Another day, another feeble attempt from Freddy to be “intellectual” and passive aggressive. Something I’d forgotten when writing this series two years ago was that a lot of the entries end like letters. It also looks as if Freddy is replacing “without” with “sans”again. No surprise there. Even back then I was trying to keep Freddy in-character as a pretentious young man trying to seem smarter than he actually is.
I remember writing this entry pretty well because it involves cars, specifically a 2006 Buick LeSabre.
So far it’s been enlightening looking through my past efforts of trying to tell a story through a series of blog posts. These are essentially online diary entries that, depending on the narrator’s intentions, can inadvertently distort the truth. Even though my attempt here was to tell a humorous story with a laughable protagonist, I can still see other writers making good use of a medium like this.
So without further ado, here is Freddy’s lament.
So far, I have sent thirteen emails to Layla. She hasn’t responded to any of them. Between Sunday and today, I have also left twenty-five messages on her voicemail. I don’t know if she’s listening to them, but I hope she does. Every voicemail, every email, every plea I’ve made was over an hour in prewriting and planning. Layla, I don’t think you realize how much you’re tormenting me.
You’re forcing ignorance upon both of us. You’re keeping your ears and mind shut to everything I’ve been telling you. And you won’t tell me anything about why you decided to break up with me. That one day at church with your family could not have been enough to destroy our relationship, Layla.
I’ve purposefully avoided the places in town you frequent, just to spare both of us. I’m trying my best to make this easy for you. I want to ease into this, let you know how I feel, what I think through email and phone first before we get into the heavier stuff.
You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, Layla.
Remember that car you bought last year? Because I sure do. I guess it’s just my rotten luck to still love you, considering how flawed you are, Layla.
A 2006 Buick LaSabre. Not the best car for a young lady, but it worked for you. I’m surprised you picked something so reasonable. You told me you bought it with your own money. It costed only $6000, because, in your words, “Nobody wants LaSabres. Especially younger people. A lot of people think they’re old-person cars, but they’re safe, reliable, and inexpensive.”
Looking back on your infantile banter now, I can’t help but laugh. Your attempt to sound mature the day you showed me your new LaSabre was just that: an attempt … a charade.
You picked me up at my parents’ house and wouldn’t even let me drive you home. Do you realize how embarrassing that was? You had to have known. It wasn’t easy having to still live with my parents. The humiliation and sense of defeat I have to live with every day is something I don’t think any young woman like yourself could understand or handle. Worse yet, you even made a point of saying, “Freddy, I can’t let you drive. You don’t even have a license.”
Don’t think I didn’t see you rolling your eyes. Once again, me not having a license is yet another symptom of me being confined to my parents’ house. As soon as the weekends arrive, I’m forced back to their house, losing a piece of myself every time I sleep in their basement. When you rolled your eyes, Layla, you seemed to think not having a driver’s license or proper I.D. was a sign of laziness. That couldn’t be further from the truth. In actuality, not having a license is a sign of confinement, imprisonment by one’s own parents as they force you to love them and never encourage you to get a license. They never mentioned driving to me, or anything about employment or the outside world. My parents were and are a part of what’s ruining my life. And the way you humiliated me only ruined my life further.
How could a woman ever understand? A man, being forced to ride shotgun with his girlfriend. And his lady, too callous and immature to understand the struggles her master was going through.
Later, after you finally pulled into the Burger King drive-thru as I requested (it was late in the evening, and I was very hungry), you took figurative epochs to place your order. I ordered the classic Big King with extra onions, but you took the time to laboriously order a small cheeseburger, sans onions and sans mustard and pickles: ketchup only. I should have known then you had no taste. Your taste in food, your sense in impressing people were transparently pedantic and juvenile.
And then you ruined the rest of what could have been a pleasant evening. Instead of allowing us to eat our sandwiches in peace as you drove us to your house, you took the time to sigh and berate me for ordering such an expensive sandwich. This was simply petty, Layla. You know as well as I that my parents never encouraged me to find employment at that time. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t buy a cheaper sandwich, or any sandwich for that matter.
And then you just drove me back home. I don’t know if you told your family about this episode, but I can’t help but think your parents and grandmother have been against me for a while.
For the rest of tonight, I will try to forget about you. Until then, I’m forever yours,