Nobody cares about the rainforests anymore. What happened to all of the chivalrous environmentalism? Everyone just gave up on the whole “go green” thing when it looked like all hope had been lost. I’ll admit that it even had slipped my mind, up until today when I went for a food run and saw the guy standing in the median with his sandwich board sign with crudely drawn trees and even an attempt at a monkey hanging upside down from one of the branches. In bold, black marker amongst the trees was written:
“In These Troubled Times Do Not Forget The Forests Full of Life”
Having the sign slung over his shoulders left the man’s hands free to hold paper cups into which was deposited the spare change of passersby. I gave five dollars.
“Thank you kindly, sir. And the forests will thank you as well. We all must do our part,” the man said with a wide grin. He was missing multiple teeth and those remaining in his mouth were dark and brittle. He was obviously a man who had seen so much in his life, yet he was out there acting selflessly to save the rainforest, which really, in the end, helps us all. Right?
My roommate Paul wasn’t happy, I guess. After giving away the five bucks I had enough money for the bread, but only enough left for a half-gallon of milk; and the store only had skim left, but that’s not really my fault.
“Really Mike? The rainforest? What the fuck?” Paul was shouting as I fumbled around the house just trying to look busy, ignoring his glares and hoping he’d let it go. Paul was one of those who had given up hope. It had become increasingly difficult to live with him. I think I can wait it out but I keep hearing how there’s vacancies opening up all across the city and landlords just as desperate for paying tenants as I am for a place of my own.
“When are you going to ever see the rainforest? Even if that money you threw away ever made its way somewhere that would go to planting a tree or stopping one from being cut down, how could you ever know? How do you even know there’s rainforest to be saved? I hope you’re not expecting a picture with a certificate to come in the mail showing you the tree you saved with your generous donation.” I had gone into my bedroom at this point, but Paul hadn’t noticed. He was in the kitchen heating up soup and shouting. He thought I was stupid, but the five dollars had been mine to sped and I gave it to what I think is a noble cause. We can’t always just think of ourselves, even if Paul thinks he is all that he needs. But he won’t know what to do once I’m gone. I’m a pretty important part of the business that he runs He’s got what’s known as a “mattress bank”. They’ve popped up all over the city since the remaining banks can’t be trusted, so people like Paul have promised to pick up where the banks left off. These are normally run by people like Paul who gave up on the banks well before anything happened and had actually stuffed their money under their mattresses. After the banks failed they were the only ones with any cash left, and they started making loans. He doesn’t really keep the money under his mattress anymore, but the name still sticks.
There hasn’t actually been much use for banks, but people have slowly started finding ways to make money again. I make mine by running errands for Paul. I make deliveries to other peoples’ homes and to other mattress banks and Paul pays me accordingly. It’s a pretty valuable service for him since he doesn’t like to leave the apartment. He’s afraid that if his clients see him out on the streets they might think they’re money isn’t secure. We don’t really have a bad thing going here, so I hate to move out; but the stress is getting to Paul and he is getting on my nerves. He’ll be able to find somebody else to help out.
I’m thinking of going into business for myself running messages and packages. I have a bike, which is pretty invaluable these days, and the postal service sort of went the way of the banks.
“You’re never gonna get back on your feet Mike. I’m trying to help you, really. We’re all desperate and that makes things dangerous. I can’t always be looking out for you.” Paul’s voice had settled to where he just seemed annoyed. He says cares about me, and he might, and that’s why it hurts to know that I can’t stand to live with him anymore. But I think it’s not really a real kind of caring. It comes more from pity and that sort of bond people form after having gone through some serious shit together. Sometimes that makes me mad. We never would have been friends any other way. I know he thinks he’s better than I am and I’ve come to rely on him, but not anymore.
When I came out of my bedroom Paul was on the couch sopping up his soup with a hunk of bread.
“I think I’m leaving,” I told him, and the glare returned.
“Leaving? What do you mean ‘leaving’? Where are going?
“I don’t know where yet, but a different apartment, my own apartment. I’m staying in the city, but I can’t stay here anymore. I’ve been able to save up the money, thanks to you. You might think I spend it on stupid things, but really I’ve been saving a lot of it, and so many places are going empty these days that I think I can afford it on my own.” Paul had set his soup bowl on the floor. His arms were tensed, his hands digging into the tattered cushions and he appeared coiled like a spring ready to launch into me at any second.
“Well, who else is gonna pay you like I do? You’ve got the money now maybe, but what about when that runs out? I know the other bankers, they’re stingy crooks. They’ll screw you.” That’s when I told him my business idea.
“Like a ‘mattress post office’ I guess,” I said with pride, but he wasn’t sharing any of my enthusiasm.
“Whatever,” he said as he got up from the couch. I was waiting for him to hit me, or something. But he moved slowly, lazily. He was sulking now. “You can leave whenever you’re ready. Just let me know so I can pick out one of the other dozens of guys waiting for your room and your job.”
Paul slammed his bedroom door and I was left alone in the increasing dark of the living room. Maybe I was being stupid, or at least a tad irrational. Paul and I had made it this far. But I can’t stop thinking how much farther I could go on my own. And if I don’t get out now I might never. I could make it to the rainforest I bet. I’ve saved this much to get my own place while working for Paul. Working for myself I could probably save enough for a boat. I could be one of the new frontiersmen I’ve heard about, sailing out to chart the landscape of the new world. All I’ve known for so long now has been this life with Paul. And I still feel like I owe him for bringing me back here when I couldn’t get home or even if I had a home left. I know now that I don’t. It actually made life easier knowing that I wasn’t missing anything and that nobody was missing me.
I left Paul a note on the kitchen table for him to find in the morning.
“On my way to the rainforest. Thanks for everything.
-MIKE”
I drew a crude jungle scene around my words and attempted to do a monkey hanging upside from one of the branches, but it looked ugly and ruined the whole thing. I crumpled up the note and stuffed it down inside of my bag, instead of the putting it in the trashcan, so that Paul would never have the chance to see it.
I rewrote the note and instead drew a picture of a mushroom cloud, something I’ve become much more familiar with.
