A Man of the World[/b]
By Josh Stillman[/b]
Jeremy sat stiffly on his couch, legs crossed, reading This Side of Paradise[/i]. The couch, in the living room of the mansion his father’s life insurance had paid for, was his favorite in all the world. Its lush mauve cushions were worn just right. It was the perfect place to engage in rigorous intellectual activity, such as studying the Times, writing poetry, and as he was now, reading classics. Jeremy always enjoyed what he called his “smart time.” However, he had in fact never advanced beyond the seventh grade, the time when his father died.
His father, having grown up a poor Jewish immigrant, had desperately wanted his only child to become a great man, to make a difference in the world, and have the financial means to do so. As a result, he invested in an inordinate life insurance plan that drove his small family into poverty during his lifetime. But when he finally passed away, and the money started rolling in, Jeremy took his father’s wish to heart and immediately dropped out of school. From that time until the present, at the prime age of thirty-five, Jeremy had spent his days on the couch in his mansion studying the Times, writing poetry, and reading classics. He knew that his actions were those of all the world’s great thinkers: Gandhi, Marx, Rove. He would persevere in this manner against all obstacles; his father’s desire was of the utmost importance to him.
As he sat in his most sophisticated position with his most furrowed brow, the apotheosis of a gentleman and an intellectual, a fly landed on the page he was reading. This would not do. It was difficult enough to read as it was, for Jeremy did not know the meanings of approximately 75% of the words he read in his classics, and no true man of the world even considered using a dictionary. An insolent fly distracting him would make his path to greatness nearly impossible.
It marched all over the book while Jeremy stared in anger at this creature that dared defile his smart time. Leaping from word to word, the fly buzzed its wings mockingly. Leaving the page, it took flight and landed squarely between Jeremy’s eyes. Jesus, had this heathen no respect for superiority? Refusing to let this vile thing get the better of him, Jeremy plowed ahead in the novel, doubling his pace. The fly buzzed away, then back again, this time to his arm. It waltzed up and down its length, taunting Jeremy at every turn. It buzzed before his face, around his head, back and forth, back and forth. This is my house, it said. This is my novel. This is my couch. Abandoning his attempt to continue reading, Jeremy took out his lucky pen, the one with the solid gold clip he knew his father would have just loved were he still alive, and began swiping at the beast. The pen, its golden clip glinting in the light like a blade, did nothing to stop the fly’s cruel game. It danced around the pen, laughing at the very thought of being swatted. I own this house and I own you, the fly said. Jeremy, fuming, would have no more of this irreverence. He would take more drastic measures to rid his home of this intruder.
Striking a match, he dropped it into the crack between the cushions on his favorite mauve couch. As the smoke rose, he turned and walked triumphantly out into his yard, still able to hear the fly laughing like a jackal. He stood watching , flames rising through the windows, glass popping, smoke pouring out of the house. Good, he thought. The fly could no longer hinder his progress. He wasn’t going to let an ignorant, hopeless creature ruin his father’s dream.