A circle roughly the size of a dorm room was dimly illuminated from above. Darkness consumed everything else, selfishly hoarding away whatever was beyond. A knee-high fog kept the floor from view. Four figures stood equally spaced out along the perimeter of the circle as I nervously glanced around from the center. When the individuals shifted their stance from time to time, the fog twisted and rolled, curling around and upwards, in a vain attempt to conquer the light, before settling back down.
The entire scene was fitting, considering the situation. With graduation impending, I am finishing up a year that has been composed of some of the most significant changes and experiences of my life. After five years, I am now highly skilled and prepared to succeed in an industry, and yet I'm sure of less now than ever before. This, plus I'm still relatively dorky. It only makes sense that my current internal conflict would have the setting akin to a very cheap and cliché sci-fi movie.
As I slowly circled in attempt to keep an eye on everyone, Drake appeared at my side. For those who missed out, back in February I introduced Drake, my inner frat boy. His appearance could only mean I was in for some seriously sketchy life lesson. That or a metaphysical keg was waiting to be tapped. Possible both.
Well, uhh, dude… you'ff gotta choosss one,\ He managed to say with more effort than one would expect.
""Have you been drinking?!?"" I asked.
""Uh, no. Yur face is been drinkin',"" he muttered back. Drake's eyes tried to focus on something over my right shoulder as his eyelids drooped.
""That doesn't even make sense. Here, just tell me what's going on and you can go pass out.""
""OOH-Kaayyee."" Great, I thought, he's going to start imitating Lil Jon. But letting loose a belch, Drake focused a bit. ""Uh, yeah, well, is time to choosss. These people arr, um, they are your possi… possibilities. Pick who you wanna be…""
And with that, Drake faded away again, though the odor of stale beer lingered on.
""Alright, let's get this over with. You there,"" I pointed at the largest of the shadowed figured. ""I'll be you.""
""Good choice, Eric. As a highly educated professional, taking my way of life will allow you to be hugely successful."" It was Dr. Phil. I threw up a little in the back of my mouth.
""Dude, man, slow down. You have to take this more seriously,"" Dave Grohl stepped into the light from behind me. ""This is how you're going to be defined for a major portion of the rest of your life. You can live the fun filled life of a rock star if you want. Or you can dedicate your life to being agile, skilled and mysterious like a ninja."" On cue the third figure stepped forward. ""Or you can focus on charisma and charm and enjoy the lust-full life of a pimp."" The final figure sauntered into the light. ""Or you can be a blowhard jackass."" Dr. Phil nodded.
Turning from the talk show host, I starred at the leader singer of the Foo Fighters, wondering if I could trade in my inner frat boy.
""Hey, come on, man. You know you want to be a rock star. There's drugs, at least for a while. You kids still like drugs, right?"" Dave interrupted my thoughts.
""OK, first off, I have to shave at least twice a week. I am not a kid."" I answered. ""And secondly, not all of us do drugs. Personally, if I did it would be a disservice to the D.A.R.E. bear I won in 5th grade.""
""Well then,"" Dave replied showing respect for my plush based drug-free choice. ""What about your dream of accomplishment? I know you decided that you'd never consider yourself successful until some overly perky co-ed came up and asked you to sign her chest. Now that is rock star, and that is what you get going my route.""
""I like what you're saying,"" I replied. ""I definitely take back my initial choice, there's no way I want to be some out of shape, self centered, know-it-all…""
""But Eric, I do know everything."" Dr. Phil butted in. ""For example, I know that you almost always delay writing your columns until the very last second because you're afraid that what you think is good might not be once you get it on paper, that you're really just a lucky hack.""
""Shut up, that's the most redic… well actually… wait, no."" I had to stay focused. ""You're just playing this absurd self-satisfying role, sensationalizing yourself and other's problems. Just because you can make common sense generalizations about peoples' actions doesn't mean you're better than them.""
