Unknown.
Matchbox Speedway - By A Jew.

A friend of mine wrote a little fictional account of my sociopathic tendencies in this little story here. Read and enjoy.

This is over, Jimmy," Melinda said as she pumped another round in his chest. Every lie, every innuendo, every betrayal had come down to this; she was through.

Before someone comes in and tells me to get off my ass and get a real job, maybe I should find a real subject to write a book about. Outside, the cars whiz past my window like little mini-racers. Staring, I can get all the cars to shrink down to a Matchbox Speedway, zooming around by the motion of my hands. The whiz isn't there, just a sound I say to myself to let the imagination run. Sort of like a brainstorming exercise. Quick, here's one, write down the name of every person in your life you've ever hurt, you've ever betrayed, you've ever lied to. Melinda, my first girlfriend, I told her I had a debilitating heart aneurysm and had six months to live, then stopped calling her (we went to different schools, so I imagine she thought the worst). That shoe salesman, I said "I'll be right back" while I stuffed my new loafers into my overcoat. Danny, my best friend until Junior year in high school, "you're like a brother to me, man." Phyllis, my guidance counselor, I want to fall in love with a sweet girl, marry her, and run a little bike shop in a quaint suburb somewhere. Darcy, Cassandra, Elliot, Dad, Chad, Luke, Mr. Adenine, my landlord, Cassandra, Violet, Cassandra… Cassandra…

Danny liked to blame my parents a lot. Violent alcoholics, he said. I told him a dozen times how they'd barge into my room and yell at me for being the mistake that ruined their lives, whatever, I think it was all just an excuse to bitch. I was stuck with me, I don't think the rest of the world has to fucking suffer for it. Cassandra used to complain until I thought my ears were going to explode. "I fucking haaaate what they make me do! I don't want to live like this! I'm not the perfect little girl that has to get good grades and win every award!" Enough nagging to make you want to rip your arm off for her to yank on and let me go buy some more cigarettes.

Anyway, after the whole mess with Cassandra, I tried to go to college for about three days. They fucking put me in a room with two guys who wore their hats backwards screamed, "YEAAAAAAAAAAH" after saying the word "party," and had one of those obnoxious "Beers of the world" posters. I went to lunch - alone, thank you very much - came back, they were listening to some bullshit hip hop crap about rum and I grabbed my shit and moved out. Those fucking morons around me, like being in a town with 20,000 other people who were exactly like you was going to change your life at all. I knew it. I was better than every fucking last one of them. The cars on the highway got smaller with each look, tracks on a Matchbox Speedway, I wanted to drive over every one of them and pick them off my tires later with a chisel, or a toothpick.

I sat outside the door to my house for an hour smoking. "Honey, we're so proud of you, and we'll accept you for whatever you do. You know, even though your father and I loooooooved Cassandra, we know the right woman's out there for you somewhere, such a bright, handsome young man like you will never have any trouble." Where was her goddamn support when she was sleeping off a three-day bender and I had to learn how to make spaghetti for me and Kevin - at age five! The week before I took that month in New York, he got kicked out for grabbing a girl's chest then telling some guy he'd go down on him later. At least I stayed the hell away from sex as long as possible, I think mom and dad gave me the good genes of the family, or at least they didn't turn me into a sex offender. Hah, no, I'm so far above that. I get to really see the world, I'm the lucky one. One look at me, everyone turns into this whimpering little jellyfish a couple inches tall, every last one of them. "Jimmy, tell me what to think, Jimmy, I'm lonely, Jimmy, I need to change my life, Jimmy I need your help. Jiiiiimmyl, Jiiiiimy." I'm sorry, I'm not the one responsible for why you were too much of a pussy to stand up to the assholes holding you down, whether or not that included me.

She surreptitiously emptied his pockets - her gold watch, she thought the pool boy took it, that bastard! She wiped the blood off his wallet with the back of her skirt.

That's a good one. I can imagine when I'm this famous author who gets million dollar advances for his next novel that that works really well to turn into a movie scene. Tell some hot bitch like Jennifer Lopez to lift her skirt as high as possible to wipe the wallet off and have the director film her carefully from behind.

