A slight bump disturbs my thoughts, and, for some reason, I slow my car. I can't, offhand, to this day, say why. It must have seemed like just another bump in the road--although there didn't seem to be too many, but there it was anyhow.
I get out of my car, and, of course, the rain starts to come down harder; the pilots must be really desperate now. Again, I can't say why I didn't just get back in my car, and drive off, but I didn't. I could cite all sorts off forces, God, fate/destiny, determinism, but I really think, that, at that point, I was just pissed at the rain. ( A normal person would just get back in his/her/it's car and drive off, but, at least, judging from my families point of view, I wasn't normal. ) I hated the rain, alwa ys did. Even now, after everything, I don't like the rain, I just don't hate it so much.
So, there I was, another upper middle-class, Corporate American, dressed in his multi-hundred dollar suit, standing out in the rain, staring at this poor cat I had just flattened with my Lexus luxury sedan. Flattened was definitely the right word. It jus t lay there, blood oozing out onto the pavement, mixing with the rain and flowing away. I looked down, and saw that blood coating my shoes. Horrified, I walked over to the limp body-soaking up Kamikaze pilots in it's thick fur-all the while trying to avoi d the trail of blood. I remember wondering why I didn't smell anything. All there was that faintly musky odor the rain always carries, as if it was trying to conceal the dead animal at my feet. That was odd.
Reaching the creature, I knelt down and looked upon the tabby's limp, broken body. I saw the bones that had broken through the fur, the staring eyes; but it was the scrawniness of the cat that I saw most. It hadn't eaten for days, at least. What a way to die, nearly starve, then get hit by a car. I didn't know whether that was merciful or cruel. Probably cruel.
It was then that I did something I'll never forget. I took that poor tabby and I buried it alongside the road. What burned me most, though...I was happy it didn't receive all the damn prayers and blessings some Christian would have given it.
Christian.

To this day, I remember that stretch of road. I often visit it, dwell upon my past, muse upon my future.
The future.

I don't remember the way home after that. I don't remember sliding into my bed. I don't remember my dreams. I do remember that tabby.
In the morning, I still remembered that tabby.
I called in sick, making some lame excuse. I couldn't go to work, not after that last night. I wondered if I'd ever go to work again. That poor creature. I remembering wondered if ever it had had a home, like I did.. I wondered if it had been well-fed on ce, like I was. I wondered if it had ever been loved and nurtured, like I had once been. I remember wondering if I would end the same way, flat on the literarical road of life, nearly starved as it was, barely holding to life.
No, I couldn't go to work that day.
Do you blame me?

But, of course, I still did.
Still did.

* * * * * * * * * * *

But I'm getting way too far ahead of myself. I might as well end now, if I can't give you any background.
But you see, I must preach this. Not because I'm bored-how could I be, now-but because it's my duty. So listen;
I was born in a small town, raised by my parents to dry clean and press clothes. I resented this, so I didn't dry clean or press clothes.
After college (Yes, that was the condensed version of my early life. It's all boring anyway.) I got a job at a major American Corporation. I was eager, proud to not dry clean or press. I was...a mail-boy.
After a few years sluffing off mail to people I neither knew nor cared about, I was promoted. My foreman died, gone kaput, and no-one wanted his job, so there. Up until now, I wondered why. It seemed like the step up. They acted as if it was a step into dog doo-doo. Then, it was a step up the ladder. Now, now it was a pile of dog doo-doo.
It is interesting, how those other mail-people saw it like it was. I have a theory about mail-men, because of that. I say that anyone carrying that many complaints around (no-one praised anyone in those days. I mean, c'mon, we're talking the late 20th ce ntury here.) begins to feel the burdens of power. I know, it's a shitty theory, but all theories are, until they're proven. Then the theory is law, and you are elevated into respect and limelight. Look at all those ancient scientists and inventors, Darwin , Bell, Ford, and Gotmaentirx, to name a few.
Back to my story-if my theory is true, then, obviously, I hadn't sluffed enough complaints and bitching around to see things as they were. Poor me.
From there, my chance was gone forever. I never again would have the chance to carry complaints and bitching around, in such nice little packages. Thus, I climbed the ranks, doing all and everything to do so-and stepping in pile after pile of dog doo-doo .
Weary from lack of sleep, yet hopeful that one day, I would get that bigger paycheck, I followed the tenants of the American Corporate System of the 20th Century. They were simple, as any school child knows: 1) screw everyone, and 2) avoid being screwed. Following this, anyone can see the class struggle within the American Corporate System. I either happened to be lucky, good, or a mixture of both. Many might say guided by God, but not I. I was God. What else could explain my ascent: my "above's" were dr opping like flies from all kinds of death. My competition got plenty of screwing from each other, but missed me. I, on the other hand, did plenty of screwing. Before long, I was right below the vice-presidency of the board.
Vice presidency.
Thus begins the crux of my tale.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I was a good right-below-vicepresident of the board-employee. At that stage in my career, I observed the 3rd and final tenant. That is, 3) kiss ass. I was good at ass kissing. Who would have known?
Being good at ass kissing meant doing a lot of work I knew nothing about. Being either lucky, bad, or a mixture of both, I was the only one who knew. So I was a right-below-vice president- employee for a long time. A very, very long time.
Life was miserable. There I was, one last rung (pile) and I would be a vice president of the board; I would have everything I thought was necessary for the "good" life; and my one-step-above-me-vice-president neither died nor got screwed. He continued to screw me, however, and did a very good job of it, to boot. He even got recognition for work I did. I couldn't recall any of it specifically; I never remembered any of it after it left my hands. It's hard to do so when you never knew what you had in your hands to begin with. It's like teaching a student quantum mechanics, without explaining any uses for it. It's soon forgotten. Believe me, I know all about that one too.
In fact, that applies to mostly all school I had, and am sure other's have had. Forgotten.
Oh well.