""Hey baby, never mind him. You're missing out on the big picture."" Finally the pimp spoke up. ""You remember that party you were at last weekend? The one with all the honeys, and I use the term honeys loosely. Not to say they weren't attractive, but cuz the best way to describe them is loose. Ha HA! See, the only reason you went home alone is you haven't realized what I have to offer. Slide yourself over here, man, and you'll have all the tail you could wish for.""
""See here, lesson one. Just walk yourself up to some nice piece and go for it,"" an attractive girl stepped into the light from the pimp's right side as he spoke. She was beautiful, gorgeous… indescribably. As she drew near she glided her hand from my shoulder, down my arm, barely making contact with her fingers. My mind told me she was my perfect girl as her fingers traced her trance into my skin.
Her eyes stayed locked with mine as the pimp stepped forward just enough so his mouth floated next to the girl's ear. He half-whispered, ""Oh baby, you are so fine. I want you, all of you, to bring you in. I want to take you to the intersection of Pleasure Blvd. and Ecstasy Ave., but I won't stop until you've reached Passion Heights.""
Almost imperceptibly, her left knee quivered for a moment. Then she faded away as a whispered moan escaped her lips, and the pimp slid back to his original spot. ""It's that easy baby. You could have your fill, a different spectacular girl every night. Just step on over here.""
""I, uh,"" I stuttered as I regained my composure. ""Well, that is tempting, but I don't think so. I don't want a different spectacular girl every night, I just want one special girl all nights.""
""See here, my man."" The pimp countered. ""How you gonna find that special girl? If you go my way, you're bound to find her.""
""Uh, hmm, I see your point. Damnit, this is confusing. I don't know what to do.""
""It's easy, Eric. You just need a little Life-Q,"" Dr. Phil said smugly.
""A little what now?"" I asked.
""Life-Q, it's like Guy-Q. You see, it's a play on words.""
""IQ isn't a word, it's an acronym."" I replied hoping my furrowed brow fully communicated my growing irritation.
""Now who's being a know-it-all? And besides, if I add the letter Q, I can patent the phrase are charge sad people to use some related product…""
Dr. Phil's head suddenly jerked to the side as if to look behind him. But the action was to fast and was accompanied by a wet pop. The rest of Dr. Phil's body slouched a bit. As two black hands released the doctor's head, the large body flopped forward into the light revealing the ninja. The fog retreated from the body as it fell, afraid of the intruder. But almost as quickly, the hazy layers returned, gliding over the corpse like a sheet.
""You make a good argument, ninja."" I admitted flatly.
""Damn, I want to be a ninja,"" Dave sighed to himself.
""I have helped you in your choice, my friend,"" the ninja avowed. ""Though that was easy. Now, however, I will help you again.""
Dave Grohl and the pimp looked at each other nervously as he continued.
""I will remove… myself. You see, my lifestyle is respected and feared. You must be highly skilled and always in control. Yet, it is lonely and no less self serving than that which I have just felled. Therefore, I wish you honor and peace.""
The ninja stepped backwards and was lost into the nothing.
""That cat was deep,"" the pimp mused. ""But now it should be easy for you. One of the other, me or my co-ego choice here.""
""Yeah, you're right,"" I breathed.
A moment as the last two remaining identities exchanged glances, both with a hint of apprehension.
""I choose,"" I proclaimed. ""Neither.""
""Huh?"" was chorused in response.
But it was obvious to me. While I had worked or fantasized to take any of these choices to some extent, none were what I wanted now. It was time I made up my own character to become. And whether that involved comedy, chemical engineering, or writing long, drawn out, overly melodramatic columns; it'll be a great trip.
This is Eric's last column. He would like to personally thank everyone who ever took the time to read what he wrote. Seriously. Stop him if you see him or e-mail him at ejjensen3@wisc.edu. Tell him your thoughts and he'll get back to you ASAP. Guarenteed.
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