G.N.D: A My Little Dashie Sequel

by Nibrudly

Distractions

It’s been four weeks. Four weeks and I can’t seem to make any progress; not even the slightest. I’m still immovably miserable. I realize this is not supposed to be an overnight process, but I would like to be able to have at least one moment of my day where I can be happy. Every day, every hour, every freaking minute I’m caught up on Dashie. No matter what I do, I just can’t seem to find a moment where she doesn’t fill my thoughts. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter and I would never want to stop thinking about her; it’s just it seems that’s all I can do.

I can’t get over the fact she’s gone. I’d expect some sort of acceptance-however begrudgingly-and yet the only difference between the me three days after she left and the me now, is that now I can’t sit on my ass and cry my heart out. I’m stuck, and I’m sick and tired of it. I have tried to get out of this. I have read dozens of self-help books; I’ve listened to hundreds of lectures online, hell, I even resorted to watching Dr. Phil. And yet none of this seems to help. I know what I have to do-I better after taking in all that therapy crap-but it just hasn’t been working. Most of my sources all seem to agree on one thing: finding a distraction; something to occupy your time and your mind.

At first, I thought about going back to regular gaming. So I played the latest Call of Duty; I failed miserably. Now, nothing was wrong with my skills; I’ve kept up on my technique and I have some idea of strategy. The guys I played with were idiots; they had no idea how to play it right. Their plan was to camp and pick off whoever was stupid enough not to notice them. They were easily sniped, and I was left holding the bag. With those idiots camping in that obvious spot, that left most of our opposition free to hunt me down. Granted, there were a few other guys, but they went the lone-wolf approach. I can only imagine their frustration as they were repeatedly gunned down from behind. So after two hours of being humiliated, I switched the damn TV off. Dashie and I always had each other’s backs. She’d take point, I’d watch our six. We very rarely got caught in a bad situation. But she’s not here anymore.

After that disappointment, I thought I would try TF2; same problem. Not only were the medics complete idiots, our spies were horrible. They had no idea what they were doing. One actually went after a target right in the general vicinity of a pyro. Sure, he got his kill, and then was flayed alive soon afterwards. Now my specialty is artillery with the demoman. All it takes is the right trajectory and I’m golden. However, back when I was improving on my technique, with my face aimed high at the sky, I would always run into the same problem: a knife in my back. So, after investing in a keyboard with gigantic keys, Dashie opted to be a pyro, my escort. We were awesome together: she kept the knives out of my back; I took out potential threats before they even knew we existed. Together, we were as good as a sentry, especially if an engineer erected a dispenser to keep us in business.

But those days are gone. I’ve lost my partner and I don’t have the desire to find a new one. So far, the only thing I have found that is able to keep my mind off of Dashie and my depression is work. Back then, before we moved, I was the cashier for the local 7/11. But then when we got the new house I got myself a real job. Yes, I’m the guy who fills out those never-ending forms and sits behind a desk all day. I wake up at seven, spend an hour listening to the radio as I make my commute, and then my workday starts as I begin looking over all the paperwork. How I have come to love the paperwork, that glorious bureaucracy. It is so time consuming, so mind-numbing, I almost forget about the pain in my heart. Eight wonderful hours of distraction from my sorrows. That is, until the work day ends.

My nights are awful, the weekends are worse. Why? Because I’m all alone in that cold, dark house, with only a book full of memories to pass the time. I don’t watch TV anymore; I have no interest in the world outside. All I care about is my album and the pictures inside. That wonderful, heart-lifting…depressing, gut-wrenching, album. I hate that album now. I no longer remember all the happy times, I merely mourn the fact I have no new pictures to add. Now the album only serves to remind me my daughter is gone and my life is in shambles. But that’s just the depression talking; it has to be the depression talking. I love Dashie, and I love her final gift to me. I’m lucky I actually have this last token of love. This album is the only thing keeping me sane. I despise it and wish it were gone, but at the same time I couldn’t think about living without it.

When I reach this internal confliction on what seems to be every Saturday afternoon, I take a walk. I’ve gone back to my old habit, even though it doesn’t help. I still think about Dashie as I watch the grass continue to grow more and more with each passing day. I just stare at the meadow outside the forest, waiting, hoping for some animal to come by and grab my attention. But it never happens, and I just continue my walk, going into the forest. I spend hours sitting under the Tree. I don’t cry, I don’t curse my misfortune; I don’t do anything. I’m just empty on the inside; waiting for something to come along and snap me out of this funk I’m in. But nothing happens, and I just sit there until the sun sinks below the horizon. I don’t see its beauty anymore; it’s just harsh light in my eyes. As the orange twilight gives way to the purple night, I return home and get ready for bed. Every night it’s the same thing: I just stare at the ceiling, my mind filled with thoughts of my daughter. Thankfully, with my age, it only takes about an hour before sleep takes me. Any dreams I may have leave me with feelings of depression and remorse, even if they were happy. In no time at all the alarm goes off and I begin the cycle all over again.

