I Apologize

By Timothy Bruesewitz

I Apologize is a book about the American Dream being a fallacy and the hurdles one must overcome with that belief system. If contentment can be drawn by the perceived attributes one strives for, Tristan must be the happiest man alive. However, the battle between reality and the constant dialog that continues between his two temples, Tristan is anything but joyful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886543513

Book preview

cover.jpg

I Apologize

Timothy Bruesewitz

Copyright © 2022 Timothy Bruesewitz

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 979-8-88654-349-0 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-351-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Part 1

Part 2

About the Author

Part 1

I apologize, but when I was walking by you, I couldn't help noticing how great your shoes looked. I know that sounds strange, but I glanced down, and I didn't want to walk by without letting you know how perfect they were.

Triston walked to the restroom without giving a glance behind. He had used this practice so often he did not even realize he was doing it anymore. Walking into the bathroom, he went straight to the mirror, gazing with a grin. After washing his hands and fixing an errant piece of hair, he walked out still wearing the smile from the encounter with his reflection. Stopping in the midst of people, he gave her a shaken head of disbelief. Triston continued through the patrons back to his three friends that were drinking at the bar.

You do realize that she is eighteen at best, don't you? Jake said with a condescending gaze.

First of all, I don't care if she's twelve. I'm not going to go home with her. And secondly, she must be twenty-one, or she couldn't be here. Triston chuckled and slapped Jake on the side.

Jake was a guy that was hard not to like. His only problem was that he was prone to do the right thing too often. Jake and Triston worked together and were both under the impression that the other was disillusioned as to why they were put on this earth.

T, if you do end up taking her home, I am already calling her fat friend, Fisher told the group, which was cause for hearty laughter by all.

Looking at Fisher, Sully said, Dude, you won't be walking long enough to take her home.

I know, because you will be sober and solving mathematical algorithms at close, right? Fisher retorted.

This was the same routine that happened every weekend; it was just happening sooner on this night because drinking started much earlier than usual.

Triston and the girl shared glances enough times that he decided it was time to go in. It was always second nature for Triston to know the time and the words needed for his upcoming encounters. It was perplexing to him why so many people had problems talking to the opposite sex. It confused him, because not only did the right thing always seem to come to mind, but also, if it didn't and he got shot down, he would just walk away and chalk it up to her being in a serious relationship or believing she indulged in the same sex. Why do guys care what the hell any girl thinks of them, anyway? Girls are unstable and lack any kind of common sense that Triston knew of. In fact, only 11 percent of women do not suffer from some form of mental disorder, Triston had read somewhere.

Look, to be honest with you, it wasn't just your shoes that I was interested in, Triston said as he stood in front of the girl. I also thought that the woman behind you was good-looking, and I was hoping you could tell me her name, he said, smiling mischievously.

Triston enjoyed her expression of disbelief.

I'm just kidding. Like, I'm going to look over you to see anybody else. I'm Triston, by the way. And you are?

You don't think I'm actually going to tell you my name after that comment, do you?

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I was just trying to be witty. Apparently unsuccessfully, he told her with an apologetic grin.

My name is Sara.

"Is it Sara with or without an H?"

Triston couldn't care less, but he knew that every Sara or Sarah liked that a person cared to know. He figured that a girl with such a common name enjoyed the individuality of the H or without an H.

"It's Sara without an H."

"Well, Sara without an H, what brings you out tonight besides trying to pick me up?"

You don't have much confidence, do you? Sara said, looking aggravated.

"Truthfully, I don't, although I read today that most girls like a guy with confidence, so I thought I would give that a try. Nobody likes going home alone every night." Triston smiled.

I highly doubt that. You being able to read would surprise me too.

"Unfortunately, you are right, he said, slightly bowing his head. I had to have a friend read it to me."

Sara laughed, and it was off to the races.

Getting a girl to be attracted to Triston was never much of a difficulty; trying to stay sober enough for her to continue to like him seemed to be the toughest test. The big problem with the end of the night for Triston was that he found himself easily distracted by all the other women in the bar. In addition, he was very bad with names, forgetting the girl's handle almost immediately. That would not be a problem with Sara, though, for two reasons. One, Sara was the name that he usually guessed when being called out by a girl, and two, there was a reason he guessed that name.

