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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 7, 2007 12:39:12 GMT 7
"Charles Landen."
Having a name like Charles Landen was like being named John Doe. It was one of those names that didn't really stick. The kind of name you hear so many times that it just begins to fade in and out of your memory. When people asked him what his name was, he always wanted to answer something different. Maybe he would be some else for the day. The name Charles Landen unleashed something on people: a temporary deja vu.
They ask him his name, and they say in their innocence or maybe it was ignorance, 'Have I met you before?' In their naivete, that no, they haven't met Charles Landen before. You know they're thinking: where have I heard this name before? So monotonous it stands out. He had a face like that. It blended in so well sometimes it started to stand out. Sometimes you're so much like everyone else you're different. But being different means being alone.
"In short, I said something to the effect of he was unrealistic."
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 7, 2007 13:11:10 GMT 7
"Lexi DeMarco, and it's nice to meet you, Charles. You like to be called Charles, or something else?" Something about him just didn't seem right, and she thought that if she were polite to him, he would be less likely to get violent. Normally, she wouldn't care, thinking that she could take care of herself. But being in a strange place, and having an injured wrist, made her feel a little less confident about her surroundings.
Lexi was then suddenly confused, what Charles said didn't make much sense. Scrunching her brows together, she tries to understand what he said, and it still didn't make any sense. "You told him he was... unrealistic? What does that mean? How did you think he was unrealistic? I don't get it. Why do you punch someone that tells you that you are unrealistic?" She wanted to understand, she was starting to think that watching the TV was better than talking to Charles at this moment. But it was really bothering her, she wanted to understand why.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 7, 2007 13:30:24 GMT 7
"You know what? Call me Chuck."
That was the second time he'd said that to date. The first time had been on a plane to Newark from L.A. with a Mister Derrick Moretti and now he was saying in the emergency room of Mount Sinai. He'd never liked the name Charles. It didn't bode well in conversation. Paired up with the surname Landen, well, exactly as stated it's monotony was boarding on the surreal. Maybe he'd start going by Chuck. He had a feeing though it wouldn't stick. People would call him that two or three times before they reverted back to Charles.
"I told him that his outlook on life was unrealistic, nonviable, unfeasible..et cetera."
Most people's outlooks on life were just that: nonviable, unfeasible, unrealistic, improbable so on and so forth. More importantly, what he had done was interrupt a conversation and attempt to crush a half-assed attempt at having a real opinion of the world. What wasn't half-assed about this man was the way he had punched him in the nose. That was probably the only thing about him that was, come to think of it. Besides the way he was built, but that's another story. He was pretty burly though. That must have taken years. At the gym, on the field, where ever this guy happened to frequent. Maybe he lifted cars instead of weights. In anycase... The motive might have been admirable, to inform someone that their attempt at forming a life view was fanciful and sensless, but the deed obviously was not.
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 7, 2007 22:16:21 GMT 7
Lexi stares a little at Charles, not sure she believed him, when he said he wanted to be called 'Chuck'. Thinking he was making a joke at first, she smiles, part of a laugh escaping from her. But he looked so serious, maybe he wasn't laughing, and she stops smiling. "Sorry, I don't know many people who call themselves 'Chuck'." Did she insult him? Was he going to get angry? That was part of her problem, she couldn't read this guy at all.
Watching his eyes, and flipping her hair over her shoulder with her good hand, she knows she is going to have to ask more questions. If Charles told someone that they had a poor outlook on life, and they punched him, what did that say about him? This was too confusing, she needed more information, and for her wrist to stop hurting. "Well, I can see how he might be upset... Chuck. That's a little bleak, don't you think?"