At this point in time, I was desperate. I was willing to try anything if it could take my mind off of Dashie. That day, as I sat in my office, continuing my mundane task, I couldn’t help but reflect on my situation and how pitiful it was. I checked the clock on my office wall; half-past noon. Perhaps some lunch would clear my head and it would stay that way. As I made my way to the break room, I passed our bulletin board. Fliers for local events and charities were always being posted; I never took any notice of it. And yet I finally took a look at it today. It didn’t take much to figure out why I had noticed it in the first place. Among the various ads for fish-fries and town meetings was a cyan flier. Now while the color was enough to get me to look in that direction, it was the title that really grabbed me.

“WE NEED YOU!”

Granted, at least two thirds of the various papers posted on the board had the exact same title. But so long as it had my attention, I thought I may as well read it.

WE NEED YOU!

Are you looking to give back to the community?

Do you enjoy donating your time to others?

Do you like helping others develop into their full potential?

Do you like working with kids?”

At this point I was seriously considering just moving on and getting my lunch. But surprisingly, it got better after that.

Then go work at a day-care with the rest of the weak sauce.

What we’re asking you to do is far more challenging!

There are dozens of kids in the City Orphanage looking for role-models!

We’re asking you to come in and show some child how to be a man! (Or woman, if that’s the case.)

This program is not for wimps! Your patience WILL be tested! Your mental and physical limits will be STRETCHED! Any time you thought you had to yourself will DISAPPEAR! Your very EXISTENCE will be brought into question!

WE NEED YOU! TO BE A BIG BROTHER!” …or sister, if that’s the case!

Yes, it was stupid and yes, they were over selling it. But, I couldn’t care less. After weeks of doing nothing except think of Dashie, and after failing to find a suitable distraction outside of work, I figured this was as good a thing as any. Plus, it was the first thing in a long time that has gotten me to crack a smile. I took one of the call stubs from the bottom, putting it casually into my pocket as I made my way towards the break room for lunch.

When I got home, I was immediately hit by a wave of depression. This has been a regular occurrence; I could set my watch by it. After scarfing down a Hot Pocket, I took my place on the couch and started flipping through the album again. I don’t see why I keep doing this; I’ve seen the pictures so many times that I see them when I close my eyes. Perhaps it’s just so I have something, some ritual, to keep me anchored in reality. Why do I keep this up? Why is this the thing that helps me cope?

I suddenly remembered the call stub in my pocket. It was all crumpled, but the bold font made the number stand out amongst the folds and wrinkles. I just stared at the stub for awhile, my mind somewhere else. That was it. If just looking at the stub could distract me, I could only imagine what this job could do. I whipped out my phone and called the place.

“City Orphanage for the Unfortunately Misplaced, how can I help you?”

“Ah yes, I was calling about the…” It took a few seconds trying to recall the text from the poster, but it came to me, “…the “Big Brother” program?”

“Oh! Well let me transfer you to our director of voluntary services!”

Instead of hold music, I merely heard whoever it was on the other end humming the Blue Danube. After a few seconds, my ears were blasted by a loud voice.

“HELLO! YOU’RE CALLING ABOUT THE BIG BROTHER PROGRAM!?

This second guy who answered sounded just like the poster. Despite the cheesiness of his voice, I gave him my full attention. For a full ten minutes we went back and forth; he would ask a question and I would give a simple “yes.” He got repetitive towards the end.

“SO YOU REALLY THINK YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES?!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear for what had to be the ninth time during our conversation. “Yes.”

“EVEN IF IT TAKES YOU TO YOUR LIMITS AND SMASHES THEM TO BITS?!”

“Yes.” What was with this guy? He sounded like Iron Will, except he was far more annoying.

“YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY SURE YOU CAN HANDLE ANYTHING WE CAN THROW AT YOU?!”

For what felt to be the hundredth time: “Yes.”

“ALRIGHT THEN! Come down to the office and I’ll get you the paperwork.”

That was the only time he sounded remotely normal. Interestingly, he sounded just like the first guy I talked to. That and the improvised Muzak confirmed my suspicions: it was the same guy. But I didn’t care, I was just glad the call had taken a whole half-hour out of my night. Despite the urge, I didn’t go back to reading the album. Instead, I skipped to getting ready to go to sleep.

After taking a shower, brushing my teeth, and putting on a pair of pajamas-they were a Father’s day gift-I just laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling. For the first time this evening, I actually started thinking about whether this “Big brother” thing was actually a good idea. This was a commitment, one that was going to require a lot of time and energy. Not to mention I didn’t really consider my availability and, from the flier and the phone call, the whole thing seemed utterly ridiculous. But then my mind started drifting towards Dashie and all those memories…

Yes, this was definitely a good idea. Anything was a good idea if it could finally get my mind off of Dashie. The next day, during my lunch break, I stopped by the orphanage to fill out my paperwork. The place wasn’t necessarily in the best condition, but compared to some of the other surrounding buildings, it certainly wasn’t the worst. My guess was that it had been built in the ‘60s. As I walked through the door, my suspicions were confirmed. Old black-and-white checkered tile floor, peeling floral wall paper, and rusty radiators all over the place; thankfully they did have regular AC, the radiators were probably for display. Whatever money they got, it certainly wasn’t going towards improving upon their residence.

