Shabambo Writes Other Stuff Too

Meaningless (Spring 2024)

Marcus Clavell had found himself between a rock and a hard place. Ever the thrillseeker, Marcus had packed up his bags and drove four hours away in order to pursue his new favorite trend: caving. What’s more fun than traveling miles underground on a spelunking adventure for cool rocks? As a matter of fact, there are many things that the general populace would find more fun than that, but there was nothing general about Marcus. The words that I would use to describe him would be “reckless”, “geology”, and “major” in that order.
As it stood, Marcus was sandwiched between the low ceiling and high floor of the cave. The glistening rocks were a sight to behold, dazzling as they were in the light of Marcus’ special spelunking helmet that he got at a discount. He was forced to admire the beauty while writhing through the cave on his stomach. The only sound was the heavy breathing of Marcus and the splashing of the water beneath him as he continued to crawl through. Luckily, Marcus was a seasoned pro at caving. With his whole five months of experience, he knew that he had a handle on things. But still there was something eerie about it all.
Marcus knew that he was too young to die. Besides, all the heroes in the movies that he watches have some sort of scene before they die where they have a big heartfelt speech with the other main characters. He hadn’t had anything like that. Marcus grinned, using the logic of films to assure his immortality in this water-logged cave. But then again, if he didn’t have the profound Oscar-winning speeches, what did he have? Well, how about yesterday when he was talking to Trevor…

Marcus and Trevor were sat in their dorm doing their regular Friday night ritual of eating store-bought ramen and playing a video game that neither of them liked. Marcus’ desk was fashioned neatly with pictures of him and his girlfriend, an overwhelming amount of school supplies that didn’t get used, and the Walgreens version of Pepsi.
Trevor hunched over his computer screen that was surrounded by cans of cheap beer that doubled as terrible air fresheners. Along with that was a shattered picture frame of Trevor and someone Marcus had never met and likely wasn’t ever going to. Conversation was usually a bit light during this time, but Marcus decided to pipe up anyways.
“Hey. Hey, man.”
“What?” Trevor asked, taken slightly out of his groove.
“Did you hear what happened recently?”
“That could mean literally anything.”
“Did you hear that Neil Patrick Harris died?”
Trevor tore his eyes away from his game to look at Marcus, the look on his face betraying that he didn’t believe Marcus in the slightest. “Neil Patrick Harris isn’t dead, you fucking idiot.”
“No, dude, he is. I swear he is”
“You’re thinking of Matthew Perry.”
“I’m not thinking of Matthew Perry. Those are two completely different people.”
“Why would Neil Patrick Harris be dead?”
“I don’t think he chose to be dead. He just is.”
The two continued in silence for a few seconds as they let this information wash over them. Neither party was willing to admit that they were wrong in this discussion of Schroedinger’s Neil Patrick Harris. Marcus, always the thinker, then came up with a full-proof plan.
“Literally just Google it, dude. I swear, he’s dead.”
“I’m not gonna Google it.”
“You would rather choose to live in ignorance about the death of a beloved sitcom icon than admit that I’m right? That’s-”
“Yes.”
“That’s cold, Trevor. That’s really cold”
“Why don’t you just ask the robot about it?” Trevor gestured behind him to the Alexa that was plugged in on his desk. Marcus gave it a look of disdain. There was an untold rivalry between the two that no one could quite pinpoint the origin of.
“I’m not asking the robot,” Marcus retorted. “In a battle of man vs. machine, only human empathy can win. That robot has no empathy.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m just gonna Google it.” Marcus pulled out his phone and tried to divvy up the task of searching for a man’s death date while still playing his game. The search query went through cyberspace and provided Marcus with a result. A look of shame crossed his face that, were Trevor not focused on the game, would have been a clear sign of victory. “Yeah, he’s not dead.”
“Yeah, I know that he’s not dead.”
“I really thought-”
“Who told you he was dead?”
“I dunno. It was awhile ago. I already mourned and everything, dude.”
“You’re a fucking dumbass,” Trevor said with a laugh and the shake of his head. With that pressing matter out of the way, they could continue their game with Neil Patrick Harris’ death off of their conscience.