Dots and Zeros [Completed]

9. Sam

I wasn't even surprised when mom called me. Of course she'll be late again. It's becoming her thing again already. I got to give it to her, she's getting quicker with it. In a wrong and twisted way it's impressive.

She used to call me to say she'd be late two times a week, then three, and then it escalated. She's on strike three already in the second week.

I take a frozen pizza out of the freezer and shove it in the oven. I lean against the counter with my back facing the wall. There are still no chairs around the dinner table. It's been more than a week since we moved in.

The number of boxes has decreased but they're still there. Three boxes are on the dining table. I look at the clock on the oven. Twenty-five minutes left. It's not like there's anything good on TV anyway.

I walk towards the box on the table that's closest to me. When I open it I see bowls. Finally some bowls. I feel like I've been eating breakfast in two mugs for a whole year. It's a method that works, sure, but not a method I prefer.

One by one I empty the boxes into various cabinets. I flatten the empty boxes and leave them on the dining table. It's supposed to be teamwork, so she can get rid of those later. The pizza is done in two minutes.

While grabbing a plate and a paper towel, the oven beeps. With the pizza on my plate I walk into the living room to go to my bedroom upstairs. But just like the previous time, the diary catches my eye.

That one entry I read last time was weird. I don't know if it was written by mom or someone else. But if it was someone else's, why does mom have it? That doesn't seem very respectful of one's privacy.

Considering privacy is already out the window, I take the notebook and bring it with me upstairs. I take a mental note to put it back in its original place before mom comes home. I still have plenty of time.

From what I can remember, anytime she'd read these she's been a bit secretive about it. Closing the book when I walk past. Leaving it either in her own room or with a stack of other books.

I guess she hasn't unpacked her other books yet. She's leaving it on its own on the coffee table. Does that mean she isn't hiding it anymore, and secretly wants me to read it? Or is it because her head is currently housing a tornado and she can't think properly? I guess we'll never know.

November 5

My brother is unbearable. Complaint after complaint. I let him visit my apartment, but everything is wrong. Why visit me in the first place if all you can do is complain? Are you just coming here to shit on me? What a waste of time. For the both of us.

'Are there canvasses under this couch?' he says.

I walk from the kitchen to the living room with two glasses of soda.

'What about it?' I say.

'Don't you have a storage unit in the basement of the building?'

'What do you think is in there?'

He looks at me in disbelief.

'You're... obsessed.'

So many complaints. And he always draws conclusions way too fast. Even when he doesn't have the full picture. It's such a narrow-minded way of living. He has such troubles putting himself in someone else's shoes.

Annoying.

'Call it whatever you want. You can't deny it's making me richer every single second. Can you afford this apartment in the middle of New York City?' I say.

'No, but-'

'And do you have to live here?'

'I see where this is-'

'Then why do you complain? It's my house. My job. My life. I don't think this 'obsession' is hurting anyone. So who are you to tell me it's something bad?'

'Stop, please. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have made that comment. Please stop rambling.'

'Fine.'

We had soda on my couch. I then showed him what I'm currently working on. We had a talk about Andrea.

'She's really pretty,' he says. 'And funny. She seems to really understand me.'

'Good for you. All the best of luck.'

'Are you dating anyone?'

'No.'

'Have you ever dated anyone?'

The talk about Andrea quickly became a talk about ridiculing me.

'Yes, I have dated before. In high school.'

'That doesn't count.'

'Those are your rules, not mine.'

I put my feet up the table. While taking a sip of the soda I look at my brother. Clean shaven. Mauve sweater. Brown boots like a construction worker.

'Why not?' he asks.

'Why not what?'

'Why don't you date?'

I respond in a way that fits his current mood the most.

'I tend to scare people off. Not on purpose. It just happens. There's just a part of me that's not appealing to other humans. I don't know what it is.'

'Don't say that. You're a great person.'

'I know that. Of course I do. I've known myself since I was born. I'm an absolute delight.'

'Sure. What if you're a little passionate?'

I look my brother in the eyes. He keeps eye contact.

'What do you mean 'what if'? I'm passionate. And there's nothing wrong with that. I've seen plenty of movies with passionate Spanish lovers. I'm not Spanish. But I'm passionate. That's something people look for in a partner, right?'

'Sure, but-'

'So why would you think it's a problem? You made it sound like a problem. It's not. Also, I'm rich. And I have an apartment in the middle of New York City. Something about me must be so incredibly awful that not even money can solve that. Money isn't enough to overlook my personality. That hurts. I can't believe you would tell me that.'

'No, no, no. I never said that. You rambled yourself to that conclusion. Rambling. That's something you could work on. That can be a little overwhelming. Which makes you quite intense.'

'I don't need to work on myself. Nonsense. I'm an absolute delight. Passionate. Creative. Rich. I'm a home owner. Can you imagine how rare that will be in the future? I can already see it happening.'

But I managed to stick up for myself. He can come at me all he wants. Force me to date all he wants. I'm not doing it. I live for me and myself alone. Occasional muses pass by, but it never leads anywhere.

I'm my own person. I don't need anyone. And no one else should need me. It doesn't sound healthy, does it? To need someone. Why? Are you not a capable person on your own? Maybe you should work on that, instead of finding someone to marry.

Just a thought.