What brings you to Madison?

Oh, really, what are you going to school for?

That is super interesting. Why did you choose that?

Are you going to stay here when you're finished, or are you going to move someplace warm with me?

This usually took Triston through the first half hour of conversation, and by that time, the Nice Guy sticker was placed on his forehead.

The answers to the individual questions were inconsequential; picking up on the important things in case a follow-up question was in need was paramount. The later the night got, the harder it was for him to realize all the important things, but if he was doing everything right, it was getting more difficult for her to care.

He told Sara that he had to make some face time with his friends and would be back in a little bit. So try not to forget about me. Triston really didn't have to get back to his friends; in fact, he very rarely spent time with them, other than early in the night or if things happened to be not going well. In this case, Triston wanted to get back and give his friends some shit for not picking up a girl and to let the other woman that was looking at him from a distance know that he was just friends with the Sara that he had just met. It wasn't that Triston didn't think Sara was a done deal; it was just always nice to have a backup plan.

What the fuck is wrong with you guys? It's impossible to walk around this bar and not accidentally get laid!

Triston didn't think he was being an asshole when he made comments like that. He just wanted to get the guys fired up so that they wouldn't sit with their fingers in their asses all night.

You're an asshole, Fisher said emphatically I'm sorry that everyone can't be tall, dark, and handsome.

Dude, it's got nothing to do with me being better-looking than you, which I am, Triston said with a grin. It's all about confidence.

Confidence? Dude, if that were the case, you wouldn't be able to walk by any girl without fucking her, Sully said.

What do you mean? Did I miss one?

Triston did believe that confidence was the key. Not the sole unlocking devise, because there were leagues within the system. However, he did believe that confidence went a lot further than looks. Good-looking girls walk around with guys that should have never had the time of day with them. Women will look a lot further past physical imperfections than a man will. When a woman comes home from a date, the first question from her friends is, Was he nice? A man's is always, How hot is she?

I'll tell you what, fellas? You give me five minutes trying to pick up a girl. If it doesn't work, I will cease giving you shit.

It was not that the guys didn't pick up girls—they all did. Although in Triston's opinion, it was not nearly as frequent as they had potential for.

Just go back to your girlfriend so that you can talk before her curfew ends, Triston, Jake said, with a look of surprise that he came up with such a clever response while so intoxicated.

I suppose, and if I play my cards right, she'll be walking out of here wearing my letter jacket, Triston said and strolled back to Sara thinking that if the guys didn't want to help themselves, he wasn't going to waste any more of his night on them.

I'm sorry that it took me so long. I suppose I missed my small window of opportunity, huh?

You did, but as long as you don't mind sharing me, Sara said with a laugh.

I've been a team player all my life. I just do whatever I can to impress the coach.

Sara's humor and charisma pleasantly surprised Triston. She was very attractive, but even the prettiest of girls don't seem to know how to talk without coming off as a bitch or a shadow.

Two hours passed with talking and laughing, none of which was his usual for her laughs. This girl was different. Young, but different. She told him that she was twenty-two, which meant eighteen or nineteen. Whatever it was, he would find out tomorrow during pillow talk. Sara told her friends that she was going to another bar with Triston and would meet up with them later in the night. Of course, the next stop, they both knew, was to his car for a ride to Triston's apartment.

It was almost 1:30 a.m. when they got to Triston's place.

Would you like a beer?

Why don't we have one after we have sex? she said abruptly.

This was the coolest girl he had met in quite some time. Triston had a problem convincing Sara to forgo the condom, making him happy, because he figured if she gave him a hassle about it, she probably made most guys wear one. With a little coaxing, the condom lost importance, and a wonderful night came to fruition.

The next morning, Sara called a cab and left early, pleasing Triston immensely. He could never understand why he had such disdain for the girls the next day, though he invariably did. Always very happy to see the door shut behind them.

At pillow talk, Triston had learned that Sara was nineteen and knew that the outlook was not good for a second date.

