Plastic Emotions
 

Although his eyelids felt as though they were being glued down by cement, after the third or fourth time he woke up and went back to sleep, Chuck finally gave into social norms and felt his vertebrae snap as he rose from his bed. He saw on his clock that is was already noon, and frankly, he just got the best sleep he had attempted all weekend. It dwarfed the meager blinks of sleep he got in the hotel room. Not that the hotel had shoddy beds or anything like that--but with another day of Comic-Con waiting for him the next morning, how could he sleep?
As he collected his thoughts and struggled to remember what day it was, Chuck realized that he was still wearing his brown, medieval boots from his Link cosplay. He was apparently so exhausted he simply forgot to remove them before passing out. He kicked them off and flung them into his closet along with the green hat and shirt that made up the rest of his costume. He wriggled his toes, freeing them for the first time at least 48 hours or so. He walked dizzily to his phone on the nightstand. 16 new messages.If less than half of them were from his mother, Chuck was sure he’d get one more message from his new nephew, Donkey Kong, as he would be promptly labeled a monkey’s uncle.
As he predicted, about ten of the sixteen messages were from his mother. As he read the texts he could practically hear the nasally Brooklyn accent of the woman that gave birth to him sting his ears. With her massive, black hair, heavy makeup, and wardrobe that consists largely of leopard print, Chuck considered his mother something ripped directly out of a sitcom based on the life of a sardonic Jewish comedian. The messages consisted of;
“Are you home?”
“Home yet?”
“Call me”
What followed was a little yellow head that seemed to make a face, the intentional expression of which Chuck failed to be entirely positive.
“Chuck call me.”
And a continuation of a similar pattern. For the sake of breaking the chain where it hanged then and there, Chuck inhaled through his nostrils and braced himself as he hit the call button.
“Chuck?”
“Hey, ma.”
“Good lord, ya scared me.”
“I just woke up, ma.”
“Are you staying up too late?”
“No, ma, just tired from Comic-Con.”
“Did ya take your pills before you went to sleep?”
“Yeah, ma.”
“Did ya get the phone number for that florist I wanted.”
“Yeah, ma.”
In her ever familiar fashion, Chuck’s mother would ask a question in a most urgent of tones, receive an answer, and utterly pounce onto a totally new subject as if the previous didn’t exist.
“Now.” Chuck’s mother said, which never prefaced terribly good news. “I was talkin’ to Julia--you know Julia, right? From the salon? Her daughter just got a divorce and  I was thinkin’ you two might make a great pair. She’s blonde...you like blondes, right? You always liked the blonde girls. Right? I remember you always had a crush on the blondes when you were a little one.”
Chuck put the phone down, but didn’t hang up. He rose from his seat and poured himself a glass of lemonade from the fridge, and returned to the phone. He picked it up to find in all of this allotted time, his mother had yet to finish talking, remaining on the same, uninterrupted line of tangents.
“...and ya just never really stuck to anyone since you broke it off with that awful Gloria girl. Ya don’t still have feelings for her, do you? I hope not, my son can do much better than that skinny stick of a lady.”
“Okay, sure ma. Where’s Julia meeting me?”
“You really wanna do it? I am so proud of you! Last few times I tried to set you up it took ten minutes of grumbling and arguing for me to convince you to go.”
“Yeah I guess so.”
“Anyway, Julia is gonna be at that coffee place on the corner from your apartment at Two o’clock sharp, okay?”
“Two...o’clock. Got it.” Chuck stated without writing anything down.
“Okay, and remember, don’t walk into a date expecting to fall in love, just walk in expecting to have fun.”
“Right, right. Okay. I will. I will. I already did. Okay--yeah. I love you too, Ma. B--bye.”
Chuck dropped his phone as if it were heavy as a dumbbell. Any conversation with his mother was just more tiring than anything.
As he dropped two waffled into the toaster, Chuck pulled a pair of jeans over his legs and poured himself a little more lemonade. His phone rang again.
“Hey, dude. I get off work at 1:30--I can be over there by two o’clock.”
“Two? Sounds awesome. I have nothing planned.”
Whenever Dillon came over, his grin was wide as his hands were shaky as he carried whatever video game system under his arm and a stack of various disks and cartridges in the opposite grasp.
“Kyle couldn’t come.”
“Whatever, Kyle’s a piece of crap, anyway.”
“Yeah, pretty much. I got Worms.”
“What?”
“Worms.”
“...You got worms?”
“Yeah.”
“...Where did you get worms?”
“...The Gamestop?”
“Who gave you worms in the Gamestop?”
“The...guy at the counter.”
“So...you walked into Gamestop. And the clerk gave you worms?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he give you worms?”
“Because I asked for it.”
“Wh--what?!”
“I saw Worms on the shelf.” Dillon finally showed Chuck his copy of Worms for the XBox. “So I asked for it, and the clerk gave me Worms. That’s how I got Worms.”
Chuck was silent, stunned by the misunderstanding and his own momentary lapse of common sense. “Oh...right.”
