Invitation

Jon was doubtful about this years prospects. The last three years had brought nothing fresh and so with a sence of particular resignation he turned to his usual recourse in low times but felt it heavy and not entierly to the point. He was rich in labor but not in company. He took a perverce pride in working more and sleeping less than anyone else and would most likely die of a heart attack with nothing better than a paycheck and unfinished business to recomend him. The most any would say, if it occured to them, would be that he worked hard. Maybe some would lament that he didn't have a family to attend him and check his headlong charge tword death. For all stress illness is a seacret wish to die.

As stated above, Jon was doubtful about this year's prospects. For Jon there wasn't enough grace or time. His recourse was there on the table. It wasn't wiskey or wine, women or song. Although the last would have been the most profitable. He was an indifferent singer. No, too busy for pleasur, his recourse was a list. A dangerous list of all the things he couldn't do because he worked. There was a positive things side and a negative things side. He used this list to comfort himself by exaggerating the negative building it up to a rediculus extent until it put him in the way of panic.

Panic, he almost enjoyed being in a strong panic. His body hated him for it.

His neighbor Cornelius was in the yard projecting poetry again. Something about the water cycle. It was distracting. Cornelius didn't desrve to be so loud he didn't work as much as Jon. That's when he roared as loud as he could. But his voice was weak so it only hurt him and didn't even reach Cornelius who had moved on to how the economy was broken and oporaited like sausage or some nonsense. Cornelius was a groundskeeper for the city. Cornelius was rich in company and comfortable in labor. Work was another way to enjoy life.

The little emotional cork screw Jon entered blindly seven months ago began the day the intern was observed teaching a junior partner a dance move in the hall. They weren't working. This angered Jon. He never questioned why he was angry until this very moment when he knew he was unheard. The intern had moved on. The junior partner did about what was expected and business continued though not as brilliantly as he'd like. The owners seemed resonably satisfied. That should've been good enough.

What did he want anyway? At one point in his life he had expected to marry. Marage would be a social accomplishment. He liked accomplishments. No attractive woman had come into his life. He had no time to hunt one up himself. He thought about dating services but never got around to trying one. Dates take time, he didn't think he could work that into his already impacted schedule.

His sister had some advice about scheduling but he didn't trust her judgement since she moved to Seatle and her accomplishments were things he couldn't understand, like baking and knitting. How was that important? Well, on ferther anlysis baking was useful.

Maybe he was angry because he faild to be happy. He didn't have the slightest idea what that meant. Failure was easy to comprihend but happiness was a fuzzy idea. It seemed wonderful but rarely happened and he suspected that anyone who claimed to be happy was lieing. He always lied when he claimed it.

His thoughts were interupted by a knock at the front door and Cornelius' voice bellowing, "Hey neighboor Jon! come out.We're cooking out. I got some hotdogs an' Squirt got us some beer." Jon wanted to give himself a concussion. Cornelius was a bother, no matter how many times Jon had regected him and even insulted him Cornelius wouldn't leave him be. What was he to do? All atempts to hint or abuse or ignor meant nothing. "Look, I can feel you in there beeing all serious." Cornelius was saying, "But if you don't come out" Jon couldn't take it any more. "What, if I don't come out what?" he said on opening the door. And for the first time in five years he actually looked into Cornelius' eyes. They were deep and full and compationate and Jon was terribly self consious and paniced in a way he never expected. Those eyes scared him. Those eyes loved him?

Dude, you're trippin', he thought. Part of him wanted to run like hella out, away. A deeper part wanted to melt down and cry to sleep. Cornelius solomly handed him a beer. Squirt hollered from thier stoop that the coals were hot. "Come on." Cornelius urged. In a dream, in a state of shock Jon crossed thier yards with a can of cheap beer not even bothering to lock his door.