The First Thing

by colin

The first thing I will give up, when I finally decide to give everything up, will be that damn computer. I'll take it and drop it off the I-5 Bridge and I'll enjoy the sound of impact.

The next thing, the very next thing, will be my car. I will drive East until the fuel gauge reads "Empty." Then I'll drive into the center of some field and leave it there. I don't care. I'll walk back.

When I get back to town, I will take my watch and chuck it at a passing bus. I will throw my wallet down a storm drain and fling my checkbook into the fountain at Westlake Center.

I'll take that hand mixer I've been moving around from apartment to apartment and I'll bury it in the neighbor's yard. All those tape dispensers I've stolen from all those offices I've worked in, I'll donate those to the blind.

I have four exposed but undeveloped Kodak FunSaver cameras from the early 1990s. These I will glue together and set on fire in front of the King Five news station. I will watch the news one last time to see if I've gotten my point across.

Which reminds me. That new TV I just bought? I will drag it up to the roof of my house and put it on the chimney. High winds can take it from there.

I have a shower curtain that I will cut into strips and set on fire in the driveway. I have a "Greetings from Nashville" mug that I will pound into ceramic dust with a hammer. I will then use the hammer on the scissors I used on the shower curtain. I have not yet determined what to do with the hammer.

I will take the contents of my closet, the living representation of years of bad decision making, and I will put them in the compost pile. So as to avoid arousing any more suspicion than absolutely necessary, I will save one pair of shoes, one pair of socks, one pair of classic fit Eddie Bauer jeans with the label ripped off and one T-shirt. This T-shirt will not say "ESPN" on it or "New York University." It will be green.

I won't do anything to the house I rent. It's wrapped in vinyl siding and the electrial wiring is eighty years old. It's set to go right now and when it does, it'll go like a cherry bomb. But I'll be long gone by then.

I plan to head south. I'll keep to the side roads. I'll steal apples on the way. I'll walk til the color of the landscape changes. I'll keep walking until the color of the people changes. Then I'll walk some more.

I'll walk until it starts to get cold again. By this time, of course, I won't care. When I get to the very bottom of the very end of everything, I'll dive into the ocean and start swimming. I'll swim until midnight and then pull myself up onto a passing ice flow. Then I'll just lie back... and look up... at totally different stars.