“Anyway, dude, remember that girl in the Wonder Woman costume?” Dillon brought up. “Totally got her digits.”
“Great.” Chuck shot back in an almost automatic manner. He did so in a voice that was just barely above the line of monotone to give an impression other than total apathy.
“Hey, what about that Lara Croft you were eyeing?” Dillon was on his knees, plugging the various ends of the XBox cables into the wall and TV.
“Well, what about her?”
“Did you get her number?”
“Not really, no.”
“Oh.” Dillon was clearly a little disappointed. “Well you can always Facebook her.”
“I could.” Chuck sheepishly said. “If I caught her name.”
“What? Why not?”
“I mean, I guess I could’ve, if I talked to her.”
Dillon dropped the cables and looked over at Chuck with a look that blended concern and frustration and made a sour drink that made Chuck immensely uncomfortable.
“This is about Gloria, huh?”
Chuck didn’t talk. He just bit the inside of his cheek and released a good deal of air from his nostrils.
“Have you even talked to a girl besides your Mom since you and Gloria split?”
“Well...we were a thing for two years, y’know?”
“I know. You say that every time the subject comes up.”
Chuck rose from the couch and looked over at his shelf as every memory rushed back. Gloria wanted Chuck to ‘grow up’, as she began to fill a trash bag with the various plastic figures that adorned his shelf. Chuck walked in just as Captain America had taken a descent into the plastic bag of no return, and he managed to snap at Gloria as her long, red fingernails began to reach for Green Lantern. The two argued, which resulted in Chuck raising his voice for the first time in their relationship’s span, which in turn resulted in Spider-Man getting flung out a window. Gloria walked out of Chuck’s apartment for the last time that evening. Chuck looked at Spider-Man, which he managed to find on the street below his apartment and salvage, the act of which was nothing short of a miracle. The dried glue that leaked out of Spider-Man’s shoulder acted as the only thing that held together now severed arm--and acted as a stinging reminder of the ordeal.
“I just...need a kickstart, y’know?” Chuck admitted
“You had a chance for a kickstart! With Lara Croft girl! And with Phoebe from work! And with that hot barista with the tongue ring. And you chickened out every time!”
“Look, Dillon, y’know how you need job experience to get a job? But if you’re looking for your first job, it’s like, you don’t have any experience? So you need experience to get experience? It’s kinda like that!”
“So, you need a rebound to get a rebound? Is that what you’re saying, Chuck?”
“I guess. Yeah.”
Dillon exhaled as he returned his Xbox to his bag.
“Dillon, c’mon, don’t get mad.”
“I’m not mad.” He responded in a tone that was clearly mad.
“You just don’t wanna play Worms anymore?”
“Chuck, I’m about to do you a huge favor. Just...wait right here.”
“What are you doing?” Chuck’s voice rose gradually, his irritation with being in the dark as to what exactly was going on intensifying.
“Y’know how the ending of the Lego Movie was like, really, really good and you got mad at me when I spoiled it?”
“Yeah.”
“Same case here. Just wait.” Dillon said as he promptly left.
Chuck, anxiety boiling, bided his time. He emptied a can of Ravioli into a bowl and put it in the microwave. All he could do is brace himself for something stupid. If Dillon was involved, it had to be. He gave a good deal of thought to what Dillon had said. It wasn’t so much that he still had so much harbored feelings still for Gloria, it was more so fear that laid in his stomach. I mean, if one monster of a woman could cost him Spider-Man’s arm, what could be next? The Lara Croft girl could get mad and tear off Superman’s head. Phoebe from work, in a drunken rage, could easily rip Iron Man’s legs from the rest of his body, and god knows what the Barista with the tongue ring would do if she got her hands on the Flash.
Chuck wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much for the welfare of his figures. Even he knew they were toys, he even called them as such. He wasn’t one of those overly pretentious collectors that insisted on calling them action figures or collector’s items, they were toys. Chuck remembered how he felt when he found Spider-Man’s separated arm in the dirt, a few feet away from where Gloria had mercilessly flung the rest of his body. It was like Spider-Man, being fictional and inanimate, couldn’t feel pain, so it all just projected onto Chuck.
If he was beginning to feel this emotionally attached to his toys, maybe Gloria was right. Maybe it was time to throw them out. He took a good, hard look at his first toy. Wolverine, his plastic claws pointing outward, a permanent sneer on his plastic face. Maybe the issue didn’t lie with the fact that he was too attached to his toys. Maybe the toys were his emotions. He had been collecting them for as long as he could remember. They were a part of him. When Gloria tried to dispose of them, he was trying to dispose of a chunk of Chuck’s being. When she threw one out the window out of nothing but spite and hatred, she did the same to Chuck, in a way. It was then Chuck realized that Gloria didn’t truly love him. She only loved the parts of him, and wanted to eliminate the parts that she didn’t.
A chill ran down Chuck’s spine as he finished his own self-diagnosis. He did tend to wonder about those rare moments in which one played therapist with themselves. Was it just a natural thing humans do after a long enough period of thinking? Maybe it was some outer force. Some watchful eye that decides, ‘This loser has been suffering enough’, and uses its power to send one the epiphany by magic.
