Training Max: Chapter 5

 

Max laid in the bunker for a long time, knowing that he will be a zombie for the training that awaited tomorrow. His thoughts turned to his exes, after being called his last name by Chris and him calling her her last name in turn. She was the only one to do so for a long time; and he didn't want to delve too deeply about what this means, if anything, to him.

One particular ex stood in mind: Teresa who took an interest in him only after seeing him lift a boiler by himself as aid to his best friend moving houses. Her eyes grew wide at his impressive physique, and the way he shouted a release of effort, much like the kia! in karate after a final punch, or kick. 

Teresa ultimately reminded her of another ex, Patty, who was pretty much the same, the only difference being sleeve tattoos, one self-published book, and pink hair styled the way a bird, or a chicken, might look. What is this eternal return of the same?, he pondered, knowing Chris had ruined such women for him.

Turning his thoughts back to Teresa, who, before he almost bedded her, was astounded to hear him declare, “Listen. I have to tell you something; this is important to me. If you don’t understand this, I will know that we will never be together.”

He continued, studying her now uninterested face, “The discourse of the West is nothing but an invention, thus inevitably resulting to neoliberal shit. You have the tendency for fighting, but for all the wrong reasons. You rebel without understanding what you are rebelling against, you’re a proclaimed coffee-addicted feminist, yet you write trite slogans and stories because of it. You, in short, are part of the problem, a diversion, and nothing else. If anything matters, you would not have been vaccinated six times.” He said the last statement as a risk he was willing to take for this woman, half-hoping that she would self-select and prove her worth by staying the night.

It was a rather harsh statement, he had to admit. Needless to say, she was affronted, and he himself more convinced that women are either a distraction or an ornament to life. He believed this in his heart of hearts, for he was a man alone, and listening to his own rationality alone: the environment a mere backdrop to his rather prolific thoughts and writings.

He was increasingly bothered by the fact that the more he understood and wrote about the world, the less he felt that he belonged in it. “Dissociation” as Chris had called it. He respected her opinions more than he should, he knew, and took a deep breath. She, after all, was a master of dissociation, though inadventently. 

Sleep will come late tonight. His mind then turned to his happier moments: doing karaoke, performing with his best friend and guitarist Luboš and on stage, singing his heart out for all and sundry, finally getting lost in the lyrics he wrote himself:

I’ve been spending a lot of time on my own, these daaaaaays…

Trying to think of a solution for the world…

A solution for the world…

And this is what I’ve got to say…

Please listen to me, ‘cos this is what I’ve got to say:

The time for politics is oveeeer!

It was his last and greatest performance before his band split up due to his absence, having been replaced by a man ridiculously named Elvio, only because he then joined the Army. It was a different experience from being onstage: his Sergeant giving him both the structure and ego boost that he needed to get out of bed, the trainings involving crawling through mud fields and jumping through high wooden walls, the absent desire for sex due to his testosterone and resulting horniness replaced by the sheer regimentation of his life, fulfilling no-nut November in this entire stint that no one among his family took seriously. the same way they did not take his undergraduate studies of International Relations seriously. His father, out of sheer exasperation, said to him one day, “Just join the Army, for fuck’s sake.” He did.

It didn’t bother him as much as it should, and thus made his reasons for coming back for training nebulous, even to his own usually incisive mind. Knowing that Chris was ultimately right, (that intuitive bitch, he thought) he further cemented the chasm between himself and world, by constantly choosing what he fears and what he found battle-worthy. Chris was such a person, he decided, before finally drifting off to sleep.

A penultimate memory, though, and a debt: Chris had asked him earnestly before he left to list ten things that made him happy. Having thought of only one, he said, "I love laughing, but everyone does, I suppose."

She didn't reply.