back and forth.

“What is it that you want from me?” I asked finally.

“Right now we want you to buy us lunch. We are hungry. After that we have a mission for you, one that will give your pathetic existence some purpose.”

“Why me?”

“We will explain later. However, I can tell you it involves your suitcase.”