Chuck was so caught up in his own head, he was absolutely startled by a knock at the door. His body hands were cold, not because his room was particularly cold, but because of how one’s body can get chills and cold just by thinking enough about the wrong things. He quickly dug his hands under his arms in an attempt to warm them before reaching for the door. He pulled the door open to reveal an unfamiliar woman. At least, that’s Chuck assumed lied under mountains of make up. Her jaw swinged in a circular motion repeatedly as a stick of pink gum was pulverized by her teeth.
“Chuck?”
“Uhm...yeah.”
“Then I have the right apartment.” the strange woman welcomed herself inside. “If I knocked on one more incorrect door they would’ve kicked me out for sure.”
Chuck didn’t notice just how scantily clad the woman was until he saw her outfit from behind.
“Uh...I don’t mean to be rude, but, uh…”
“I don’t got the wrong Chuck, do I? Ya buddy Dillon sent ya?”
God damn it.
“Look...Miss, uh…”
“Silvia.”
“Silvia, honestly, Dillon did this totally without my consent. I’m just not really into this kind of thing, y’know.”
The aggravation on Silvia’s face was the most apparent thing in the world at that moment.
“I mean, I’ll still pay you for your troubles, but your...services...won’t be...necessary.” Chuck hoped to god that was the correct terminology.
“Fine.” Silvia shrugged. “No skin off my bones. But is it cool if I hang here for just a sec? Just so my boss doesn’t get suspicious.”
“Oh,” Chuck’s shoulders quickly jutted upward, squeezing his neck in the middle. “By all means. Take a seat.” Silvia did so, at the foot of Chuck’s bed. What followed was an awkward silence that it would take a dozen of chainsaws to cut short.
“So...ya want something to drink?”
“Got any soda?”
“I’ve got...Squirt.”
“I love Squirt.” Silvia smirked a little, a reaction that acted as a U-turn for Chuck.
“Okay...I’ll get you one.” This was like the plot twist of the century. Chuck loved Squirt, it was his favorite soda, and he always kept a case in the fridge. If Chuck could only drink one soda for the rest of his life, it would be Squirt, but he oftentimes felt like the only person that felt this way. Whenever someone wanted soda, they would react to his offering of Squirt with outright confusion or disgust, if they had even heard of it. It had gotten to the point that Chuck would offer Dillon a Squirt just to give him a hard time. You wouldn’t believe how much money Chuck saved when he no longer had to buy a case of Gloria’s favorite soda, the bland and cringeworthy Sierra Mist, to keep in the fridge next to his.  It felt downright unfamiliar to pull more than one can out of the Squirt box in his fridge. By the time he returned, Chuck’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Silvia was looking over his shelf.
“This Wonder Woman?” Silvia said.
“Uh...yeah.” Chuck confirmed as he handed Silvia the can.
“I used to love Wonder Woman when I was a girl. She was always so strong and tough. My mom didn’t like her, though.” Silvia opened the can. “Said she was a bad influence, that she’d make me grow up to be a whore.” Silvia drank from her soda. “Go figure.”  
Chuck wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, so he just nodded and drank some of his own Squirt.
“I think I might’ve had a Wonder Woman toy just like this, though. With the Lasso and crown, and outfit just like this.” Silvia gingerly picked the toy up off the shelf. “Yeah, she had the stars here, and eyes just like this.”
“Do you know what happened to your Wonder Woman...toy?” Chuck asked.
“I think my Mom threw it out.” Silvia shrugged. “She was mad as hell that my dad bought it for me.”
“Funny thing is, I bought this at a garage sale.”
Silvia looked at Chuck, as if he had just told her that her lost puppy that ran away had come home.
“You can have that one.” Chuck choked out. “I mean, I can find another Wonder Woman.”
“Nah.” Silvia placed the Wonder Woman toy where it exactly was before. “Without Wonder Woman, the Justice League is just a bunch of beefy guys.”
Had Dillon or Gloria said something like that, Chuck wouldn’t have hesitated to correct them, as this simply wasn’t true. There was Hawkgirl, Black Canary, the Huntress, but somehow, in this particular instance, the urge was easily resisted.
“Well, it’s been about a half hour since I left. I’ll get outta your hair.”
Silvia stepped for the door, a motion that only took a second but felt like an hour in Chuck’s head. He bit his tongue. He swallowed a ton of air. And then…
“Wait.”
Silvia stopped in her tracks.
“If you give me your number, I can look online for a Wonder Woman just like that one.”
“Add me on Facebook. Gertrude Fitzgerald.”
“Gertrude?”
“Who would you rather call for a one night stand? Silvia or Gertrude? Know what I mean?”
“Right.”
“See ya ‘round, Chuck.”
And the door shut.
Chuck turned around before opening up his laptop. He began to search for Gertrude Fitzgerald, hit ‘Send Friend Request’, and waited.