Relay

By Max Thomas

About the Book
Relay is the true story of a broken-hearted narcissist as told by a chronic liar.
Everyone has been in love and has had their heart broken before.
But no one has hurt quite like this.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888125144

Book preview

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by Max Thomas

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Relay

By Max Thomas

(moving) forward

At thirty-six years old (or young depending on who you ask and how cliché one is) I went through what, at that time, I believed to be the worst break-up I have ever been through. Wanting to intertwine nostalgia, advice and self-therapy, I decided to start a day-to-day journal in efforts to log my discontent for future self-analysis, all in the name of a feeling called content, to be at peace with the death of the relationship with my best friend. I have been through break-ups before so I am familiar with the hollow feeling and the gloom that follows, filling every available gap given between thoughts; lots of what-if’s and how comes? and short bouts of self-loathing that spiral into fits of rage, anger, and depression. This most recent split, however, just hit harder than any others and I ran out of ideas on how to speed this familiar process up and from there, this thought is born.

But then I thought well that’s kind of fucking boring so I decided in the name of entertainment I would lie about certain daily events. As of now, I don’t know how true to my actual situation this manifesto will be, I only know I lost my best friend, it hurts, and I’m out of ideas to cope. Take it for what it’s worth but know that the main thesis and a good amount of the following transcribed does come from a place of hurt, told in hopes that not only I will feel better about what is currently going on in my life but that yours as well may find light in whatever it is that is dark which surrounds you. As for the story itself, it is for you to decide where the truth lies.

Dedicated to you.

Whoever you may be, I wish you well. Unless you fuck kids. Go fuck yourself.

All names have probably been changed to avoid me having to confront you one day and tell you to your face what an asshole I think you really are. The rest is told

exactly as if I gave a fuck.

Day one, or whichever day it was

I decided to start trying to give a fuck.

It is a Saturday at about 9:30 in the morning and I am an hour and a half late for work, sitting in a Kwik-Trip parking lot. Not the parking lot. Actually, I park by the diesel gas pumps away from the parking lot itself, about ten yards from the cluster of fuckery that is the actual Kwik-Trip parking lot. The lot and store are both lined with two major roads at both entrances and at the south entrance/exit, two sets of stop lights are maybe eight car lengths apart. On top of that, the gas pumps are too close to the parking lines which are also too close together and can hold one handicap spot and eleven spots for other vehicles; usually eight because most people park like assholes. Lunch rush is insanity; breakfast rush is entertaining. So, I sit parked safely away at precisely anarchy o’clock and the shows are always at least amusing. You see a lot of close bumper fucks, as I like to call them, where someone at the pump is either entering or leaving as another in the all-too-close parking lot twenty steps away is backing out, not paying the attention properly required in lots such as these which further results into either light taps or close calls with bumpers and brake lights. Not always a hit, not always a miss but always a horn and always at least entertaining. This is why I am late for work.

Saturdays are usually optional, and I do like to stay ahead of the game and often take advantage of a few extra hours to stay ahead of said game, but this Saturday was mandatory as the plant was shut down as they worked on something electric earlier this week. I didn’t ask questions. All I knew was the boss said to take Thursday off and my mind went into planning mode: What time should I start drinking? I was too concerned about numbing my current pain rather than worrying about my future self, thus missing the part where I was supposed to be in at eight AM until it was too late. Not the end of the world, as long as I show up before ten and stay until six while skipping lunch, I’ll get my hours and not lose my bonus. Technically, I’m still late. Even more so, technically I would be early so what harm in enjoying my coffee and a cigarette while the first shift shit-show takes place? The shows are always good. Not great like the lunch special show, but good nonetheless and being good was a good win. God knows I needed one. So, I waited, and I watched.

My cigarette as well as my window of time had snuffed out and everything was a wreck; a wreck as in it all went down smoothly. Of course, the state’s smallest and most clustered, accident-prone and poorly planned gas station layout would only have its gears greased proper on the one God-forsaken day I’m on prime time as well as location for the shows it’s known for only to see nothing. I’m not advocating violence per se, but as the saying goes; when in Rome. Right now, Rome is burning, and some people just want to watch the world burn. I, however, get fucked. Why? Because smokers smoke when the chips are down, misery loves company, kick ‘em when they’re down - pick your favorite euphemism. Not complaining, just stating the fact that when it rains, it pours; you can also pick that euphemism if it tickles your fancy.