Hoping to move the conversation away from the fight, Lexi tilts her head slightly, a small smile crossing her face. "What do you do when you're not getting punched, Chuck?" A slap to her forehead, and a cringe, as she wants to take back her words. Knowing it's too late for that, she says, "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted... sorry!" Letting out a deep sigh, she blames her bad mood on her wrist, and the hospital, for taking so long. Maybe making that phone call right now, begging for someone to come get her, would be a good thing to do.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 10:05:04 GMT 7
He blinked. It was probably the same reaction that 'Lexi' had when he made the little proclamation he wanted to be called Chuck, just in different form. (On a sidebar, hadn't she ever heard of Chuck Palahniuk? Chuck Norris? Not that he was trying to muster either persona. Alright, maybe a little Chuck Norris.) His gaze was directed straight ahead, not at anything in particular. He paused, refocused and began speaking. It was a little insulting, in fact, her whole personage was moderately insulting but that was alright. He could deal. It was about as insulting as it was amusing. He had to expect a reaction like that.
"Nothing. I'm always getting punched. The two percent of the time I'm not getting my nose broken I'm sitting in my apartment ordering Scandinavian furniture."
Conversations with him normally would have consisted of something like this: Did you know that such and such causes cancer? To which the person would respond: Really? He would reaffrim what he said. Or, "Such and such disease is coming back." The person would be shocked and he would later show them some sort of evidence. Or even make up some evidence. Throw in statistics. Maybe she lucked out, meeting him right after he got punched in the face. Or maybe she didn't. Or maybe in the end, his behavior in either situation was equally offsetting.
"What do you do?"
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 8, 2007 13:20:00 GMT 7
Feeling a little relief at his lack of anger, Lexi wondered what was going on inside of Chuck's head, if anything at all. He just didn't really say anything, it was almost like he didn't answer her questions. And then, he would say the weirdest things. It just didn't make any sense to her. Cradling her injured wrist again, she looks a little confused. "Um, Chuck, do you... do you say something, that would get you punched? Well, not two percent of the time, maybe..."
It was almost like he was talking to her on a level she could never understand. Was he doing that on purpose? Did he like to get punched? Did he want her to punch him? Deep inside, she was running around, screaming like a banshee, out of pure frustration. And then, he is asking her something almost normal. With a dazed look, and a deep sigh, she glances at him, her eyes flicking away to other parts of the room. "What? Oh, what do I do? As in, career? I'm a college student, at Rutherford. What about you, Chuck? What do you do?"
Maybe she shouldn't have said the name of her school. It was just automatic for her to say that. She hoped that she wasn't going to regret it.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 8, 2007 13:56:09 GMT 7
'I didn't mean that literally.'
The temptation was there to say it. In Lexi DeMarco's head, it seemed like there was little to nothing going on. And not the way she thought there was nothing going on in his mind. As in there were some faulty mechanics. As in -- she tried, but was over all unsuccessful. Perhaps not to that extent, but she didn't seem like the brightest bulb. This meant she was either going to Rutherford based on her bank account or athletic talent. Though who said you had to be smart to really succeed academically? Academics, in the end, are all really a measure on how well you focus and follow directions. Among many things, that's probably why they put some much focus on it in kindergarten. You don't focus in elementary school, chances are you won't in middle school. You don't in middle school you're fucked for high school which means ultimately you're fucked for college and if you're fucked for college you're fucked for life.
He opted on not saying it. "I go to Rutherford also."
He had this feeling, this feeling in her gut that that little revelation would make her go into cardiac arrest. She seemed generally offset by the whole situation. If she did end up going into cardiac arrest, however, it wouldn't be that much of a tragedy. They were in an E.R. after all. She would have ample attention, hopefully.
"But other than that I'm an intern at a car company." And by intern he meant slave to a Mr. Sydney "My name is ambiguous as are many other things surrounding my general being" Greenberg.
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 9, 2007 0:22:02 GMT 7
Rolling her dark eyes, and shaking her head, causing her dark hair to swish slightly over her shoulders, Lexi's level of anger was growing, and she felt like she was going to snap. Looking at his bloody nose, her eyes cold and hard, she manages somehow not to yell at him. "I know that, Chuck, most people don't mean that literally." Looking away for a moment, hoping beyond all reason they would call her to the back, right then, she knows that her luck has left her. What did she do to deserve this?
Her head turns slowly around, her chocolate eyes widen in despair, and she can't believe what she just heard. The guy went to the same school that she did. And he knew that too. Oh great, was he going to start following her around now? She shouldn't have said anything. "Oh, that's nice, Chuck. What's your major?" As long as he didn't ask her that question, she could feel that she wasn't going to have to lie to him.