Triston lived in an apartment that was not as big or as nice as he would have liked. Although it was clean and close enough to the bars, making the size less of an issue. His neighbors, on the other hand, always seemed to be a problem. Not just at his current residence, but at every apartment that he lived in. Loud described Triston's every essence. His friends would tease him that when he died, the doctors were going to cut out his vocal cords and study them for science. The boisterous voice was not the only thing irritating his neighbors; it was the surround sound for his TV, the friends screaming at the ball games they watched, and his music that was both ear-splitting and obnoxiously fast. Needless to say, Triston didn't stay at any residence very long. Making enough money to afford to rent or buy a house that would give him more space was not the issue; constantly drinking and taking floozies to dinner was. Living for today because you might not be around to see tomorrow became Triston's mantra long ago. His current apartment had just recently terminated the lease, making finding another home the week's top priority. So far, there had not been a big problem with finding new places to live. However, each eviction narrowed his choices bit by bit.

After Sara's departure, Triston wondered aloud, What am I doing with my life? The next day was never an easy one. He was always at least slightly hungover yet sober enough to know that what he did the night before was wrong. Fortunately, this next day happened to be a Saturday—meaning that he had another day to get loaded and put off his worries. Triston got up, cleaned away a few empty beer bottles, turned on his stereo, and jumped into the shower.

What's up, Bigman? Triston started his phone conversation with Fisher.

Not much. How did last night go?

Not too bad. How did your night go?

Well, after you and the fifteen-year-old left, Jake and I went to get some burritos and then just came home.

Really? What happened to Sully?

I don't know. He was talking to some girl that I wouldn't fuck with your dick when we left.

That's cool. No luck for you two fellas, though, huh?

I was talking to a girl that wanted to go home with me, but her boyfriend was there, so I just said fuck it and left with Jake.

Triston knew there was no girl, and if there were, there most certainly wasn't a boyfriend. Boyfriends don't let girlfriends talk to strange guys all night. Especially girlfriends that want to go home with strange men. Although that was Fisher, always wanting to have some story even if a complimentary one was not available. Triston used to call him out on stories like this, but lately it was just easier to give him a That sucks and move on.

That sucks, but at least you gave it the old college try.

That's all you can do. What about you, Triston? Did you take care of it?

No, she came home with me, but we just screwed around.

That was a lie that everyone heard from Triston more times than one. He very rarely admitted to having sex with girls. Not only lying to his friends, but he was also trying to convince himself of the same story. He hated the fact that he had unprotected sex with complete strangers. Still, as much as he promised himself that this was the last time, it never was.

Bullshit, Triston. I don't know why you have to lie to me.

Actually, I'm not lying this time. I was just too drunk, and it was hard to keep that bad boy up.

You keep telling yourself that, Triston.

Triston would keep telling himself that. For starters, he was very intoxicated, and the end of the night was touch-and-go at best; it was possible that he had just passed out and dreamed it.

"I will keep telling myself the truth, Fisher! What's going on today?"

It's a great day out. We should do something outside.

It was a nice day, and when living in Wisconsin, you take full advantage of every nice day you get. Although when Fisher said, Do something outside, all he was really saying was, We should drink outside.

That sounds good, buddy. I am just out of the shower. I'll pick you up in five, and we can toss the Frisbee around.

Throwing Frisbee was always a good idea because Triston knew that it would at least slow down the alcohol intake. In addition to the pleasant day, it was likely that there would be plenty of good-looking females at the park. Why not kill two birds with one stone? It was rare for Triston to pick up a girl from anywhere other than the bar, but one never knows. His thinking was that if a girl was at a bar, she was partly putting herself out there to be bombarded by assholes. On occasion, girls might go to the bars only to hang out with the girls, but face it: if their only intent was to drink and talk to friends, they might as well do that at home. Instead, they were going to pay five dollars a drink and inhale twelve packs of secondhand smoke just to be out? No, as far as Triston was concerned, they were out for the same reason he was. At least he was up-front about it. In contrast, if a girl was shopping, eating out, or sunbathing, they had the right to enjoy the freedom to roam without a chastity belt. If there were some obvious signs that a girl liked Triston, he would go over to her and give a half-hearted attempt, but that was rare. Triston was very confident, but rejection is a hell of a lot easier to swallow accompanied with some liquid courage.

