“MURDERERS” On Repeat

The song blared in Larkin’s headphones draining out the scratching noise coming from his hands. Sweat beads dripped down onto his work as he sat hunched and concentrated. The ubiquitous sound of rough surface wearing away rough surface was loud enough to wake his brother. In fact Larkin was sure it would wake Al, but that didn’t stop the fierce noise. He remembered conversations he had with his brother about this particular object, and about the defacement of it as well.
“Bro that’s fucking weird.” His brother said politely. “You’re obsessed. I can’t even begin to understand what’s going through that head of yours. She’s gone. She’s been gone. And she has a new boyfriend. Didn’t you see that notification on Facebook?”
“Yeah I saw it... because of that News Feed thing, that’s a good feature.” Larkin replied trying to veer away from this topic entirely.
“Why is her face everywhere?” Al asked.
“What do you mean, her face isn’t everywhere.” Even as Larkin replied, he knew it was a lie. Her image stained the entire one-room apartment on every wall. He knew that in books, there were pictures and old writings. He knew that he still kept her emails and that her photography was stashed in every drawer of his room. He also knew that any rational person would have disposed of these nostalgic tokens. Larkin glanced at paper flowers sitting on the desk. She had made them for him and he could never bring himself to throw them out. They seemed so fragile and white. The flowers had always brightened up his dark room, which was a benefit due to the apartment’s heavily screened windows.
Al’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the vestiges of a once loved relationship. He remained quiet as if he were trying to provide evidence for a court-case.
“Look at all of this shit. Maybe the reason you’re so down all the time is because she’s everywhere. She’s here, reminding you of what you lost” He stepped over to the art on the wall, her art. Al acted as though he were absorbing the beauty of the work, but he wasn’t. He pulled out Larkin’s favorite surfboard.
“Look at your board. That’s just weird.” On the top of the board was the image of her, a portrait he had done the previous year. “Doesn’t that seem a little weird to you? Okay… Imagine I’m your new girlfriend and I say…” Al paused for a moment. He closed his eyes, carefully transitioning his deep voice to a high pitched one. He also added a lisp to try and make his next statements more realistic. It was the most feminine voice Al could muster.
“…Larkin baby… let’s go surfing. Oh, who’s that chick on your surfboard? YOUR EX? That’s so creepy. What is your deal? Get away from me. I will never-ever have sex with you!” Al smiled at this and began to laugh silently.
“Really?” Larkin replied with a laugh.
“Really Al, its going to be like that. That’s ridiculous----- It’s not weird, its art.” “Who cares if it’s a picture of an Ex?” Larkin asked as though he were asking himself. “I don’t keep it on there because I’m attached or anything… That’s definitely not the case, I keep it there because…” Larkin sighed. “…Because I think it looks good. Its that simple.”
“You’re…” Al paused mid-sentence. “Never mind.”
“I’m what.”
“Nothing.”
“No seriously, SAY it.”
“You’re delusional. You guys are done. Why is all of this shit still here?”
“So you’re saying I need to have a Pagan picture-burning ceremony to get over someone?”
“All I’m saying is that any rational person can tell that you’re borderline obsessive… it’s all I’m going to say.”
Later that day Larkin got ready to go surfing. He examined the shortboards in his closet trying to make the day’s decision. His hand came to the board like a magnet. It was a 5’9” quad fish, complete with the stylized painting of his pretty Ex smiling. Like a jinx put on him, Larkin couldn’t stop looking at the painting and feeling strange about it. On the water he sat, but instead of looking to the ocean he looked at her. The plastic look in her eyes, mixed with the constant “ever-watching” gaze reminded him of those creepy American Doll advertisements that depict a smiling toy sitting on someone’s lap. And how the eyes seem to follow you as you walk past. This started to make him feel strange. Not to mention the countless times he’d be carrying his board with other girls and had received inquisitive glances. For the first time, he understood his own silly obsession.
Larkin drove his moped home and immediately dove down under the sink for a garbage bag. He knew that she still had an elaborate web of memories in his house like a black widow.
“The remnants of her must be destroyed,” At this Larkin stopped and looked up as if recalling some information. “That’s from the The Lord of the Rings.. The One Ring. She’s my one ring, making me weak with her invisible hold…. I guess that would make me Frodo… I watch too many movies.” For a moment, the parallel between himself and Frodo Baggins made him stall. On went Larkin’s headphones. He knew which song. He scrolled through the settings menu, hit “repeat one”, and began.
The music reverberated in his head. “MURDERERS”, by John Frusciante. A beat. A theme song. No lyrics to relate to, no cheapening of emotions, no clichés. Just a theme song. It played again and again in his headphones as he searched the toolbox for sand paper. “P16” because of its coarse teeth-like texture.
Larkin walked over to the beautiful image of a beautiful girl painted on a beautiful board. He gently ran the tips of his fingers over her. The paper felt light and excited in his hand. SCRATCH. Then another, and another until dried chemical dust invaded the air. The glaze, paint, and glass slowly began to fly. After fifty strokes, he blew the dust off and nothing had changed. Even with all of the scratches, she still stared at him with those toy-like plastic eyes. MURDERERS kept him strong and with every beat came a stroke of his hand. When the beat played faster, so did the sand paper, almost as if its rhythmic noise became part of the song. Faster and faster it went, along with the paint and the glaze.
To his dismay, her image would not be rubbed off of the board. Larkin could remember why he wanted Her off in the first place. Being face to face with Her every time he paddled out was a sort of bizarre occurrence. At various moments during their relationship he found comfort in this portrait. Sometimes Larkin felt like this painting was all he really had. With her moving to another part of the world, it was the only connection he had to her.
At her unwillingness to be scratched off, Larkin stopped what he was doing and sat there quietly. He felt silly. He felt silly trying to remove the paint. He felt silly about loving her, about trying to keep everything together after she left, and about the drastic steps he’d taken to get over her. Love. What is that? Silliness. She was silly and so is the idea of love. MURDERERS escorted his thoughts, as they started picking up speed.
“This is stupid, this shit’s never coming off.” Larkin muttered as he reached for a new sheet of sandpaper.
Just then he thought about how many meals he had skipped in the last few days. He felt weak and light-headed due to all of the morning’s coffee. The beat going on in his head blared as the scratching continued. His forehead glistened with sweat, as the smell of the toxic mist in his room couldn’t be detected anymore. The beat continued. It amazed him. He no longer heard the music. Larkin felt the music. Instead of hearing a guitar, he saw the tabs coming off the page like the videogame “ROCKBAND”. “BAM, TISK, BAM BAM, TISK, BAM, BAM, TISK BAM BAM, the beat continued. No words, just music. The theme song. Larkin breathed heavily as he nodded his head to the song. Faster and faster his heart raced with the oxygen in his lungs. Due to all of these factors, the memories came back like hallucinations. He remembered seeing her for the first time, and how easy it was to make her laugh. He remembered movies and tea, singing hip-hop songs and making dinner. He remembered the way her small hands looked as she worked the knife and fork. He remembered how they tried again and again to impersonate Dwight off of “The Office” and how impossible it was get it perfect. Larkin started remembering everything he loved about this girl and at once stopped the sanding. He dusted the polyurethane and paint off and put the board down. He took the headphones off his sore ears and the world seemed oddly at ease. Larkin walked over to the window and opened it. He could smell the family below in apartment B-85 cooking rice. He looked down at the board and smiled.