Hah, there was this guy named Luke. He was cool for a while, fit right in. The kind of guy I could hang out with for a few days, yell at for a day for being a fucking pussy, then he'd call me up the next day, apologize, and say, "hey, are we ok?" What kind of whiny little bastard says that? I fucking loved it. He was so scared of alcohol because his uncle was an alcoholic and his brother got arrested for underage drinking in high school, and he, "just couldn't hurt his parents like Cole did." Oooooh, he just couldn't hurt them, who says that? Fuck your family, go with yourself, because the rest of the world's just going to piss you off. You wish you could shrink them to little Matchbox cars on a speedway and break the whole goddamn thing with your foot - and maybe you could if you worked hard enough. So, while I wasn't paying attention, pussy and pussier became really good friends. Danny, that dumbass that followed me around since I was 10 met Luke and they connected over how cooool I was. When I finally had to cut Danny loose, Luke went away. He told everyone, let me see if I can get this right, in fact, fuck, I'll put it in my book.

At the psych conference in Ithica (heh, Ithaca, what a dumb fucking name for a city), Melinda said the words about Jimmy that she'd always known, but had been afraid to let free. "There's a certain kind of sociopath who's so lost, who never developed any original connection to teach him about love, so he can only trust himself, can only love himself, and everyone else around him he just manipulates. It's all he knows how to do, he can't really love a person or have a real relationship, he can just hurt, just for himself." She cleared her throat, wiped back tears, and continued.

I don't know, whatever, I can love someone, someone who sees the world like me, someone who isn't afraid to tackle bullshit. Whatever, I started dating Cassandra the month after Luke went away from me, and he looooved Cassandra. Not only was she the top in the class and gorgeous (or so he thought, she has this weird nose and a slopey forehead, I've done so much better since then, had models, no one can resist someone who yells at you for the shit you do), but she was Jewish and Luke always thought he could introduce her to his parents. I was the first guy Cassandra told anything to, how (cue up sniffling whiny bitch sounds in the background) she haaaaated being the top in her class because of all the pressure her parents put on her, and she had to be a doctor because she was so smaaaaart and they wouldn't accept anything but the best for her. I'm like, "honey, you want to fucking change your life, change your life, are you waiting for me to make you stupid?" Of course, by the end of the relationship, that's what Luke and all his oh-so-psychologically-adept friends said I did to her, whatever, like I could really brainwash anyone anyway.

I showed them all, I was with that stupid whiny… you get the idea…for over a year. Goddamn, all I remember is her world was so fake, I was the first real thing she ever had. After I fucked her for the first time, I saw it, I had to make things real again, call it that "moment of clarity" or whatever people talk about. I'd be the one to show her what the world was really like. It didn't coddle you or tell you were so talented; the real world was fucking real. It pissed on you, kicked your intestines until they came out your back, threw you in a gutter, and gave you a cactus to wipe off your face with. I planned it for weeks, bring her to the real world, see her kicked in the gut like these pansies blowing smoke up her ass couldn't ever do. Bring her down, bring her down, bring her down. At this time, I was coming over every fucking night, so this time, with the key she gave me, I left a little surprise in her room, the biggest butcher knife I ever saw, under her sheet, waiting for her to lay on top of. She opened her covers and started walking backwards in terror, hands shaking, mumbling to herself, maybe thinking I'd catch her - ha! I was waiting with a wire in the doorway. If she hadn't screamed, I would've done it, knocked her in the gutter, shown her the real world. She went on to Vassar and I got a restraining order when her dad caught me. Cassandra, dumb little yid, was too damn hooked on being knocked down, she wouldn't press charges or even let the school expel me. She called me every night until her "friends" (Luke, fucking jealous bastard) told the cops I was in violation of my restraining order, and even then, she wouldn't testify against me. Such a dumb fucking mess, I still could graduate and go to college, but driving away from my house, I saw the whole damn crowd, Mom, Dad, Cassandra, Luke, Danny, my roommates, the whole world, shrunk like Matchbox cars on a speedway, my big truck running them all over, not even a fly on my windshield, piles of trash too worthless for human existence. They can have their judgment and eat it too.

Melinda had it all, fame, a book deal, credit for ridding the world of a vile, sociopathic criminal. But when she went home, she was still missing something.