By the time Triston and Fisher arrived at the park, there wasn't a lot of room for Frisbee playing. They got themselves a spot between the volleyball court and the lake. Neither Triston nor Fisher was a great Frisbee player, though that didn't hinder them from attempting many unsuccessful tricks.

James Madison Park is a relatively large park that borders Lake Mendota. It is about three blocks long and half again as wide. There are basketball hoops on one side, followed by a long stretch of grass running to the volleyball courts, and a small beach at the other end. Fisher and Triston were wedged in between volleyball players and about twenty sunbathers. Their attempted tricks seemed to be disturbing just about everyone in their vicinity. The Midwest is known for most of its inhabitants being pretty laid-back people, and Madison is no exception. Other than the confrontation that Fisher had with a dog that picked up the Frisbee after an errant throw, most of the people either moved or dealt with their follies quietly. There was no alcohol allowed in the park at any time, but since it was rarely enforced, most of the people in the park had coolers full of booze. Triston and Fisher brought refreshments as well, and after a half hour of throwing, catching, and apologizing, they were both sitting down and enjoying cooler-cold Miller Lite.

Fisher, no offense, but you're a really bad Frisbee player.

I don't know what you're talking about, Triston. You dropped twice as many as I did.

Do you want to know the reason for that, Fisher? It's because my throws actually made it to you.

"Whatever, dude. You are too busy spending your time trying to impress the few people that didn't get hit by the Frisbee with your tricks," Fisher said, holding two fingers in each hand up, giving the parentheses sign.

Well, it must have worked, because the girl in the pink swimsuit can't keep her eyes off me.

About fifteen yards away from where Triston and Fisher were sitting, there was a very attractive brunette in a pink swimsuit, gazing Triston's way. He wanted to go over to her, but this girl was not just attractive; she was a perfect 10. Though he was good with most ladies, girls that were as attractive as the one in the pink swimsuit were a different story. Triston believed that he was good-looking enough for any girl to date, although whenever a girl that was this beautiful would talk to him, he couldn't find his inner smooth. In fact, when talking to girls of this caliber, he resembled every other asshole that couldn't find their words with the opposite sex. Not entirely being able to put his finger as to why, he assumed that it was the lack of practice with the perfect 10s. There were enough beautiful women in Madison, but there were few perfect-looking girls like the one in the pink swimsuit. Triston went on trips with his buddies all across the country, places that gorgeous girls were a dime a dozen. In those parts, it was much easier to approach them. But in Madison, if they fit in this elite class of women, they knew it. Moreover, the guy that finally worked up enough sac to approach her better come with a stunning personality or a significantly large bank account. In most cases, he would probably need both. Triston felt that he was good-looking enough to get away with not having the money, but he would need the stunning personality. And having the personality and showcasing it on the spot with all those pressures are two different things entirely. No, Triston felt content with the looks he was getting. Besides, if he didn't go over there, he could always tell himself later that he could have picked her up if he wanted to.

Holy shit, she is. Wow, is she fucking hot, dude! Are you going to go over there?

I might, but I do wish I had another wingman. You know, one that could handle himself.

Fuck you, Triston. I've been really good with girls lately. I have a lot more confidence. You should have seen me with that girl last night.

Well, I'll tell you what, Fisher? Let's drink another beer and throw a little more Frisbee. If she is still giving me the eye and we haven't hit her or one of her friends with the Frisbee, I'll give it a shot.

Triston almost hoped they would be gone by that time. Though if she was looking at him as much as he needed her to be, what the hell.

They sucked down another beer and started throwing the Frisbee again. Many of the people had already left the park, especially the ones that were in Fisher and Triston's vicinity.

The girl seemed to be looking over at Triston even more, which made him try tricks that were not only impossible but also made him look quite foolish. Nevertheless, she appeared to continue to be interested, and Triston's confidence began to rise. After another forty-five minutes of throwing, they were both tired, sweaty, and in need of another beer. Triston gave a long returned stare in the girl's direction. It was time for him and Fisher to plan the perfect attack.

