Tales of Conformity

 

 

                 Reggie slapped a sticker onto a milk carton. His sticker read, “Milk is lying to you.”  He continued to walk through the bodega, putting his own, homemade stickers on the items he through were pawns in the culture of corporate manipulation. “Bread is plentiful, but you waste it,” said the next sticker he slapped onto a loaf of sourdough. Reggie flipped his dreadlocks off his face. 

                “You man, you there,” yelled a concerned bodega clerk, “I see you. I see that which what it is that you are up to there. Get out. Get out of my store!” 

                Reggie shrugged. He adjusted his raggedy backpack on his shoulder and sauntered towards the door. He pursed his lips slightly as he passed the front counter and the angry bodega clerk, who stood with his hands on his hips like a disapproving parent. 

                “Whatever man, just spreading the truth,” said Reggie as he thumped his chest with his fist and blew a two-finger peace sign kiss at the clerk. He stepped out the door and onto the early Autumn sidewalk. He could hear the clerk inside continuing his cursing tirade but he didn’t have time for that. It was nearly three o’clock and he had to get to the park to meet his friends so they could get high. 

                Weed was problematic for Reggie. He loved weed, getting high and seeing the world through slightly rose-colored glasses, but he couldn’t stand the corporate weed take-over. He was torn by this obvious attack on the counter culture. Weed was counter-culture only if it countered the culture. Now, it was so, everywhere, that it was part of the culture so it wasn’t an act of rebellion anymore. It was just getting high and eating too many Doritos. Which was cool, if Doritos weren’t just the worst corporate snack, he guessed. 

                Reggie started walking towards the park. Oblivious to how he was walking along the sidewalk. He walked at his own pace. Let the suits and skirts and the Man move around him. He was going to walk how he wanted to walk. He didn’t obey traffic lights or those rules or any system of control he felt was counter to his natural state as a free human being. A human – be-ing. 

                He nudged people, people bumped into him. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t one of the sheep, cow-towing to the rules of society. He was free. He was anarchy. He was his own man, unbound by conformity.  He was hungry. He wished he’d actually bought some of that bread. But bread is murder. Bread is control by warlords and despots over the people; dolling it out to serve their sick desires, sex-trafficking and oppression. And he wouldn’t be a part of that.  Reggie hitched up his loose pants and thought about how he’d needed a belt for a long time but belts were another tool of the fashion industry to contain people.  To control their dreams. 

                Traffic honked at Reggie as he walked casually across the street towards the park. The drivers swore at him that he was going to get killed, run-over, or otherwise murdered doing that. Reggie thumped his chest and blew his two-finger peace sign kiss at them.  

Reggie saw his friends waiting. He hated them. He thought they were all posers and fakers but they had the good weed most of the time. Rich parents or something maybe. Reggie didn’t actually care enough to find out. He barely knew most of their names. Other than Cassandra of course. Because she was like him, only beautiful. To Reggie anyway. She was missing three fingers on her left hand and had a wicked long scar across her face from some kind of fight she was in. Reggie thought that was cool. If he even cared about what was cool. Which he didn’t. 

                “Hey,” sad Caleb as Reggie approached. He brushed his blue and black un-even hair off his forehead.

                 “Yo,” said Reggie. He looked right at Cassandra as he said it.

                 “Yo,” said Cassandra and she nodded in her cute sort of nodding way that you’d only notice if you were stoned but would never see in the real world or if she had a regular corporate job and kids and a house in the suburbs with a jerk white-boy husband who talked about squash and gardening and toast at breakfast.

                 “What up bro,” said Brett. He was sitting on his haunches, holding a smoldering cigarette butt between his green painted fingernails.

                 “What up,” replied Reggie.

                 “You guys want to go see a dead body,” said Caleb, “I know where one is in the park.”

                 Reggie looked away from Cassandra, who had been picking at he dry skin between her thumb and index finger while also absently rubbing her upper thigh. Reggie licked his lips.

                 “Sounds cool. Let’s get high first,” said Reggie.  

                 “Cool. Cool,” said Brett as he took off his own back pack. He unzipped the back pocket and produced a large sandwich bag of weed. “My dad got his Medicinal this week, so, it’s like, the good shit.”

                 “Cool. Cool,” said Caleb.

                 Cassandra nodded again in that cool nodding way that she did that Reggie couldn’t imagine anyone ever noticing about her. Ever. She could live for a hundred years, thought Reggie, and no one would ever see that.  She had grey eyes, but wore very dark eye make-up, so Reggie could always see her eyes roll with the clear sarcasm that often spewed.

                 Brett packed a bowl and lit it. Taking a long pull, holding it, then exhaling a plume of fine white smoke. He started coughing.  Reggie took the bowl from him and passed it to Cassandra.

                “You go,” he said to her.

                 She vaguely acknowledged him and weakly took the bowl and lighter from Reggie’s hand. Their fingers touch for a second.

                 “I love you,” said Reggie.

                 “I know,” said Cassandra as she put the bowl to her lips and lit the weed. She took a long hit while she locked eyes with Reggie. She held in the smoke for a long time, exhaling next to nothing. She passed the bowl back to Reggie with her two good fingers.

                 “I don’t believe in love,” said Cassandra, “Love is crutch. Now, where’s this dead body?”

                 Reggie took a hit from the bowl. He knew where the body was already.