A Quiet Piece of Longing – Twelve

I was having another dream. I was lost somewhere in the arctic. The freezing wind blew ice and snow in all directions. I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of me. I was out there in the cold, sightless and completely alone. But then, a black goat appeared. “Follow me.” It said, and I did.

It led me through the icy wasteland. Down a snowy hill, through the fog, and to an igloo just over the horizon. Finally, I had found civilization.

I went inside the igloo and, yet again, transformed into a child version of myself. The goat was there, too. A man in a parka sat by the fire, cooking fish. He picked it off a stick and took a bite. From behind me, the goat said one word: “Satan.”

Then, more goats appeared from the doorway. “Satan.” They all said.

“Satan. Satan. Satan.” They chanted.

They began surrounding me and chanting that single word over and over again. Getting closer by the minute. And then, when they touched me, I woke up.

I was in bed, at a motel in Portland, Oregon. The blinds were closed by sunlight still shone through. I looked at the alarm clock. It was eleven at night. I had a slight hangover, too. But when didn’t I wake up with a hangover?

It was here I experienced an intrusion of memory. I had just gotten off at the bus stop and was walking home. My family was lucky enough to live in the suburbs. We didn’t have to survive in a run down apartment complex. But it’s not like we were rich, either. Our house had paint peeling at the edges and dust on the windows. Lower-middle class, I’d say.

When I got to the front door, I could immediately hear shouting. My father had gotten drunk again. I took a sharp breath and went inside. They were standing in the kitchen arguing. “Well, if she’s so important to you, why don’t you go and fuck her! Huh?”

“Listen, you little fucking whore!” And then the slap.

I was shook back to reality. That memory felt all too real. As if I was in freshman year again, just stepping off the bus once again. I felt something, too. An insidious fear that crawled up my spine. And strangely enough, a desire to murder my father. It was time to go for a drive.

Hopping into my car, I took a hit off a weed pipe and relaxed. The edge was gone. The utter hell I was feeling inside had been vanquished. Albeit for a short time.

There was a main road that cut all the way through Portland. I followed this road. And considering I was high, I had forgotten to turn my brights off. So I was just blinding everyone. But the weed settled and so did the hangover. I was as good as new. And across the way, I could see houses and lights shimmering in the dark. That’s what it is like to drive stoned, and just a little drunk.

I pulled into a parking lot overlooking a hill. I parked right at the edge of the plateau and watched the train pass. It carved it’s way through the fields and hills. But then, the numbness hit. The dreadful feeling. Now, what would make the numbness go away? More drugs, of course! It’s not like I had anything stopping me. So I grabbed two tabs and let it dissolve on my tongue.

I decided to go for a little walk. I was right in the middle of town. And downtown was just a couple miles away. The richy-rich side of Des Moines, was a mile in the opposite direction. And behind me, the poor seedy area, where me and other gremlins stayed.

And I did just that. I put my two feet in front of me and walked. I even found snipes and roaches on the ground. The train station could be seen just up ahead, and a train passed right through it. Even at night, the town still didn’t sleep. Imagine it, a whole nation of people who cannot sleep. I think I suddenly have the best idea for a book.

I stopped for a breather next to a tattoo shop. A mini-mart was in front of me and I debated buying a tallboy. Just for the night. Something to warm my stomach and comfort the noise inside my head. We all have noise in the head. Some have worse static than others. Some only have CRT lines baked into their skull. But the amount of static does not cause how harsh the effect of the static actually is.

The acid began to hit and I was feeling warped. Like I was just one degree off reality. Everything was tilted. I wandered into the mini-mart and grabbed myself a beer just like I wanted too. Then I went behind to the back parking lot and sat down. I cracked open the beer. And if I was going to be arrested one more time, this’d be the perfect time for a piglet to show up.

From the dark of the beer can, shadowy faces stared back at me. I was suddenly drinking alphabet soup, but not the PG-rated kind. Up ahead, the stars shimmered fanciful colors and shapes. Reds, blues, and purples. I could almost imagine a ship piloted by aliens, sailing the black expanse.

But in front of my very eyes, the old fire station transformed into my childhood home. I puffed on my stick of cancer as the door opened and shadowmen sprinted inside. The house began to vibrate and shake like a can under pressure. It would be sure to pop anytime soon. The house settled and from inside a window I saw my mother sitting at the dining table.

A shadow woman came around the corner and sat next to me. “Got a light?” She asked. “I really need a smoke.”

“Sure. Why do you need it so bad?” I lit the cigarette for her and smoke rose in the air.

“Life’s not working out. I feel that I’ve travelled too far from home.”

“I’ve travelled far, too. And life never works out.”

“It’s like, imagine you’re living on Mars and you’re all alone.”
“And that’s how you feel?” I said.

The shadow woman nodded. “It’s like I’m the only human being who exists.”

She turned her head and pressed her ear to me. But it began to grow until it had taken up her entire face. What was once a beautiful woman had transformed into a grotesque abomination of sound and flesh. A living sound-collector. Then, she disappeared. It had all been my imagination.

The world turned into a kaleidoscope, refracting all sorts of color and sounds and light. I decided some music would be good for this trip. But how was I to listen to it? I had decided to get high and left my earbuds in the car. I was never sober, not one bit. On this long and winding journey, I existed somewhere in between buzzed and total blackout drunk, always.

I hiked back to the car and found that it had turned into an orange cat. The wheels were it’s paws, the headlights were it’s yellow cat eyes, and a tail was sticking out from the trunk. I put my cigarette out and stepped into the cat-mobile.

Next to me, a shadowy silhouette appeared. No face. No texture on the skin. Just a black void taking up space in the material world. “Turn left.” It said.

I decided to obey it and turned left. “Hey, dude?” I said.

“Yes?”

“I know you’re only a figment of my mind, right? You’re my subconscious. And since you’re my subconscious, I feel like you can answer something for me.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m about to be completely broke. I’m completely alone. I don’t feel real myself and this world doesn’t feel real. What the hell should I do?”

It laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You don’t understand. It’s just funny.”

“What don’t I understand? Come on! Out with it!”

“Everything in life is temporary. Everything dies. Whether you’re feeling good or bad, it has to end some time. Time kills all things. Even the bad moments. And especially the good moments.”

The shadow disappeared. I pulled into an empty lot, just above a streetlight buzzing off and on. There was no one around but me. I reclined back in my seat, and closed my eyes.