Occasionally, here at Rotten Cotton we like to open the doors and let a guest columnist write about a subject they’re passionate about. Today’s guest columnist is Mitch Cassidy, high school janitor, and he wants to know: Do you Believe in Soul Mates?
Do you believe in soul mates? I had a feeling you would. I’ve noticed that you read the horoscopes every morning in the cafeteria before you go to your English class. You always leave the paper on the table after you finish reading it. It’s okay though, I don’t mind cleaning up after you. After all, it is my job to pick up after you students.
I pick the papers up for you; and I do it with a smile on my face. I then take the newspapers home and I shred them up into little pieces. I use the scraps of paper and some of my semen to construct little papier-mâché figurines of you in different poses. I put my little statuettes on my bedside table and I sleep better at night while you watch over me.
I know what your thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m not a weirdo stalker or anything. It’s not like that at all.
I’m your soul mate. We’re allowed to love each other that way.
You may be asking yourself how I’m so certain I’m your soul mate. To me, it’s as clear as the day. But if you want proof, look at the little things. Like the way you smiled at me last month when I gave you that paper towel after you had spilled milk on your shirt. You looked like you were about to cry and I gave you that towel and I could instantly see a big smile creep upon your face. I still have that paper towel. It’s framed on my wall — right next to your used Kleenex and the midterm report card that you crumpled up so your parents wouldn’t see the F you got in Math.
Don’t worry though, I won’t tell Mom and Dad about your deception. That’ll be our little secret. That’s what we soul mates do; we look out for each other. Like when that senior creep Billy Myers said “Hi” to you last semester. You smiled back at him, but my soul mate sixth sense told me you felt he crossed the line.
The police still haven’t found Billy’s body and they won’t either; the students ate it. I guess you could say that we served Sloppy Billys that day. Ha Ha.
But seriously, I cut him up and mixed his corpse into that day’s processed meat.
Our lives just have this weird way of intersecting. Remember that car accident that your mother was in last year? My sister’s son’s babysitter’s boyfriend was right down the street pumping his gas when it happened. Isn’t that so weird?
Stuff like that happens all the time. Two months ago, I was taking a break from mopping the floors and I was eating a Popsicle when I saw you gliding down the hall like an angel. You were talking to your best friend, Kristy McMullen and you wouldn’t believe it, but your shirt was the same color as my Popsicle: green! How bizarre is that?
I took that Popsicle home right then and there and put it in my freezer. I still have it in there — right next to the turd you forgot to flush down the toilet last November.
With those kinds of uncanny happenings, how can anybody help but realize our astronomical compatibility? I’ve known about our soul mate status for a while now and soon you’ll realize it too.
I remember staying late last year, giving the school bathroom a final clean, just so I could catch a glimpse you as your mom picked you up from theatre practice.
I used to say to myself, “Mitch Cassidy, how weird is it that your soul mate’s mom drives the same exact car that your mother’s neighbor drives?”
Then I realized it wasn’t that weird. It’s just something that happens to us soul mates. It’s just God’s way of pointing out our shared destiny.
I do believe that we’re meant to be together. Why else would you have the same name as my pet turtle? Sure, I may have named my turtle after you, but I don’t think I would have been “inspired” to do that if it wasn’t for fate’s hand in the matter.
Sometimes, I lay in my bed at night, nestled underneath the quilt that I sewed from your used tampons that I rescued from your bathroom trashcans those nights I’ve snuck into your home while you slept, and I stare at the photo collage on my wall and stroke my lucky lock of your hair and dream about our future together.
Then, while I gingerly touch my bathing suit area, I dream about the day I propose to you and I cry uncontrollable tears of happiness as I hear you say “I Do” at our wedding. I name our kid (Mitch Jr.) and picture our family vacations (Sea World). I look forward to even the smallest things, like when I’ll cover you with honey and lick every inch of your body while our only son flogs us with grapes.
Oh yeah, I definitely look forward to the sex.
Follow Robert “Mitch Cassidy” Saucedo on Twitter at @robsaucedo2500.