Mr. Smile

By Samuel Thompson

Unique, powerful, and fresh as today’s headlines, Mr. Smile is a heartwarming illustration of the human condition, of love, sadness, addiction, depression, and the ultimate motivator behind it all: happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483536774

Book preview

Franklin

CHAPTER 1

Thirty stories is a long way to fall.

Craig Greely peered down past his toes and off the ledge of his apartment building. His heart was pounding, his stomach in his throat as he imagined the journey. But his fear didn’t matter. Today was the day, he decided, and he would allow nothing revert his way to revert his decision.

He had been sitting on the roof for about five minutes, watching the sun make its slow ascent to its customary place high above the earth. Despite having lived in the same building for nearly six years, he had never been to the roof-top before, something he regretted now that he was experiencing it for the first time. It was bright and warm up there, as if being a few hundred feet closer to the sun drastically magnified its effects. It was quiet as well, removed from the din of the world below, and the solitude brought him a sense of tranquility. A breeze of warm air blew gently across Craig’s face as he gazed at the magnificent skyline of Sacramento, California. The countless buildings and skyscrapers gleamed in the bright morning sunlight and cast long, dark shadows in the direction opposite the sun.

On the ground below, Craig could see the movements of thousands of people and automobiles lining the busy streets, all slaving ceaselessly for their own reasons. As he watched the people below, scurrying like ants, completely absorbed in their own puny lives, Craig shook his head in disgust. It all seemed so pointless from his vantage high above the earth, like watching termites scurry in and out of an overturned log.

They were oblivious to the miracle which unfolded above them, the sun rising above the horizon and spreading its bright, yellow light across the sprawling urban landscape. This sun made their lives possible, and yet so few took time from their busy mornings to appreciate nature’s beautiful gift. This gift, in all its glory and splendor, was lost on them. They were absorbed in the complexities of their own existences, striving to accomplish, chasing the almighty dream or dollar.

But to Craig Greely, the sunrise was not a gift, but rather a horrible curse. In Craig’s black-and-gray world, each sunrise marked the start of another miserable day of imprisonment in the hopeless charade which people called life. If there was ever a man who had hit rock-bottom, it was Craig Greely.

Looking back over his years of existence, he found he couldn’t recall how his life had gotten to this point. It hadn’t always been this way, of that he was sure. There was a time in his distant past when he could awaken each morning and find the shining of the sun a blessing, a time when his life held purpose, a time when he found happiness in places other than at the bottom of a bottle.

But somewhere along the road, he had lost his way. Now at twenty-seven years old, he was alone, manically depressed, broke, and as of yesterday, homeless, having discovered a note of eviction pinned to his apartment door. The note was no surprise, of course, as Craig had neglected to pay his rent for several months, having burned through his savings during the previous years of unemployment

He had told himself he had quit his job, not lost it, as he actually had, because the employment was his main source of depression. In reality, his discharge from his company had freed up his daytime hours so that he could pursue his favorite pastime—drinking. His problem, as his ex-girlfriend had been so fond of calling it, had worsened tremendously once he had lost his last job. And when the glow of happiness stopped coming with a drink or two, sobriety became a thing of the past. Craig lived out his days drunk or hung-over; but not even the liquor could numb his pain.

It is impossible for one who has never struggled with depression to fully grasp it’s severity. Many people, upon hearing of his condition, would offer the same tired advice and clichés: just be happy, think of others, and lift yourself up by the bootstraps. Craig despised those words every time he heard them, and he detested those who voiced the misguided, false encouragements. He hated the words and the well-wishers, almost as much as he hated himself. He detested the sheer ignorance of the statements, the implication that his situation could be amended by making a simple choice, a conscious decision to put it all behind him.

It was not a matter of choosing to ignore unhappiness; he was in an inescapable pit, unable to climb out. Thousands of voices rang in his ears every waking moment, all taunting him, questioning him, viciously addressing his every insecurity and regret. He lived his days in heavy, binding chains, a slave to the black clouds of negativity and sorrow which claimed his spirit. His very heartbeat was a curse. Each night before attempting to fall asleep, he breathed a shaky prayer to a god he didn’t believe in, a prayer that he would not awaken the next day. He despised the sunrise each morning, the cursed sunrise. But his wish was never granted. And every morning, as the sun came streaming though his bedroom window, he took it as a sign—a billboard,—welcoming him to another day in hell.