I start my truck and to be honest I’m not all that upset. All in all, I don’t want to see anybody hurt. Even people I don’t like, I really don’t want to see them hurt, I’m actually quite empathetic and all but if I happen to be there and I have no personal ties, well, it was going to happen anyway so why not give them a good audience? Plus, I was hurt, and I was punch-drunk for someone else’s pain to alleviate my own. I start my truck and am reaching down for my seatbelt when I hear it.

HOOOOOOOOOOONK!

Not just a couple, courteous hey, excuse me honks. Not a quick hey, buddy. Not a douchey shave and a haircut which, by the way, is never appropriate. No, this was a full on HEY, MOTHERFUCKER! honk and once again my future self and his stay at the company he has been steadily employed at for almost the last four years was but a gleam in the back of the mind that only uses itself at ten percent capacity and put on hold as inevitable chaos was surely to ensue.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I expected more and more so I was disappointed when nothing came of the HEY MOTHERFUCKER honk. As quick as my adrenaline peaked the altercation had come and gone; hey, motherfucker! A quick jerk of a stop, an apologetic flick of the wrist and then there was nothing but smooth sailing sans swapping insurance slips and/or fists. And I guess in the long run that was for the best but there was still a world burning in my own mind and, well, misery loves company…

Two hours pass and God did it feel like an eternity. Maybe now is a good time to explain why. I’m not quite sure exactly why this break-up is so hard considering I was the one to initially end it all. I didn’t quite beg her to move on and I certainly wasn’t happy when we got back together not even one week later. This was maybe four months ago and at that point we were past the two-year mark of our on and off relationship. We met drunk. We broke up drunk… a lot. We made up drunk. Then, one fateful day we both came to the mutual decision that what we had was great in its own right but was not meant for more. So, we got a gram of Colombian white, a bottle of booze, and indulged and consumed while we played our favorite card games, watched our favorite tv shows on Netflix, and loved each other one more time before our inevitable end reached the proverbial finish line. That night we slept together, holding one another while whispering, I love you, back and forth to each other. For probably two hours we held on to one another, drifting in and out of sleep, randomly whispering, I love you, between bouts of sleep. Looking back, it was the happiest I had ever been with her in our two year on-and-off relationship and saying that now, I don’t know if I should be happy or sad about that.

The morning came, we got breakfast as we usually did after a long night of whites and booze and came back to my apartment to finish off what was left of our narcotics and relationship. She had made it very clear that this was to be the last time. I agreed, eager to move on with the rest of my life without her. It wasn’t until about one minute after she left that I realized I had immensely fucked up.

To say I broke down would be an understatement. In between broken sobs, I barely mustered enough strength to pull myself together long enough to remember to breathe. I thought of everything we had been through, from beginning to end, from the best to the worst, and call me crazy, but I wanted it all back. All of it. I called her an hour after she initially left for the last time.

Hey… you okay? she asks. It’s only been twenty minutes.

Wow, heartache is a motherfucker. If twenty minutes is one hour, what’s the rest of this going to feel like and how long will that take?

I’m…

I break down in sobs. She has seen me cry, I’m not ashamed of that. We used to joke about how emotional I got. There were movies I would show her and beforehand I would warn her that it’s a tear-jerker and when I would tear up, but she would be dry-eyed, we would joke that she is a robot, void of all human emotion. I’m not making her out to be an emotionless drone, believe me, this was just one of our little jokes and honestly one thing I miss most about her. And just to clarify, this was nothing more than an inside joke between the two of us and if I am making her out to be any sort of monster, that is far from all intent and purpose of this meandering. But I digress; more on that later.

Two hours into work and I realized it has only been forty minutes, give or take. Every second passed as if it were four, every minute as if it were six. I know the math is wrong, but the idea remains valid. To quote my favorite podcaster Dan Cummins, You get it.

So, three and half hours/an hour and fifteen minutes into work and I’m startled by this kid named Avery. I’m only going to call him Avery because I’m not quite sure what his real name is. We have somewhat of a high turnover rate as far as low-level employees go so to learn one’s name is just space wasted in a mind that can only hold so much as is. On a further note, I only call him Avery because of his more than slight resemblance to some guy I saw on a show on Netflix. Avery works in the plant itself whereas I am off in another world, fifteen seconds or thirty some odd footsteps away in the warehouse. I have two guys who work with me, and I knew exactly where they were when Avery was suddenly directly behind me, not meaning to startle me but doing just so as my understanding was the only other two people in the warehouse were somewhere other than directly behind me.