The only person I saw was this buff guy sitting behind a desk, mulling over what looked like to be expense reports. Yes, I could actually tell they were expense reports from where I was standing. His suppressed look of frustration was the telltale sign.

As I made my way to desk, he finally looked up to greet me.

“AH! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CALLED LAST NIGHT, I TAKE IT?!

It was the guy. He actually looked just like he sounded. Despite being middle aged, he was rather cut. He probably had the thickest neck I have ever seen, you could see the bulging veins going up and down his ripped arms and, to complete the look, he was wearing a tank top and a crew cut. He looked like he belonged in a security detail, not behind a desk. But it didn’t really matter though; he probably knew what he was doing.

“Yep, that’s me.”

“WONDERFUL!” I winced as my ears rang from the concussive force of his voice. “HERE’S YOUR FORMS!”

With a wide smile on his face, he handed me my paperwork. He just stared at me with that creepy grin as I stood on the other side of the desk, filling out the various forms. After I finished filling everything out, he took out a small ink case and took my fingerprints, then he had me stand up against the wall and he took my picture. Once we were finished with all the red tape, he motioned for me to follow him as he headed for a small room. Were this a police station it would have made the perfect interrogation chamber: the wide table, the two chairs; it even had the one-way mirror. He motioned for me to take a seat as he went off into what looked like the kitchen.

“NOW THEN!” he yelled as he slammed two water bottles onto the table, “I’M GONNA LEVEL WITH YOU!” he started to cough violently. He took a swig of water as he sat down. “Sorry, this voice does wonders for my vocal chords as you can see. Now then, the fact you actually made it this far despite my ridiculous behavior tells me you’re here for one of two things. Either you’re really into volunteering, or you’re desperate.”

While what he said was true, I asked anyway. “What makes you so sure?”

“Simple,” he took another swig as he leaned back in his chair; a look of amusement spread across his face as he began to explain the method to his madness.

“If you were like the common rabble you would have lost interest in the flier before you even finished the first two sentences. And since you not only made the call, but actually finished it despite my attempts to rupture your eardrums, I know you’re either really patient or you don’t give a rat’s ass. But, the defining factor was when you showed up today during your break. A volunteer kind of guy would have waited until after work. So the fact that you came as soon as you could means you’re either unemployed, which I highly doubt, or you’re trying to fill some void in your life.”

He had some powers of perception. Granted, anyone could have figured it out, but the way his process worked was intriguing. This guy actually cared about the application process and who showed up. It was now easier to understand why he had the job.

“Now look here,” He leaned in close, a solemn expression on his face as he looked me in the eyes. “I don’t know what it was, or who it was, but let me make one thing clear. If you’re serious about this, I need you to give one-hundred percent. Not to me though, but to whomever I decide to pair you up with. These kids have had a rough time and I don’t need them being used as a way for you to cope with…whatever it was. If you’re here, you’re here for the kid. Your personal problems can come after you leave. Am I clear?”

My earlier assumptions were shattered. This guy obviously cared for these kids. He commanded my respect, and I liked what I was hearing. Sure, it was going to require effort on my part, but this was definitely going to help keep my mind off of Dashie and my seemingly unending depression.

“Crystal. What happens now?” I grabbed the other bottle as he leaned back in his chair.

“Now I run a background check to make sure you’re on the up-and-up. I’ll admit you look sketchy, but then again, I don’t look like a social worker. After you’re all clear, I’ll check my records against your forms and see which kid would benefit the most from your “brotherly wisdom.” After that it’s just weekly meetings. Nothing too hard…unless I give you a tough kid.”

“A ‘tough’ kid?” I asked with minor concern as I took a swig. He heaved a sigh as he rubbed his temples.

“As I said before, some of these kids have had a rough time. A lot of them need professional help that I’m not entirely qualified for; and I can’t find a shrink willing to work for a charity like us. I’m just saying that the one I pair you up with may not be so…’receiving’ as you’d like.”

I raised a stubborn Pegasus Pony for fifteen years. Anything a regular human kid could throw my way was sure to be easier by comparison.

“Like you said, I’m not here because of my problems or preferences, mister…?”

“Snowflake. Mr. Snowflake.” I think we both silently noted the irony as we shook hands and ended our meeting.

For the first time since the day she left, I finally had a sense of hope. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen once I finally was assigned a kid, I had several work functions I had to attend this month, and I had just spent my whole lunch break going through the sign-up process. And yet, despite all this, for the first time in months I couldn’t stop smiling. This sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy, but it was going to help get my mind off of Dashie; whether I liked it or not.