Wendell 1 - Sunday March 6, 2011 (Part 1/2)

All things considered, Wendell Carmen had had a good day.

He sat in bed, naked save for a pair of wrinkled black slacks two sizes too large, the white sheets crumpled around his pale and scrawny figure. A leather-bound book lay open in his lap, and he held a dull pencil between two long fingers. His grey eyes peered at the blank pages as he slowly thumbed through them, wondering what he could possibly occupy the empty space with. Wendell knew he wasn’t obligated to fill these pages with anything, but after a moment of awkwardly scratching the stubble on his cheek he scribbled his penname.


Felix Haydn


He hesitated, frowning, and then:


3/6
Today I turned 22 and all I wanted to do was break shit.


He kept the point of the pencil stuck on the period and glared hatefully at the little book as he slowly exhaled through his nose.

It was true; he had wanted to break things. He did break things, in fact, and as of that night he had yet to clean up the messes. His alarm clock lay shattered on his hard mahogany floor, broken to pieces after he had pelted them at the opposite wall. That week he’d also crushed his television remote with a marble paperweight, punched through his bathroom door, and ripped apart the throw pillows of his living room sofa. He’d even kicked at a neighborhood cat, succeeding in cracking a few ribs, and had thrown the hissing thing over the wall and off his property, all while feeling completely dissatisfied.

Yes, like every other day this week, this day had been less than exciting. But the grumpy author had felt a sudden overwhelming urge to write, and though miffed by the inklings of his literary addiction, he had been compelled to take a look at the diary Paisley Decker had given him earlier.

But this is stupid, he thought as he adjusted his thick black glasses. Fucking ridiculous. Why should I have to write anything down in this crappy little diary? Because Paisley asked me to? Screw that – he just wants me to write another book so that he’ll get a little richer. That’s the only reason he bothered to get me a gift at all.

He was thumbing through the pages again, wondering how those damn blank pages could look so inviting.

Wendell sighed a third time and continued writing, remembering how the day of his twenty-second birthday began…


OOO OOO


Wendell’s cell phone vibrated and clattered on the hard surface of his bedside table, its speakers letting loose the melody of his favorite song. He barely heard it as he stubbornly covered his ears with his pillow. Checking the caller ID was out of the question, since he had every intention of simply ignoring the irksome awakening.

But his phone kept ringing, his caller relentless, until Wendell at last groaned and sat up. His onyx-colored hair a mess of tangles and his eyes crusted shut, he reached for his phone as his Audioslave ringtone continued playing.


In your house I long to be
Room by room, patiently


He cursed as his hand fumbled over his nightstand.


I’ll wait for you there
Like a stone.
I’ll wait for you there
Alone.


As he slammed the back of his skull against the bed’s headboard in an effort to temporarily rid himself of his exhaustion, his fingers finally found the button for speakerphone and he pressed it. “What?” he sighed angrily.

“Felix? Happy Birthday!”

Wendell blinked a few times, a feeling of dread growing in his belly. “Paisley?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” his manager chuckled, voice full of hissing static thanks to a bad phone connection. “I know you like to stay up till all hours of the night, and I wanted to let you sleep in today. But you have to wake up sometime!”

A peek at the glowing red numbers of his digital clock told Wendell it was just after nine o’clock. Paisley thought this was sleeping in? This was way too early for his tastes, especially when he had not gone to bed until four. Decker obviously didn’t understand the lifestyle that his night owl of a client thrived in.

“Anyway I wanted to get together. Maybe go to lunch or something?”

The fizzling voice on the end of the line was too loud in Wendell’s ears, sounding less like a man and more like bombs dropping. It made his head pound. He had only been awake for a minute, if that, and already he was furious. A phone call from the obnoxious Paisley Decker to wake him from sleep this early? On his birthday? Wendell gently massaged his temples “Great,” he mumbled to himself. “Just what I needed.”

“What?”

“I said that’s great!” Wendell nearly shouted, losing his patience with Decker’s apparent good mood. “Just what I needed!”

“Fantastic!” Decker plowed on, not catching Wendell’s biting inflection. “You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Something light then! Sushi?”

“Whatever Paisley. But right now I’m –”

“Alrighty then! Give me a call when you’re ready and I’ll make reservations for someplace.”

“Paisley.” Wendell closed his eyes and spoke slowly and clearly, as though addressing a toddler. “I am going back to sleep now.”

“Can you think of any place – Wait, what?”

“Like you suggested, I will call you when I am ready.”

“But Felix I’m on a tight sched –”

Wendell turned off the speakerphone and disconnected the call before his manager could annoy him further. And as soon as silence enveloped the room he felt himself drifting back into sleep’s peaceful and loving embrace. He had just enough time to set his bedside alarm for noon before collapsing into his pillows; whether Decker had angered him or not, Wendell Carmen was not one to deny a free meal.

But when the alarm’s shrill cries jerked him awake at noon Wendell decided that all the free meals in the world were not worth climbing out of bed.

And when his numb fingers could not turn the shrieking machine off, he pulled the device off the table, ripping the cord from its power outlet, and hurled it at the wall, never opening his eyes.

And when the sound of the crash echoed in his empty home, he moaned happily.