Disposition

A Story by mapath

The night started out quiet, no noise to be heard. I was reaching into my back pocket to pull out a smoke. I fiddled in my coat pockets trying to locate my lighter. I put the smoke to my lips and raised a flame to ignite it. I inhaled, breathing in the smoke and the cold air, when I exhaled I made smoke rings, something my grandma taught me.

9:41pm and I am heading to his house. I moved here so I could be closer to him. And yet, I didn’t really want to see him. The last time we talked I was drunk and he was stoned. Our conversation ended when our bodies hit the bed and we had sex.

10:05pm. I arrive at his door. His door is unlocked. As I enter my ears are welcomed to “If I was swimming in the Caribbean.”

“Clark?”

“I’m in my room.”

I slowly danced my way to his room, reaching my hand out and stroking the wall. I closed my eyes and started singing the chorus to “where is my mind.”

“ Just in time.” Said a spaced out Clark.

“For what? And nice to see you too.” I said through a sarcastic smile.

“Well, I was just about to drop some acid.” He smiled a serpentine smile.

I walked over to his desk where he had lines of coke. I was impressed by his cleanliness, as my eyes scanned the room I would sense a case of OCD. Everything was perfect; nothing was unturned, untucked or messy. I assumed that even his porn collection would have been alphabetized and dated. I mean OCD, or what?

“Mind if I take a line?”

“Go ahead.”

He had already dropped the acid.

I sat down at the desk and snorted the white powder.

“Ah, that is the best.” I said as I dabbed my nose.

He just smiled at me he was beautiful when he was stoned.

I got up and noticed that there was no music playing.

“What happened to the music?”

Just as the words slipped through my teeth, music started flowing. It was a mix of white noise and techno.

“What is this s**t?” I snarled.

Clark was lying on the laminate floor his eyes were closed.

“I don’t want to explode in fear.” He said calmly.

I got on the floor and lay beside him putting my head on his shoulder.

“What are you fearing?” I asked him in a whisper.

He wrapped his skeleton fingers around my waist and pulled me closer.

“Nothing. I have nothing to fear.”

I looked up at him; he was gazing at the stars.

“I’m going to grab some whiskey.”

He was up and out of the room before I could move.

I got up slowly and lurched over to the desk. I snorted two more lines.

When I turned around he was laying back on the floor.

“I don’t have anything to fear when you’re around, insert name (Clark).”

I was too high at this point to show any emotion. Every move I made was in slow motion. I made my way to the floor again and feel asleep on his shoulder.

2:04am. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if I was awake. I felt numb, but my body was twitching, like that sensation you get from jumping on a trampoline. I had a sudden itch on my head. I scratched the itch and found that my hair felt all matted. I brought my hand to the front of my face. I ran my thumb under my index finger to see if I could feel anything. At this point I realized I was in complete darkness and that I was indeed awake. I moved my lumber legs and tried to get to my feet. Once I felt as though I was standing I moved in search of light and a mirror. I stalked around the room until I nudged against the wall; I would use the wall as a guide to navigate myself. As I made my way through the obscurity I could feel something warm trickling down the back of my neck. I turned around to be welcomed by the blackness of nothing and no one. I kept valid searching in emptiness. I suddenly remembered I was at Clark’s house.

“Clark?” I said in a horse whisper that stung my esophagus.

My trembling hands scanned over a plastic switch. I finally had light. But, once I flicked on the light I regretted it. My vision was fuzzy and capsized; it was like looking at everything through a fun house mirror. My mouth suddenly became dry and I felt like my insides were falling to pieces. I looked down at my hands and they were covered in a reddish black colour, they looked like swollen balloons ready to explode, when I touched them they felt natural. Moments later my eyeballs were progressing to the back of my head as I hit the rug under my feet.

I was accustomed to severe blackouts when I had cocaine in my bloodstream. I remember back when I was sixteen and snorting lines I would be gone within minutes. Chemical imbalance in my brain I suppose. However, when I was conscience again I was coherent, none of this fucked up vision and lumber legs.

-Insert Radiohead lyrics- (Fake Plastic Trees)

I could feel a cold breeze blowing my hair across my face and neck. I couldn’t open my eyelids they felt damp and heavy. I let my ears take over the situation and I could hear a muffled sound. It was the sound of an engine. Was I driving in a dream? I’ve had a million dreams where I am driving in an ice-cream truck and it stalls, falling through a giant pit and I am eaten alive truck and all by a gigantic octopus. I felt numb enough to be dreaming, but my thoughts were far to active to be in a slumber.

I had a sensation of a stubby hand suddenly on my thigh, was it mine? I clamped my hands together still feeling the stubby hand in the same place. I was lost for words I couldn’t compose a sentence out loud in this state. I didn’t find the hand dangerous; it felt kind of like a comforting/consoling touch, like everything was going to be okay.

7:45am. Orange entered my vision I jolted upwards. I was encased in a cozy blanket and noticed I was on Clark’s bed. He was on the ground smoking from his prized position: his bong. As I looked over at him mid toke he looked so innocent and fragile as he exhaled smoke billowed out of his mouth like a dragon and he looked almost sinister.

“Goood morning.” He half sung.

I yawned at him.

“I’m going to make a pot of coffee. And, no, you cant have any.” I said jokingly.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I’ve got my bottle of whiskey.” He winked at me.

I left the room and headed to the bathroom first. Once I entered the bathroom I strolled to the sink to look at my reflection, I was nervous. But, upon looking at myself I noticed nothing. No scratches or wounds. I looked my normal, dumb self. I took the opportunity to wash my face and brush my teeth.

I turned on the coffee and asked Clark if he wanted me to cook us breakfasts.

“I’ll be there in a second to help you.” He said

I replied with a meek, “Okay.”

He was in kitchen within a second like he assumed.

“I just bought groceries, did you want me to whip us up an omelet?” he said

“Sure.” I said as I kissed him on the cheek.

He grabbed my around the waist pulling me into his body. He rested his chin atop my head and nuzzled me. I closed my eyes feeling ever so safe in his long limbs. He looked down at me, I was gazing into his large hazel eyes and he was looking into my sapphire blue eyes. I put my finger on his mouth, tracing his lips, I moved my finger to his nose and poked the tip of it, and he scrunched up his face and smiled.

“You have the cutest face.” I murmured while reaching up to kiss his lips. He slid his hand towards the back of my neck and was sort of playing with my hair; I loved when he played with my hair.

“You are beautiful, inside and out.” He said honestly.

With those last words the coffee beeped and there sat a fresh cup of coffee. He reached over and handed to me.

“Thanks, elastic man.” I said cheekily.

“Now, I shall slay the stove and make us some breaky.” He said in a convincing British accent.

“I’ll chop the vegetables and grate the cheese if you want to slay the stove.” I laughed

“Alright, but watch out, I cook a mean omelet.”

After I chopped and grated I sat at the table and watched him prepare the omelet. “What a silly goof.” I said in my head as I smiled into my coffee cup.