“Yeah.”
“Those graves are so old, no one even puts flowers there anymore. Those men have been dead for over a hundred years. When I go to Lizaveta’s grave, I look at them. Those old tombstones, I read the names on them without wondering who they were, because I know I can never know. But I wonder about myself. Here, now, I am living. I am on this planet and every day I wake up to go to work in order to pay bills, to take care of things, and even try to suck some happiness from the day. But a hundred and fifty years from now everyone I know will be dead. No one will think, ‘Where is Sasha? What’s Sasha up to? I wonder how Sasha is doing?’ No one, not one living person. Even if I have kids, my great-great-great grandchildren will not remember me. Perhaps they might research their ancestors one day, but I won’t be anything but a name on a family tree. They will stare at my name and point at the name ‘Sasha Krymov’ and no emotion will spring into them. It will just be silence; because one day, I will be condemned to be silenced.”
“Sasha?”
“What?”
“I don’t need this shit when I first wake up in the morning.”
“You need this shit all fucking day!”
“I’m going to check my email.”
“Whatever.”
12
I’m outside the bar sitting in my car.
People I work with are inside.
They invited me here.
I am welcome.
They probably feel bad for me.
I know they do, everyone feels bad for me.
No, that’s not true.
No one feels bad for anyone else.
Everyone is a monster raping the earth.
Gina and Beth are in there.
I would like to have sex with either of them.
They both have boyfriends.
So it doesn’t matter.
So why am I going in?
I don’t know.
I never do things like this.
I never hang out with co-workers.
Hanging out with co-workers is a sign of getting old or dying.
I’m not dying; I’m just going to a bar.
My life is obsolete to theirs.
They are all going to nursing schools.
I’m not going to any school.
Gina wears Nikes.
I wear ADIDAS.
I have no life.
Neither do they, but they have convinced themselves they do.
And that’s the difference between them and me.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because with a proper amount of alcohol they won’t notice that I’m a stumble-bum who has failed at being human.
I’m human.
That’s true.
Crackhead Larry doesn’t think about shit like this.
He’s a lot better at poverty than me. He knows that getting scrap metal will get him cigarettes and crack.
I don’t know these things.
I’m giving my scrap metal away for free.
He knows it’s dumb to hang out with co-workers who wear Nikes.
I don’t.
I’m sitting here thinking it is a great idea.
This is a bad idea.
Everyone in there terrifies me.
It can’t be that bad.
They are just people.
I can’t be so terrified all the time.
I must open the car door and walk to the door of the bar and be a human being.
I wore a nice shirt, I’m presentable.
I got the shirt two years ago at Christmas from my parents.
Everyone looks down on me.
They invited me so they could look down on me.
Because they are all snobs.
I hate them.
No, I don’t.
They’ve never done anything to me.
There’s no reason to hate them.
They are just people.
They walk around and worry about things.
We have a lot in common. We worry.
I get out of the car.
I’m walking to the door.
It is terrifying.
I wish I would have a seizure right now.
A seizure would be good.
It would be a good excuse for not showing up at a bar.
‘Why didn’t you come?’
‘I got there but I had a seizure in the parking lot.’
‘Oh Vasily, I’m so sorry.’
That would be a great excuse.
But I’m not going to have a seizure because I’m not epileptic.
I’m actually in very good health.
I enter the bar.
There are people everywhere.
Not as crowded as a Friday or Saturday.
But still a lot of fucking people.
Someone is yelling “Vasily!” at me.
I look over. It’s Beth and Gina.
At least two people like me.
Beth is sitting with her boyfriend.
Gina is sitting by herself, drinking a Long Island Iced Tea. She keeps hand-dancing like a raver.
I wish Chang or Sasha were here. Without them I feel defenseless against the masses.
I wave my hand, go to get a drink.
It takes like ten minutes because there are a bunch of assholes standing around the bar.
I get a drink.
I sit down at the table.
Beth says, “So what’s up?”
“I’m excited to be at the bar.”
“It’s quiz night!”
“Yeah, I’m pumped.”
I have no idea what to say.
I sit next to Gina.
Gina is severely drunk.
She keeps touching me, which makes me happy I chose to come.
It is also karaoke night.
One of my co-workers, Diamond, goes up and sings some emo song I’ve never heard and never want to hear again.
Everyone claps.
Some guy with a mullet is putting on quiz night.
He tells everyone to list as many movies as possible that John Travolta was in.
John Travolta.
Sometimes I wish I was back in Russia eating cabbage in Siberia.
I start to panic about all this John Travolta excitement and start drinking rum and Cokes.
Life is getting better now.
I start dancing with Diamond.
I’m not even sure who Diamond is.
She never speaks to me.
She’s a bartender at the steakhouse.
She looks really weird.
I know she has two kids and lives in the ghetto of Warren.
And she says she is twenty-six, which is the same age as me.
She is my age but I feel no relation to her.
She even looks quite a bit older than me.
Diamond and I dance.
I can’t dance.