But today, everything would change. Craig wasn’t sure when he had made the decision to kill himself; it was, perhaps, more of a gradual conclusion, arrived at subconsciously. After he settled on the idea, he brooded over it for weeks, considering his demise as if it was a distant intangible. He hadn’t planned a date, or put a mark on his calendar, and he never went out to buy a length of rope, or make an actual plan as to how he would carry out the deed. But once the eviction note had come, however, it was the final push. His decision became concrete.

He awoke early the next morning, a rare occurrence for this jobless alcoholic, and climbed the stairs to the roof of his apartment building, thirty-stories high. Upon reaching the roof-top, Craig sat on the ledge and looked at the streets below, pondering the pathetic insignificance of life. As he looked down into death’s face, he realized that he was, in fact, terrified. But it didn’t matter, he had made the decision and there was no turning back from it now, when an escape was so near. His mouth felt dry, his hands trembled as he rose to his feet on the ledge. As he stared down at the street below, he wondered what his body would look like after the impact. Would it be remain intact, or would it splatter like a watermelon? He tried to push this unpleasant thought from his head.

The moment had come. Dark, brooding thoughts urged him forward, to jump off the ledge and into the comforting arms of death. But there was another part of him, his heart, which shouted wildly, pounding, beating with life, called him to stay. Regardless of the conflict tormenting him, his decision had been made and he would not turn back, not when he was so close to relief. Sweet death was about to end his suffering forever.

Craig took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and moved closer to the edge, the toes of his shoes poking into the abyss. He could practically feel it, a rush of blood to his head, the sound of wind whistling in his ears, and then sweet, sweet darkness—

Wait—

A soft voice behind him halted Craig in his tracks.

He whirled around to find a man standing in the middle of the roof, watching him with a strange smile on his lips. Through this stranger’s unexpected appearance, Craig had hesitation thrust upon his plan. For a moment, he considered lunging off the roof anyway, but instead asked the only logical question he could think of.

Who are you?

Kyle, the stranger replied simply.

Craig peered at the man intently. Strangely, the stranger appeared to be pleased about something. The corners of his mouth were drawn upwards into a smile, not an exuberant, over-joyous expression of elation, but simply a quaint look of pleasant contentedness. His eyes were bright and happy as well, as if he was having a perfectly nice day. The stranger was clean shaven and his hair was well-kept to match his face. His clothes were neat, though bland and rather basic; overall, his appearance was unremarkable, except for one tiny detail. The man wore a pin about the size of a quarter upon his shirt.

The pin on the stranger’s shirt was shiny, bright yellow metal, and stood out as a vibrant spot against the fabric of his white button-up shirt. The pin had three distinct black marks in a triangular formation, hard to pinpoint what the marks were, from where Craig was standing, but something about the pin looked familiar. Looking closer, straining his eyes, Craig realized the pin was a yellow smiley-face.

What are you doing up here? Craig demanded.

Kyle took a few steps towards Craig. I could ask you the same thing.

Isn’t it fucking obvious?

Kyle flinched at these harsh words. It is...but why?

Why what? Craig was perturbed at being questioned by a complete stranger at such an inconvenient time.

Why jump?

Despite being positive of the rightness of his own actions, Craig had difficulty producing a reply. Awkward as the moment was, the absolute bluntness of the question, the intrusion of the words, toyed with Craig’s fragile mind. He had no need to respond, but found himself speaking, explaining himself to the stranger.

Because it’s not worth it anymore.

This answer didn’t satisfy Kyle’s curiosity. Not worth what anymore?

Craig, getting more frustrated by the moment, at the intruder, the conversation, the direct questions the man had the nerve to ask, exploded. Life is shit! He said viciously. Nothing means anything! I wake up every morning sad to be alive, because all that my life has amounted to is failure. Life is pointless, we live our whole lives in pain, always worrying, concerned about what comes next, waiting for our inevitable deaths.