Now, I'm sure many of you might think that by following tenant 3) kiss ass, I had broken tenant 2) avoid being screwed. This just isn't so. When you get to be a right-below-vice president-employee, tenant 3) kiss ass, applies only to the vice president.

Back to the matter at hand. As months went by, I got to understand some of the work I did. I couldn't explain it to you-you'd have to have been raised in the American Corporate System Family to understand all the technical terms. This was done on purpose , because, if the general public knew all the terms, they could do everything themselves. That would put us out of business. Go communism!
I have to admit, I wasn't very smart. Few high ranking employees were.
Few.
As the months went by, however, I became slightly smarter. I made a plan to screw my vice-president. It was so simple that I had to have been very un-intelligent to not realize it sooner.
I *had* been very un-intelligent.

One day, my vice-president handed me a pile of work to do. Within that pile lay just what I was looking for-an important project. This I did first, so that I might familiarize myself with it, intimately. The rest of the work I ignored.
A few days later, my vice-president came back, to pick up my finished projects. Here my plan really took off. I said I wasn't done...yet. Just one more day, I said.
He was mad. You see, he had to present this stuff in a couple of days, and now, it was too late to do it from scratch. I had shielded myself from the screwing--he couldn't give the project to someone else--it wouldn't get done.
He had to trust me.
Trust me, hah!

The next day, the day before the big meeting, he came back again. I still wasn't done. He had a fit.
Fit.

The next day, the day of the conference with the big delegation from Japan, or some other economic power--I neither remember nor care, he came back, frantic. His job was on the line. He needed this project ready in two hours. I said I'd have it for him.. .later.
Biting his nails, steam rolling out ears, he stalked away.
Exactly 1 hour, 45 minutes later, he came back. I told him I'd give it to him just as the meeting started.
The meeting started.
I wasn't there.

Needless to say, I waited until he was thoroughly chewed out and fired before I entered. He glared at me on his way out, and I gave his presentation.
Needless to say, I reached that last rung (pile).

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I had finally made it to the top. Finally got the keys to my company Lexus luxury sedan, finally got my exponential salary jump. I finally had made it to the top of the American Corporate System. Yeah!...splat.
What I learned, those first few month's, was that I wasn't at the top. I had reached a whole new hierarchy within the American Corporate System.
I was, again, at the bottom.
No mail to warn me this time.

Those first few months were much like my first few months in the mailroom. I worked my ass off, and went back to tenants 1) screw everyone, and 2) avoid being screwed. This time, though, no-one died, and no-one got screwed much...except me. I think I did all the company's work myself.
Myself.

This brings me to that one night, and the tabby, and the burial. This brings you up to speed, and brings me to the bathroom. I will be back shortly...

* * * * * * * * * * * *

...There, now, where was I? Oh yes, the tabby.
Well actually, I guess it brings me past the tabby, now doesn't it?
So, the next few months, this is what began to take fold in my mind, life sucks. One day, I think it was Christmas, I got a half day off. I couldn't work anymore, so I went home instead.
I went for a walk...a walk; I hadn't gone for a walk for nearly ten years. I was 43. Walking felt...good. I was using my own legs, independent...Independent, that's the key word there. I hadn't once been independent in my whole life. All for fear-fear I would end up like that cat, starved-literally or symbolically-and flat-mostly symbolically-on the road side of life. If so, I be buried and given all sorts of religious rituals. Not even in death would I finally be independent, my own burial going against my beliefs.
But then, how many of my beliefs were still mine. How much of me had been built by the American Corporate System?
I asked myself that question over and over as I walked. I surmised that probably most of me had been built this way, and if this was so, would even my efforts to escape my fear of dependance end in failure? Could I ever be free? Could I ever by myself? If not, why should I even bother? If not, shouldn't I just ignore this and focus on living as well as I could, even knowing that my whole life depended on another, or group of other's.
That day, I went to Frank. I quit. That day, I packed my bags. I left. That day, I left my past behind.
Behind.
What I sought was simple, independence.
"Independent, Self Sufficient, Got no-body, to rely on. Independent, I'm on my own!"

(Quote from song, Independent, from "Bells are Ringing", a musical from Betty Comden, Adolph Green, and Jule Styne)
What a great song!

* * * * * * * * * * *

For the next several months, I wondered aimlessly. I wandered aimlessly.
I went all over the place thinking.
All that time, I sought total independence. I visited Buddhists, renown for the belief that at the core of everything, there was nothing. This seemed like independence to me. I was wrong. They relied on their beliefs and Buddha.
I sought independence from everyone and everything, from beggars on the street to hermits in caves.
I was frustrated in more places of the world than anyone else had ever been.
That was when it hit me. I could only be truly independent if I didn't rely on myself as well as anyone else. Independence, at it's purest form, could only be death.
Death.
I didn't want to die.
I didn't want to be truly independent anymore.

This was startling logic, to me. Remember, I wasn't very smart. Therefore, I picked a deserted place, the most barren of everything I could find, and just barely sustained my life.
I was as next-to-truly-independent as I could get, without dying, until the camera-men came, and brought all of you here to me, to hear my tale. Now I am no longer in isolation from the world, and you bother me. However, I am not dependant on you. I sit here, listening to the wind, seeing the barren flats, smelling the nothingness that taints this place.
I am as next-to-truly-independent as I can be, without dying. Now go home.