She disentangled herself from
the couch over a period of several hours.
There was definitely something
awake, or at least, starting to wake up, that was controlling this process. The
better part of her brain was still curled into what felt like a cat-size
configuration, vaguely content to be so far away from any augmented reality.
There were no hard-edges; only a fog in every which direction. A softness with
no discernible depth. But soon the lines started to appear and become more apparent.
What used to be miles of coastline suddenly became her legs. Her arms she folded
like Japanese cranes under her chin, cradling her head. Her chin digging into
the elbow crook felt hard as granite. Nothing this dense existed mere moments
ago.
Another
one was watching over her. Her hair tucked behind her ears, dark eyes following
the curvature of the sleeping face. Neither moved, only breathed in synchronization.
At length, a voice whispered, “Why didn’t you come sooner?”
Which
startled her. Her eyes opened at last to find the figure gone; the figure had
never been there. She moved at last, placing clammy palms across her warm
forehead: an effort that weighed more than it should have. The sluggish tongue stirred
in its sunless chamber, saliva thick. Her first clear thought was one of cold
water.
The coffee
table was littered with wrappers, and bottles. She had realized of course that
she’d taken too much again, but the thought was of no real consequence, and
carried not a single nuance of guilt or shame. Struggling to focus on the task
at hand, she lurched forward and stood erect, spine straightened almost in
defiance. A few stumbles later, and she was at the kitchen sink, drinking
greedily from the faucet amidst the small parish of dirty dishes.
She
finished with a groan, and lowered her body until she sat on the cheap linoleum
floor.
Where is my head today? she asked
herself.
Decidedly AWOL, came the reply.
She
smiled.
It
took a few more breaths before fighting to get back onto her feet once more. She
found her cell-phone had somehow climbed into her hand, and blearily scrolled
through the messages. There was a text left from the dark-eyed lovely, asking
for a drinking companion Thursday night.
This is a new development.
Wait, what day is it now?
The world was starting to come
through now, in more frequent and piercing gaps. Worked last night. Customer screamed at me for not being able to accept
her check. Not my fault. Told me I was worthless. That kind of aggression warrants some kind of
therapy.
The
bathroom mirror loomed into view, and she caught sight of herself, short curly
hair frizzed about her face and ears. She quickly smoothed it down, mouth and
brows starting to quirk into a frown.
The
face was alright, she decided,
pausing to lift her jaw slightly. It could pass. The neck was lithe and
slightly feminine, but do-able with a collared shirt. It was the breasts that
didn’t work.
She bent
to put on a sports bra. That was better, but still not optimal. How lovely it must be to feel the rain on one’s
chest, she thought sadly. To bare
shoulders and back in the summertime sun.
Without a warrant from the
police.
She pulled
on a tight tank-top to further hide the female form, followed by a pair of
black rimmed glasses. The face was starting to look… better. More comfortable
at least.
She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose,
to ward off the first pinpricks of a head-ache as more slices of the world came
filtering in. Zig-zagged nicks on my left forearm. Not deep. Only
recreational.
Is that whole bottle of vodka
empty?
God.
And
then, as she shouldered on her favorite blazer: Colly’s dead.
It
was the final piece to reality. The apartment walls felt hard and cold around
her, everything solid once more. Her chest hurt again, just as it did when she
first heard the voice on the other end of the line. She froze, half- dressed,
eyes dropped to the floor, mind now completely clear and drawing a sterile
blank.
Radio
static.
There was nothing to do. Nothing
she could do.
After
a couple seconds, her eyes shifted to the cell phone still in her hand. In some
altered state, she’d left a note for herself: a reminder and an alarm to go to
work. While reading, the headache blazed into full volume, and a tremor shot
through her spine.
This is only the start, said part of her
mind. Can’t work like this.
Don’t remind me, she snapped.
She
sat on the edge of the bed, in her men’s jeans and men’s haircut, bare feet
tucked into unlaced men’s converse. Her mind began to race as the shivering
intensified. The world dropped onto her head like a hailstorm.
Need to buy a toothbrush.
When is Colly’s funeral?
Should I bring flowers?
Supposed to set up a doctor
appointment yesterday.
Should call today.
Do I have enough paint to finish
that canvas?
Did Michelangelo have a last
name? How come I don’t know it?
Is my cell phone battery
lithium-ion or lithium-polymer?
Is the naming of the ilium (bone)
and the ileum (small intestine) have any linguistic relation to each other?
Each
thought dropped harder and faster, as her heart picked up speed as well. Soon
all she was left with was question marks thundering against the inside of her
cranium. With a sigh between gritted teeth, she pulled the vial from the breast
pocket of her blazer and swallowed a new tab. It turned to dust under her
tongue, and filled her mouth with the taste of plastic.
But
as she stood and grabbed her keys, the headache backed down, acquiescing. Heart rate and shivering vanished. Dense
thoughts dissipated, and the world became a little softer around the edges.
AWOL is a good place to be, she decided.