You don’t sound very satisfied with the way things are. Kyle said thoughtfully.

Craig shrugged in defeat. He wasn’t sure why he was opening up to this random stranger, maybe it was just a subconscious need to say goodbye to someone, anyone, before his spirit left this world. He pushed on, spilling his heart for the first time in years. I’ve got nothing. No job, no car, no friends. Not even a fucking place to live...I’m drunk most of my waking hours because it helps to numb the pain of being alive. It’s all just so empty, so fucking meaningless. I’d be better off dead.

Kyle took a while to respond to this, as if he was deeply considering what he had just heard. Finally, he offered a reply.

I guess those are pretty good reasons.

Craig blinked in surprise. You’re...you’re not here to talk me down then?

It’s not really my business. Kyle said, almost timidly. But if you do jump now, it sure would ruin my day.

Once again, Craig wasn’t sure how to respond to the man. Kyle interpreted his silence as an invitation to continue. I hope you’ve got the courtesy not to do that, I was hoping to enjoy myself today. I tell you what; I live in this building, why don’t you come back to my apartment? We could talk, maybe over a cup of coffee, it’d be more comfortable for both of us. Besides, this roof-top isn’t going anywhere.

Craig was amazed. Something about this stranger on the roof touched him. He felt guilty that the man had found himself in such a heavy situation, and astounded that he had made no efforts to talk Craig down.

Do you always invite random suicidal strangers into your home?

Kyle shrugged. I don’t have many friends either, outside of work. He said. It would be nice to have company this morning, might be nice for both of us. What do you say?

Craig could not explain why he accepted Kyle’s offer. Maybe it was guilt, or Kyle’s earnest expression, or maybe it was something else, but Craig stepped down off the ledge nonetheless and decided to try his luck with this eccentric man who had interrupted his last morning on earth.

Chapter 2

The elevator ride down from the 30th floor was the most awkward thing that either men had experienced in their lives. The dead silence between them was broken only by the ironically upbeat music that played through the scratchy speaker in the elevator. After a few floors, Kyle began to whistle along to the tune with familiarity. Shortly, the elevator came to a halt on floor 23 to allow a few others to board, all of whom Kyle greeted with a friendly smile. Craig kept his eyes fixed on the floor indicator above the door. When the elevator’s decent began again, Kyle’s cheerful whistling resumed.

Craig stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at his unlikely savior. He was a strange man, to be sure. Still fixed upon the man’s face was the same pleasant smile which he had worn earlier when on the roof-top just moments ago.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor, and the two men walked into the hallway, with Kyle leading the way. Craig reflected on what a strange pair they were, with Kyle’s clean outfit, groomed appearance, and happy smile, in stark contrast with Craig’s dirty tee-shirt, torn jeans, unshaven face, and greasy hair which was in need of a good cut. After walking to the end of the hall, Kyle answered the unspoken question in Craig’s mind by gesturing to a door marked with the numbers A123.

This is me, Kyle said. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and gestured for Craig to step inside the small apartment.

Craig obliged and took stock of the room. Kyle’s apartment was nice, nothing overly lavish or expensive, but all the furnishings were obviously purchased and arranged with care. The walls were painted with a warm, slightly yellow hue that gave the room a bright and cheery aura. Everything appeared clean and devoid of clutter. Kyle was clearly a very meticulous, organized man, judging by the look of the apartment.

Make yourself at home.

Craig took a seat at a small breakfast table.

Want anything to drink? Kyle asked.

You got any booze?

It’s morning...not even eight yet—

I was just about to jump off a roof-top a few fucking minutes ago. Give me a break, buddy.

I guess that’s a good point. So much for convention, eh?

He opened a cabinet and pulled out a sealed bottle of wine. This is all the alcohol I keep around...Shall I pour you a glass?

Craig pinched the spot between his eyes. Jesus. Never mind, I might as well drink water.

Kyle smiled and put the wine away. That’s the spirit. Want any ice with the water? Or would you prefer coffee?

Craig shook his head that either would do for him.

