The World Vs Richard Young

I haven’t listened to AC/DC since the time that I went to see AC/DC. Brian Johnson is surprisingly short for his voice. I always pictured him to be not necessarily a tower, but, maybe an obelisk? I can’t say whether or not it was this surprise that spurred my disinterest in their musical endeavors up until this point. As the stairs blur together Highway to Hell is somehow finding a way to be recognizable amiss my long pants and gasps, was that the twelfth floor back there or eleventh. The repairman didn’t show up today and the elevator has been out for weeks. This sort of cardio feels like it’s bad for my heart, if only I could slow down, take a breath, get this stupid song out of my head.  Ninth floor, here we go. My tie is slowing me down, its clearly crushing my windpipe and suffocating, we need to operate. It’s real silk, I did however get it on say at the bay, it would have made for a good Christmas present from my wife, hell, I hinted at it for a solid two months prior to the holiday, she was never there though, too preoccupied with something else, no doubt. A quick tug and it comes free, I can tie a decent double windsor, always have been able to, no one wears ties to work anymore. Whether or not this is something to be happy about or not is something that for some reason I have a tough time deciphering, maybe it’s just a sign of the times, the professionalism of the twentieth century died with it. Maybe I don’t have to fully take it off, just loosen it, no, it needs to go, keeps flapping around uncomfortably when I clear the last few steps, damn, should’ve brought the tie clip today. Who cares, right now is not the time to be mulling over these sorts of details. With one quick tug the tie comes loose of my neck and the hair currently standing tall, drenched in sweat, say goodbye to the fine material for the last time. The tie helicopters behind me and takes a strangely long amount of time to hit the ground, the sound it makes when it finally does hit the cement floor is unique, like the pop of a microphone during soundcheck, satisfying in its own way. The silence that follows is broken by my shoulder against the heavy door, It opens loud and annoyed, begging for the glorious days where it would be greased on a regular basis.

The street is packed, people walking this way and that, all tending to their own errands, no one casually strolling or chatting. Bumping into an old friend is a thing of the past. I still haven’t been able to grasp the silence, its eerie. The sound of footsteps and high-heels echoing off of the towers of downtown, the sound of streetlights changing, the wind. Its eerie.

   “Hello?” I manage to get out through my AC/DC puffs. “Is there anybody here?”

Not a sound, the pitter-patter of leather on pavement overpowers all.

   “Hello?” I yell again, this time much louder with much more involvement from my diaphragm, my voice bouncing back to me before I finish.

Nothing.

A smartly dressed attractive young woman brushes past me, her strawberry blonde hair smells like kiwi and her lipstick isn’t perfect. As she does so her stiletto digs deeply into my already tired foot. There is no acknowledgement to my yelp of pain. A man follows closely in her wake, I grab his coveralls in panic.

   “Are you there? Please I need help.”

Not prepared for my grasp, the man, continuing his stride, becomes top heavy and off balance, and falls backward towards the ground, his skull loudly cracking on the sidewalk. His legs continue their strut, but I have no time for him, he is a shell, and though broken, he can be fixed.

   “Please, someone, help me.” I repeat as I move through the crowds, knocking people over and breaking the rhythm of many itineraries.

                All these people aren’t here, they are at home, enjoying themselves, away on vacation, being human elsewhere. I cannot join them, I suffer from some…disorder the doctor called it. I am stuck here in my body. There are many like me, but I only really know one of them. Mike, my best friend, and he is currently bleeding to death twenty floors up.

   “I need a doctor!” I scream as an ambulance drives by, the drivers calmly pausing at the red light. I jump up to the driver’s side door and put my hand through the open window to begin assaulting the man inside, he stares forward, indifferent. A call comes in through the short wave radio. The two men in the vehicle sort of blink oddly, the sirens flick on and they speed off through the light, throwing me to the pavement in the process. If only I could mind jump, I could get a doctor here within seconds. Or if only I wasn’t downtown, anywhere else I would be able to find someone, someone who could help me.

   “Please!” is all I can get out at this point. I lay there in the middle of the street and cars calmly reconfigure and dodge me as if an obstacle. There is nothing I can do, Mike is going to die, and it is all my fault.