Am I Here?(Oh, Really)

"Why the Hell would that be the first thing you'd tell me about?" she asked. "Your suicide attempt. Really? Why would you open up with something so dark?"
     I finished my glass of beer with a sigh of total satisfaction.
     "I swear, this has got to be the greatest beer on the planet," I said, refilling my glass from the pitcher. "If not, at least the country."
     "Hey, you gonna answer my question?" Her brow raised, irritated.
     "Oh, yes, of course," I said. "Sorry about that. Um, that's just my style. When I tell a long story, I like to start with the beginning-of-the-end, then rewind to the beginning where I choose to begin telling the story leading up to where I truly began telling the story to begin with."
     There was a long moment of silence. I sipped some of my beer, about ready to continue telling her my story. Instead, she broke the silence.
     "What the fuck did you just say?" she asked, bemused. "I can't figure -- what the -- are you too drunk, or something?"
     "Well, yeah," I replied. "Anyways -- look, I understand you lack of understanding. You expected something you didn't get, because I'm not the type to give those like you what they expect."
     Her hands covered her eyes as she grimaced in frustration, baring her pearly white teeth.
     "You're talking to me in circles," she said, hands still over her eyes. "I get your type of character."
     "What type would that be?" I inquired.
     "The poetic type, always speaking as if everything at all times is the most beautiful it can be, and every word coming out of your mouth makes perfect sense, but only to you."
     "What?" I said. "I don't get what you mean. I'm not a poet."
     Her hands dropped from over her eyes. She said, "All I'm trying to say is that the impact of what you just told me was rather uneventful to me as a listener. You treated the worst moment of your life as if it were equivalent to locking your keys in the car right in front of your locked house."
     I burst out laughing a little too loud, startling the bartender bringing us our burgers and fries. When I noticed he almost dropped the plates of food, I covered my mouth.
     "Sorry about that, man," I struggled to say. "It's just what she said was the best simile I've ever heard in my life."
     "Whatever, dude," the bartender said. "Do you need anything else?"
     "No. I'm good, man. Thank you."
     Eyeing me for a second, he turned, and walked back inside the bar.
     "Your criticism is illegibly noted in my brain," I said to her, "because I'm now too drunk to care about what you think of me. Why are you even complaining? You bought the damn beer. Remember, you said that thing about 'liquid courage.'"
     "I know, I know," she said, "but it's just nice to start from the beginning. It's better to be linear when it comes to telling the story of your life, Olavi."
     "Like the day I was born? Don't you think that's a bit of a cliche, as if I'm dictating some kind of manifesto. I hate manifestos."
     "No," she said, a little frustrated again. "I just want to hear where you choose to begin telling your life story. It could be when you were a teenager, or when you were in college."
     "I never went to college," I informed.
     "Really?" she asked, surprised. "Then what was with that C.S. Lewis quote?"
     "I, uh, read a lot, do some internet research on occasion, and -- not that I'm boasting to impress you -- I have a pretty good memory."
     "All I'm trying to say, Olavi, is that I want to hear your words straight from your heart and soul. And since you do as you please: no inhibition, and no restraint."
     I sat back in my chair, rubbed my chin, and considered what she had just said. It was the first time in my life I decided to heed someone's advice.
     But first I said: "Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way."
     "I thought you weren't a poet," she said.
     "It's from Bret Easton Ellis' novel Lunar Park," I told her.
     She sighed.
     "Look, my suicide attempt was not the darkest moment in my life. What happened two years later was truly dark, where I couldn't see the world around me."
     "What possibly could be worse than an attempted suicide?" she asked. "Did you... lose someone close to you?"
     I lit myself another cigarette. For a moment I averted her eyes, looking at the ashtray on the table.
     "Well, you'll just have to be patient, being that you want me to work my way to that point in my story."
     I looked back up at her.
     "Good," she said, visibly pleased, grinning and nodding her head in approval. "I can't wait."
     "Give the people what they want, as the saying goes. I won't begin when I was in high school. Nothing much happened to me there of any significance anyway. Just went to school, then back home to do homework, and then play video games. And after I graduated, spent a semester at a city college, dropped out, then got a job with a shipping company where I threw -- I mean, handled customer's packages inside a warehouse."
     I stopped talking for a moment to give her a smile and wink.
     Then I said, "I know what a girl like you wants."
     "And what's that, boy?" she asked.
     I leaned forward in my chair, and said, "The day I fell in love with Summer."
     "Doesn't everyone love Summer?" she said.
     "No, not the season," I said. "Her name was Summer."