Fisher, I'll go over to the girls and tell them that you are my mentally handicapped friend and I was hoping they could watch you for a little while so that I can get more beer. When I'm gone, you can tell them how cool I am and how much I like the girl in the pink. What do you think?

I think you're an asshole.

Well, I think it's a good approach, and that way, neither of us has to lie.

Fuck you, Triston!

Okay, okay. I'll just go over there and tell her that I noticed she was looking and I wondered if she likes what she sees, Triston said, smiling.

That's foolproof, Fisher said, shaking his head.

Okay, Fisher, just follow me over there and I'll do all the talking.

Triston jumped to his feet and walked over to the girls before he lost his nerve. He was trying to think of anything that resembled an opener, but as he approached, nothing came to his mind. About ten steps away, he contemplated retreating; however, by this time, the girl in the pink was smiling at his approach. She sat up, met Triston's eyes, and awaited his introduction. He stopped in front of her and had absolutely no idea what the hell to say. His heart raced like a hemophiliac running from a leper colony, all while her two friends stared up at him with a look of What does this jerk-off want? Triston sat in front of the three for what seemed like an eternity, with only one conscious thought: Why in the fuck didn't I sit there and have one more beer?

Can I help you? the girl in the pink asked with an awkward smile.

I hope that you can. Triston spoke through his dry mouth. I noticed that you were watching us play Frisbee over there, and I was wondering if you girls had some trick that stops you from getting hit. We struck just about everyone in the park with our Frisbee except you three. I was wondering if you girls had some sort of secret. I think that everyone around here would love you to share it with them.

The girl in the pink apprehensively chuckled, while the other two girls rolled their eyes and looked at each other.

I don't know. You two are the ones that are throwing the Frisbee, the girl in the pink replied while squinting through the sunlight.

I agree, but it wasn't like we were aiming for anyone else, and they still got hit. Maybe the Frisbee only hits unattractive people Triston said, smiling and giving her as soft of eyes as he could muster.

So are you saying that we're ugly?

No! Quite the opposite. I'm saying that everyone else is, Triston told her, knowing that he should never bring up ugly people to compliment an attractive one.

It also bothered him that she didn't understand his joke. It was not a funny joke, although it was relatively self-explanatory. He was sure that this girl was at least moderately intelligent, because she undoubtedly went to UW, which is not a school that accepts dummies. Of course, it was not out of ordinary with most of the girls that he encountered. No matter how intelligent they were, they all were thoroughly lacking in the common sense department. If that wasn't the case, if Pinky did have enough common sense to get the joke, then she simply wasn't listening, which was much worse. Why in the hell would she spend all that time staring at him and not have enough class to listen to his first few opening lines?

I apologize. I was just trying to come up with a way of telling you that I think that you are beautiful without coming off as a crazy person. Obviously, I failed miserably.

No, you didn't. I just wasn't ready for you to come over and talk to me. What's your name?

I'm Triston. And yours?

Amber.

Well, Amber, the second reason that I came over here was to warn you about the harming effects of the sun's UV rays. Triston spoke seriously with yet another attempt to get her to laugh. Instead, there was a half smile and an Okay.

This is Fisher, by the way. I brought him over here in case, upon closer inspection, you girls looked dangerous.

This finally got a laugh out of all three of them, albeit a small one, but it was a start.

This is Shelly and Marisa, Amber said, which was followed by some nods and His.

So are you ladies planning on going out tonight?

We are. It's actually Shelly's birthday tonight, so we are going to go to the Nitty, Amber said, smiling at Triston.

This was fantastic news. Triston spent a lot of time at the Nitty because it was a birthday bar and almost always full of people. After all, what day is it not somebody's birthday? In addition to the adequate number of patrons, he knew all the bartenders that would give him deals on booze, never leaving him waiting for a drink. In Triston's experience, nothing impressed a girl more than a fella with any connection that the other guy does not have.

Really? Well, happy birthday, Shelly. I just feel like an asshole for not getting you a card or something, Triston said, which finally got a real laugh out of all three girls. What time were you ladies thinking about going out tonight?

We were planning on getting there about ten or so, Amber said, now giving Triston eyes