An Original Short Story- The Mundane Life of Keith Gallagher

The Mundane Life of Keith Gallagher

Keith was already pissed off and ready for the day to be over. It was 6:05 AM, the rain had been pelting his window all night, and his old faithful coffee pot finally bit the dust. "What a piece of fucking junk," he murmured to himself while he angrily threw it in the garbage, which desperately needed taken out. An hour passed, Keith had showered, shaved, and combed his unruly dark brown hair. He was as ready as he could be for another mundane day.

Even after stopping for a coffee on his way, he still arrived at work 25 minutes earlier than his scheduled start time. He wasn't allowed to clock in early, so he sipped his coffee outside and chain smoked a couple Marlboro Reds. He changed into his old beat up navy blue shop uniform, unlocked his tool box, and put his favorite Offspring CD into the player.

Carissa came back with the first batch of work orders for the day, and passed them out to Keith and the other technicians. Everyone got a few oil changes, Mark got a check engine light diagnosis that had potential to be a well-paying job, and Keith got an electrical issue for diagnosis. Mark and Keith bickered for a few moments, as they do every morning, always thinking the other one had received the better jobs for the day. Despite the almost constant quarreling between them, Keith and Mark were each other's best friends, and their banter was almost always playful and rarely serious. Keith and Mark made quite the pair, Mark was opposite Keith in every way. He was social, attractive, and confident. His blonde hair was always perfectly styled, the smile that never left his face revealed his flawless white teeth, and he was admired by everyone. When the two of them were together, Keith couldn’t help but feel painfully ordinary and even invisible at times.

Soon enough it was time for lunch, and Keith was back outside chain smoking when Carissa approached him looking rather distraught. She asked him to bum a cigarette, he reluctantly gave her one, and she began her usual bitching. He sat picking at the callouses on his hands. Years of hot motor oil, sharp metal edges and shitty hand me down tools made his hands look dry and cracked, like an arid desert begging for rain. "Nothing is ever good enough for Carissa," he thought to himself while she droned on and on, not realizing how privileged she's been and how good she has it. "At least she has a family, a house, a nice car, people who care about her. Still, all she does is fucking complain." He was relieved when his timer went off indicating that it was time to go back to work. He couldn't listen to her sob stories for another minute without telling her what he really thinks, not that he was paying much attention to her incessant rambling anyways.

He scrolled through his NPR app on the walk back inside. Another school shooting, 6 dead and 13 injured this time. More peaceful protesters arrested for standing up for what they believe in. Politicians, too busy arguing amongst themselves to solve any problems. It all disgusted him. "This country has gone to shit," he said to Mark as he got back to his tool box while preparing for the next work order. Mark was a conservative through and through. Keith doesn't label himself as conservative or liberal, he views the whole spectrum as corrupt. Mark was fun to bicker with when it came to politics. "It's gone to shit because those god damned hippie liberals won't let us accomplish anything!" Mark argued. "Everyone is too worried about hurting some pansy-ass-Mexican-homo's feelings," he continued, "or ice melting somewhere hundreds of thousands of miles away, like that fucking matters!" Keith was always amused by Mark's political opinions, mostly because of how ludicrous it all sounds. Mark's arguments are based on hearsay, prejudice, and intolerance.

They talked politics for a while longer, until eventually silence took over. Keith enjoyed silence and solitude, usually. Maybe he was just used to solitude, maybe he enjoyed it because it was his only option, because he couldn't cope with being too involved in anything. He was more relieved than normal when the clock struck 5 and it was time to close up for the day. While putting away his tools and getting changed, he couldn't help but to become enveloped in despair, as he knew he was going home to his messy apartment where he would remain, all weekend, alone. He was bothered by the thought of it, and hoped that the time would pass quickly.

When Keith got home, his cat Winston darted out the front door and into the hallway forcing Keith to chase after him. He finally caught up with Winston at the end of the hallway and managed to scoop him up. Priscilla, a grumpy old haggish woman who lived two doors down was standing on her doormat glaring the whole time, and said something under her breath about "that damned cat" as Keith and Winston walked past. He slammed his front door behind him, and immediately poured himself a glass of whiskey.

Winston had tipped over his food and water dishes while Keith was at work, and while he was cleaning that up, the phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, and sent them to voicemail.

"Um, hi, Keith. It's Laura. I know we haven't talked in a while, but I'm in town for the week and was hoping to see you. It would be really nice to see an old familiar face and catch up, call me back and let me know when you're available!"

Laura. He hadn't heard that voice in years. He recollected how long it took for him to get Laura out of his head. She moved away, she didn't invite him, she just left. "Waste my fucking time again, why don't ya," he said to Winston, who purred and clawed at the air in response. Keith was on his third glass of whiskey now, and he was enraged at Laura's audacity. He knew that he'd call her back, he couldn't help it, Laura was the best chapter of his life and he knew it. He hated her for leaving.

Keith grabbed the bottle and his Marlboros, and Winston followed him out to the porch. He put on a CD that he knew Priscilla particularly hated, and cranked up the volume. After two more glasses of whiskey, he decided he’d call Laura back. It rang, and rang, and rang, and he finally reached her voicemail. He quickly hung the phone up, and threw it against the brick wall. He must have thrown it harder than he realized, as it bounced off, slipped under the railing, and fell. Keith peered over his 11th floor balcony to see his phone in pieces on the pavement below. “Fucking great,” he thought, knowing he couldn’t afford another phone right away.

Priscilla yelled from two doors down, “turn off that damned music,” as she sat in her rocking chair, listening to the baseball game and petting her Corgi, Cheerio, who has tried to bite Keith on a variety of occasions. “That dog is as miserable as his bitch mother” thought Keith, who hated Priscilla and Cheerio. He walked slowly to the CD player, made eye contact with Priscilla, and turned up the volume. He could see her wrinkled toothless mouth moving quickly and spitefully, but the music was blaring so loud that he couldn’t hear a word of it. His bottle of Johnny Walker was almost empty, he grabbed the bottle, placed it to his lips, and chugged. When the bottle was good and empty, Keith leaned over the railing to toss it into the recycle dumpster which was below and to the left of his balcony. At the very moment Keith retracted his arm to throw the bottle, Priscilla yelled again about the music, and Keith lost his balance. The bottle fell first, 11 stories down, and smashed on the pavement. Time slowed down, Keith watched the bottle hit the ground, he turned his head and desperately reached out for the railing which was just beyond his grasp, he heard Priscilla’s shrill scream of terror, and it all went black.

REST IN PEACE

May 13th, 2015. Gallagher, Keith P.

Keith Gallagher has tragically passed away in an accident

outside his home in Birnam, Ohio this past Friday evening.

There are no funeral arrangements at this time.