"I see. Which car company? Is it close to Huntley?" This was more self-defense, to get him to talk about himself. And hopefully he wouldn't ask her more questions. She just needed to get through all of this, and get out of there, before she lost what was left of her sanity.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 9, 2007 1:12:23 GMT 7
(Haha, he didn't actually say that, he was entertaining the notion of saying it. But... that makes things more interesting. )
"Business. What's your major? Theatre? Music theory? Psychology?"
It was an assumption that he regularly made. People probably assumed he was a business major just as often as he assumed other people were psychology/theatre/music theory majors. People usually wore their majors on their sleeve. They were like feelings: transparent. There was always the case that he was wrong, which happened every now and then. But he'd become pretty skilled at guessing.
Those were cakewalk majors. Psychology is for people who didn't have the gall to go into medical school...Theatres...well, theatre is like music theory. It didn't take a lot to singe-mindly play an instrument. It took even less to understand the 'theory' behind it.
"A major one. It's like forty-five minutes away."
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 9, 2007 6:36:23 GMT 7
(sorry, I missed the single quotes! ><)
There it was again, the single word answer to one of her questions. But now, Chuck was trying to guess Lexi's major. And was he trying to insult her, by his guesses? Her fine brows move closer together as she tries to read his real intentions. And she couldn't do it, he was like a blank wall to her. "No, Chuck, guess again. What year are you at Rutherford?" Maybe that would help her to deal with the situation, and not reveal too much about herself to him. He had potential stalker written all over him.
And, of course, Chuck didn't reveal too much about his work either. Lexi wanted to keep him talking about himself, but she didn't want to start a confrontation with him. He had started one with someone else, and gotten punched for it, that was the reason he was here. And she didn't want to add to his reasons for being there. "Do you have to work everyday, or just a day or two a week? I've known people who work at a major company, and go to class. They usually only work one or two days a week." She sighs, biting her lip slightly, wondering how he was going to answer those questions. Probably just like he did the other ones.
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Post by Charles Landen on Apr 9, 2007 11:13:43 GMT 7
"Art history?" he continued on guessing. Art history was on his list of 'cakewalk' majors. Although he'd admit, art history was pretty challenging. He took it for one semester his sophomore year. It had been his sole pour grade his entire high school career.
"I'm a senior. And I work every day with an exception of Thursday."
Sometimes he called in sick on Fridays. That was because Thurdays he liked to head down to New York City, such as he did today, and after a nice day out on the town--if you will--he ended up staying in a motel. You know, lounge in a germ filled bed and watch a pay per view movie. They were quaint, lonely Thursdays.
He liked to call them Tuberculosis Thursdays, partially because after a nice broadway show or day of shopping he'd go chill with a TB support group and partially because....Nah, that was about it. That was pretty much the only reason he'd call them Tuberculosis Thursdays.
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Post by Alexia DeMarco on Apr 9, 2007 11:47:01 GMT 7
The surprised look on her face as Charles said her major gave her away. Lexi's mouth drops open a little, now she really wants to know what was going on inside that head of his. But the only way she knows how to try and get it out of him is to confront him. "How did you know, Chuck? No one ever guesses right, they always think I have a different one."
And maybe being a senior explained some things. He could have spent one too many nights cramming for class, drinking Red Bull, and gotten a little eccentric that way. She didn't think that was really true, and she didn't think he was a substance abuser. But clearly, in her mind, something was not right about Chuck. She just couldn't put her finger on it.
It really didn't surprise Lexi that he worked every day, it actually made some sense. More stress made it more likely that Chuck was a victim of his busy schedule. She wasn't a psych major, she really couldn't say one way or the other. But she had a feeling that there was a good chance that she was closer to the truth than she was before. And she wanted to ask him more questions, to see how right she was. "Do you only have classes on Thursdays? It would be hard, I think, to go to class and work full time. I don't see how people can do that." She didn't say the other part, which was 'and stay sane'.
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