Hey?

I jump. Hard. I don’t scream; I am jumpy, but I do have some control over it. Occasionally I may yell FUCK or JESUS but more often than not I simply startle a jerk with a look of sheer shock and just as quickly shake off the instantaneous jolt of unexpected emotion and it is back to business as normal.

Sorry, he says, showing every bit of truth behind his apologetic retort to said sudden shock. I was just wondering if I could leave early being Halloween and all… trick or treatin’, ya know...

I’m not his boss, I think, What the fuck do I care? I’m not your boss… what the fuck do I care?

I usually have somewhat of a filter towards insubordinates, but on this particular day all I could think was what I wanted to say and what I said was what I was thinking; some days your filter just says, fuck it.

He continues. Right, it’s just that you are the only department head here now being Saturday and all, so I was just hoping to get the okay from you.

What the fuck does that mean, Avery? Are you insinuating I don’t have a life? That the only reason I am here on a Saturday is because I don’t have anything better to do? That I’m the only department head here so it obviously means I have been an emotional wreck and all-around pain in the ass to be around. So you walk around on eggshells to avoid the emptiness that inadvertently as well as obviously shadows every waking move I make. It is obviously because the last two years of your relationship is done because you are an emotionless miserable prick who chased off the only person you never knew you truly loved until said person was sick of your shit and finally stopped coming back every time you felt it convenient for her to stay the night again?" Is that what you think, Avery? Fuck you!

Fuck you! I screamed, not realizing I was doing so until said scream was screamed.

Avery jumps almost as much as I did upon his initial arrival. The current look of shock on my face matches his in spades, only I’m quicker to fold. I chuckle and shake my head, removing my line of vision from his, but only momentarily. I know this kind of puts me more on the bad side of the circle graph but between sane and sociopath. I know how to read people and when it comes to my advantage, I know which route to approach and which is necessary. Granted, I don’t use it to benefit myself in an unwarranted way, I am still aware of what shade of psychopath it paints me; no need to elaborate.

Yeah, bud... I get it. Go ahead and take your kid trick or treatin’. I’ll sign off on your timecard. I say this all with a smile and all things considered, it truly was a genuine smile.

I felt good! I lost that win at Kwik Trip earlier and my loss was another one’s gain: I was looking for pain earlier just to feel better about my own but right now, telling this guy to go ahead and bring his kid trick or treating and just being able to be that person that one day a kid looks back, remembering better times, vicariously I am part of that kid’s great childhood memories. I smiled and nodded; unaware of how confused Avery looked until moments after he had left when I finally understood the gravity of his exiting statement…

I don’t have kids.He said it with an air of attitude that was more fuck you than confusion.

And then, with a snort and a turn Avery was gone, leaving me to reflect on what I had just heard, only positive that he surely was joking. Whetherr he was or not, here I am, the warehouse manager and one at that who had just signed off on another department’s childless, forty-some-year-old subordinate to go ahead and take off early to go trick or treating. By the time it had all settled in, I had already reverted to not giving a fuck. After all, I had no life other than the one I gave up when the girl I never knew I loved left.

Did I mention it was Halloween? I sure hope so otherwise that last part was complete nonsense. Trust me, it gets worse.

Did I mention that it gets worse? Because it really doesn’t, I’m just kind of a drama whore. I think you’ll come to find that I may come off as a victim when in all actuality, I’m really just more in line for an easier way to cope with the death of a relationship that I, in every way, tried to save. That being said, allow me to elaborate exactly how I still do not even deserve the time of day from a clock called her (spoiler alert- I’m still going to cater to my pity party).

Let us travel back to a time when I had everything and let me spoil it by throwing shade towards the girl I still at this moment feel was my last chance at tricking someone into being stuck with me as I coasted through a life given, not asked for.

