The Most Ridiculous Story Ever Told – CH1

CHAPTER ONE- BEFORE THE TRUTH

This story isn’t about me. Its about the events that circled that fateful day on September 15, 2008 and the people who lived through them. The grammar in this story isn’t too good and neither are the descriptions, but once again that’s not the point.

I also want you to know I never wanted to be a “hero.”  I have no ambition, or any real goals. Most people who write stories about themselves indicate that they want to or are some kind of writer, but that’s not for me, unless you count writing bad poetry. I just wanted to stay nice and cuddly on my slightly shabby couch and watch South Park.

But destiny had a different plan.

The day started as it usually did, with a cool breeze on my face coming from my broken window and my cracked out roommate Sashley rummaging through my drawers with a shiny, almost youthful sheen in her watery blue eyes. Actually her name isn’t Sashley. For the life of me I can’t remember what her real name is, maybe because she gives a different one every week. I just call her Sashley because it has a nice ring to it, like sipping a pina colada on the beach while it’s raining and watching a fat guy roll around in the water like a stranded baby hippo. Anyway I pried my eyes open and shuffled past Sashley, trying to ignore the triumphant gleam in her little eyes as she clutched something  that was probably my last twenty dollars, and headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth on account of my breath tasted like a dead badger.

The day would have been as uneventful as ever, if not for the phone call. “Phone,” Sashley bellowed as I was washing my face.

“Try to make it quick, I’m waiting for Jason to call back,” she said with a nod. For some reason she nods a lot.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. —?”

“Yes this is she, per say,” I try to sprinkle “per say” into my answers, as I feel the words bring sophistication to every conversation, no matter how mundane.

“This is Mark Wahlberg.”

I was silent.

“Like the Mark Wahlberg?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

There was another silence. I could still hear him breathing.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but we don’t take calls from telemarketers,” I said gently. I was once a telemarketer, and I know the urge to commit suicide can be overwhelming.

“I am not a telemarketer. I guess you could call me your conscience. Are you the same Ms. — who rode the Greyhound bus on August 3, 2008?”

“Yeah, is this about my suitcase? Because they accidentally lost it on my stopover, and I had almost fifty dollars worth of stuff in there and….”

“Are you sure?” he cut in.

“Am I sure what?”

“Are you sure….they lost it on accident?”

“Uh….you don’t work for Greyhound?”

“We can’t talk on the phone. They may have already traced this call. Meet me at the Albertson’s on Fourth and Central if you want to know the truth.” Click.

I took a deep breath and dialed my boyfriend, Damian. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

“Hello,” he said sleepily.

“Hi sweetie,” I said as a rush of fondness swept over me at the sound of his voice, “You won’t believe what just happened! Some guy named Mark Wahlberg called and said he has some information on that suitcase I lost on the Grey—–.”

“Who is this?”

“This is —-, you silly billy.” He was such a kidder!

“Look, I’m trying to be cool about this whole “denial” thing, but we broke up, remember? I couldn’t handle your jealousy?”

“But I’m not jealous. And I forgive you! I know you didn’t mean it.” He must feel so guilty about that fight I thought sadly, it was almost two weeks ago and he’s still bringing it up!

“NO, I broke up with you, I did mean it, and you need to stop calling me and acting like nothing happened!” Click.

“He’s right,” I said to myself, “I should go meet up with this guy. He might even have my suitcase.” Good old Damian. He always knew what to do.