Oliver Benjamin
before an execution, they had become like friends that were put on
earth to give me a final bit of condolence. Before I left I also bought
some chips, some gum, some over-the-counter stimulants and a pack
of cigarettes.
It was another fifteen-minute walk to the beach. When I arrived
there I tried to find the exact spot that Yippee had left his clothes
before disappearing into the great dark ocean. I decided on the
approximate area and sat down, dumping my backpack in the sand.
I reclined against the large bag, and tore into my gas station booty. It
was ugly: I drank a ridiculous amount of alcohol, then gorged myself
on the candy bars and chips while chain-smoking the horrible Israeli
cigarettes that tasted like wood shavings. I became very drunk, and
thrashed around violently on the beach, kicking sand angrily and
cursing in impressively long strings of unbroken expletives.
After an indefinite period of time, I collapsed on the beach,
sobbing. Finally, I lay exhausted, the cool sand sticking to my
sweating body. What was there to be so frustrated about, I asked
myself. There was really nothing worth living for, anyway. My family
life was hollow and ornamental, the love of my life broke my heart
and murdered me, my best friend was dead, and furthermore, all my
candy bars and alcohol were gone. I had nothing left.
I laid on my stomach facing the pounding surf and started
chewing on the bitter caffeine pills. They tasted vile, but were the last
of my consumables, and there was nothing left to wash them down
with. Ruminating on my despair and the hopelessness of my plight, I
munched the entire box—the equivalent of thirty cups of coffee. I
wanted to see what would happen. Health was not an issue any more.
Nothing mattered. I could die right there and it would make no
difference to me. I could jump in the surf and join my friend Yippee
in an Atlantis of our own making, free from fate and the whims of
others. Finally, totally, and completely free. Isn’t that what I wanted
anyway? Freedom? Freedom from pain and suffering and worry and
self-hatred?
I became intoxicated with the idea. Not only would it release
me, but it would really show everybody a thing or two. My parents
would be miserable. Ha! Let them be. Charly would blame herself.
Ha! Let her! Fuck them all! I was finally going to be the master of my
own destiny! If I couldn’t be in control of my life I most certainly
would be in control of my death. I felt this way on the terrace in
Greece. Electric with purpose. It was the second and final time in my
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