One year ago, to the day, said girl and I were together happily (for the most part) in a tattoo parlor getting our Halloween costumes made up. It was more than kind of said friend to take time out of her busy schedule to not only tend to our ceremonial need at no cost but to also do such while listening to the constant complaining most often associated with the girl for whom I still feel was very much my last chance at tricking someone into being stuck with me in said coasted life from a para-rant earlier. To be fair, said host is just as guilty, as far as being a stick in the mud goes. I’d say as am I, but here and there I have to give myself credit and when I’m being a complainer it is always more entertaining than not. Moving on…

Upon her wishes, the ex’s, that is, we decided to go as zombies. Looking back now the only thing I regret more is not taking more of an interest in hers. She was a huge Walking Dead fan, we played Left for Dead once or twice. I knew what a fan she was and looking back, I only took interest long enough to win her over. I truly do feel very, very horrible about that. Not so much that zombies didn’t interest me, but more that it was something that interested her, and she took a lot of time out of her busy, complaint-filled schedule to at least fain interests in my own from beginning to end. Where as I… well, does this story relay a fate of mutual content thus far? Exactly… moving on.

So, when I say zombies, I’m not talking like all-out zombies. We both got white long sleeve shirts and just had our friend draw in bite marks and spackle us with red paint. There was no intention of winning any contests, we just wanted to go out and drink as a couple, have fun, get drunk, and go home bloody, apparently in more than one sense. I didn’t care that I didn’t give a shit about zombies. At this point, I was just happy to be with her. We had recently gotten back together and even though the last break-up was just as bad as the last and would end up being no worse than the next. I was really happy at that moment. Really fucking happy. So happy to the point that when our next break-up came about, I was too busy being mad about how happy I was at Halloween that I forgot to be happy when we got back together right after Thanksgiving. Just to save some time, I’m going to go ahead and assume that if you’re still listening you are well aware that this make-up break-up shit is apt to be a common theme, so let’s just cut through the crap cake and omit what is obvious throughout the rest of this therapeutic endeavor.

Our costumes were stupid, but the two of us were giddy. Looking back, I can’t think of one bad moment. I’m sure that there were some, but for the life of me, I can’t remember a single bad moment that night. It made it even better when she looked at her phone after posting a photo of us in our costumes on Facebook. Her phone dinged; she looked, she laughed. I have never been and never will be the type of person who needs to know every single thing your phone tells you. We always had a good thing as far as trust went, especially as far as phones go. I emphasize had… More on that later.

She taps me listlessly on the shoulder, not making eye contact. She knew I was listening but not listening. She really did know me and sadly that made it harder for me to let her in.

Look what my mom wrote, she says, still not looking at me or me at her… but I still knew she was smiling. I still remember every look she gave and with what tone of voice she used when expressing each one. This was her, I know you’re listening to me, but you aren’t going to acknowledge that I know until you know I’m acknowledging your knowing voice. She could read me like a book.

I’m never too affectionate in public. But when I couldn’t help but know I was in love with this girl, I’d go outside of my comfort zone and show an amount of affection that was outside of my comfort zone. But it meant the world to a girl like her, one who just wanted to be shown how loved she truly was. That being said, I did even less and only grazed her shoulder as I leaned in to read the comment her mom had left under our cliché Halloween profile picture as a couple. The first thing I saw was the haha emoji accompanied by her mother’s name. The comment after: Lol. Your costumes are fucking gay. Her mother was and is, by far, the reason you fall in love even more with the girl you love. You look at her as a person, the mother, that is, and think how great it is to know that years and years down the road, you know you are going to be with this person, and they will become the future version of their mother. It was very reassuring meeting and getting to know my ex’s mother. It would have been more reassuring if my ex wasn’t the complete opposite of her own mother. How funny is that? Most stereotypical jokes shed shade on a mother-in-law and even now I feel even if things had worked out with my ex and I, the punchline would be us before her mother. But I digress.

Whatever happened later that night is between me, my ex, and the neighbors that share our thin walls. It was one of the greater nights, to say the least. I think back now, one year later, fully aware that the holidays were always the greatest and now those of the worst. I hate being alone right now and that is what really makes me feel worse as a human being at this moment. I don’t know if I miss the moments with her or if I mourn the time spent alone. Is it truly her I miss or is it being alone I truly dread? The only solace I find in the end is the content that lies in the middle. I hate both.

Granted Halloween isn’t a holiday, it still bears fruit grown on trees of memory. I did end up going out later that night, well aware that my ex and her new friend were going to be out, but at other places other than the only spot I frequented. I’d like to say that was kind of them, looking out for my feelings, but truth be told I’m positive empathy wasn’t a striving emotion regarding their plans to have an early night. After all, we have all been there before, the beginning of a relationship, the lust and