Small Pieces

One time, at the peak of a mushroom trip, Jane threw up. Lurched over the toilet bowl afterward, staring down at her own bile floating on top of the water, she realized it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She'd never be able to describe or explain why it was, except that it was. For some reason observing her regurgiated contents swirling, creating murky patterns in the toilet water briefly instilled in her the greatest sense of peace and love she'd ever know. It was overwhelming, and she broke into a fit of hysterical tears. It was just so god damn beautiful to her, in way which linguistics fails to replicate. After this experience, she broke into a hysterical fit of tears everytime she encountered vomit or vomiting. Her seven-year old son, Winston, caught a stomach bug that was going around the school district. He spent almost two entire days on the couch, in a fever. Each and every time he rushed into the nearby bathroom, on the brink of losing his lunch, she'd violently burst out the waterworks. "What's the matter with you? He'll be fine. He's just got a stomach bug, that's all. There's no need to get emotional about it," her husband, Troy, would say to her, and she'd just nod repeatedly unable to say a word as if gripped by a spectre. Troy would simply shake his head, go into the kitchen, grab a beer from the fridge, and chalk his wife's bizarre behavior up to the time of the month. If only she could articulately explain to him how she felt in that state, share with him for a brief moment the absolute, almost frightening, sense of peace and beauty that consumed her. But she couldn't, he'd never understand. She herself barely understood it herself. 

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"Hey man, lend me a twenty. I'll get you back at midnight when my check hits my account." Fats was always schemeing so, I had to sigh before asking the obvious question, "Who do you owe money to?"

Fats' face lit up with child-like amusement, he knew that I knew him all too well, barely able to stifle his laughter he almost facetiously defended himself, "What makes you think I owe anyone anything man, who do you think I am?"

I answered with that stare that asked him, "are  you serious?" This was followed by a brief silent tension which was cut by the two of us bursting into almost mechanical laughter. That's what true friendship is all about, being able to call someone out on their bullshit and having it end with you both nearly doubled over in laughter. Its all about those moments where he knows its bullshit, he knows you know its bullshit, and the barriers collapse.

Fats finally stopped laughing, caught his breath and told me straight, "Joel. I don't owe him money though, for real. He just won't front me a bag, and I need it."

I knew there was more to the story, "Why do you need it right now? Why can't it wait till later when you have your money in the bank?"

Fats chuckled again, and told me not to "worry about it" which confirmed by hypothesis. My twenty would only be a plot coupon in some grand overarching scheme of his.  

Reviews

[Cody Baldwin]

About 'Jane': Love the idea. I don't know s**t about Bukowski but I know he wrote very raw and visually and graphically, and the description of the beauty in the vomit made me feel that it's very Bukowskian. Also a well-written observation of a common occurrence: the woman finding beauty in something so minute and construed as disgusting by others, and being unable to articulate that beauty to anyone else.

About 'Dan ;)': Such a true observation of his character, and not offensive nor critical. I really like the breakdown where you kind of break the fourth wall and talk about friendship. Very nice.