Hollow

I’m lying on her couch, in a kind of therapist-patient type of setup, except I’m not paying her to listen.

“I think I’m entering stage one of my purpose-driven life,” I say.

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I’m out of pretzels, but I have some leftover Halloween candy.”

“Although I guess the purpose isn’t very self-serving—although I guess no one said it has to be. But it’s still a purpose, y’know?”

“Want a beer?”

“It’s just – I think my goal in life is to bring people together. Make sure they’re all happy.”

“Nevermind about the beer. I’m all out. Damn roommate was supposed to do the grocery shopping this week. Never gets off her ass.”

“Because I was looking at my friends the other day and how happy they are to be together, and I realized most of them wouldn’t even know each other if it weren’t for me.”

“I swear, it’s like she lives in her own little world where trash cans never get full. Sometimes I’m just on the outside, looking in at her fucked-up, good-for-nothing life.”

“It’s funny the way all the right people seem to find each other. Just sometimes they need a mediator.”

“I’m so moving the hell out of here. This isn’t working.”

“I guess that’s where I come in.”

“Maybe I should try living alone. Isolated. Not a care in the world. Clean slate. Bitchy roommate-less.”

“I’m happy knowing that they’re happy.”

“You wanna come to the grocery store?”

“So, from here on out, purpose-driven. Set a goal that helps others. Accomplish it. And back off. What a purpose.”

She puts her jacket on and opens the front door.

“Let’s go. I can’t look at this goddamn place any longer.”

“I’ll spread the love.”