So, what’s your name, stranger? Kyle asked. Craig had forgotten that he hadn’t even told the friendly stranger his name.

Craig Greely.

Kyle placed a glass of tap water in Craig’s outstretched hand and sat down at the table across from his guest. Nice to meet you, Craig. Tell me about yourself.

Not much to tell. Born in Indianapolis, lived there till I graduated from high school, moved here to Sacramento for college, CSU, years ago.

CSU, huh? Well, we have that in common. I’m an alumnus myself, Kyle remarked. This point of similarity between the two seemed to please Kyle; he smiled wider, and his eyes lit up. Craig, however, found himself feeling more and more uncomfortable with Kyle’s cheeriness.

What was your major? Craig asked, trying to disguise his apparent discomfiture with the situation.

Accounting. I’ve always been good at numbers. What about you?

Business.

That’s interesting, tell me about it.

Not much to tell.

Kyle laughed, as if he had heard a good-natured joke. Fair enough. Did you end up working in your field?

Craig, irritated by Kyle’s cheerful manner, remarked shortly, I told you, I’m unemployed.

Ever since graduation?

No, I worked for an investment banking firm for a few years after graduation.

Anything I’d have heard of?

Only if you’ve heard of Sacramento Investments Incorporated.

Hmm... no... I can’t say I have. What did you do there? Kyle asked.

Craig’s annoyance grew as the endless slew of questions continued. I hardly remember. Sat at a desk all day. Looked at charts and numbers, slowly ceased to exist... That fucking job sucked the life out of me.

With Craig’s use of profanity, Kyle’s smile dropped for an instant. I would appreciate if you could refrain from saying those kind of words in my presence, if it’s not too much to ask.

Well it is! Everybody swears, It’s the way people talk.

I’m aware of that, and I cannot express how much I disapprove. One of the biggest problems in the world is that it has become a cultural norm to use such negative words for no reason.

Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to use them.

I disagree, Kyle said. is there ever a reason to curse? It drags the speaker down to a level of negativity. There’s no redeeming value in it whatsoever. Maybe the fact that you are so comfortable with words that bring negativity is a reflection of how you ended up on the roof in the first place?

Craig exploded again, Kyle had crossed a line. Don’t you fucking tell me how I got on that roof-top. You have no idea how!

Kyle took Craig’s yelling with an understanding smile on his face, making Craig feel almost childlike about his outburst, which only irked him more. After Craig fell silent, Kyle replied: I know you feel life is hopeless, that you don’t have much to live for. No job, no home...I’m assuming you don’t have much in the way of friends or family to offer you support either.

Why the hell would you assume that?

Because you were about to jump to a messy death an hour ago.

Craig opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t find the words. After all, Kyle was not wrong in his assumptions. And awkward silence ensured until Kyle finally apologized.

I’m sorry if I upset you, I didn’t mean to pry. It was wrong to push you, but the profane language does bother me... How about this, Kyle’s smile returned as he proposed, if you agree not to curse for the rest of our encounter, I’ll agree not to pry about anything that seems personal.

Fine.

Kyle grinned, pleased that the situation had been disarmed. Craig realized with this agreement came the responsibility of carrying the conversation.

Uh...tell me about you, Kyle. Craig asked, hoping to get the topic of conversation off himself.

Kyle answered quickly, eager to speak. I grew up in Vermont. Came out here for a scholarship program one summer, and decided that I wanted to get my accounting major at CSU. A year after I graduated, I got a job at a corporate office downtown. I’ve moved around a little since then, but I’m still in accounting! Kyle said with a good natured lilt in his voice. His pleasant smile hadn’t dropped from his features.

What’s that thing? What does it mean? Craig asked, gesturing at the yellow smiley-face pinned to Kyle’s shirt.

Oh, this little thing? It’s nothing really. It’s just something from the folks that I work with. I have a nickname with them. They call me Kyle Smile, because of my optimism, I suppose. It’s a little silly, I know, but what can I say?

Craig nodded and forced a half-smile, pretending to find some semblance of interest in Kyle’s recounting of his life. "Fitting name.