Dragonfly - Chapter 1
Sometimes even reincarnation screws you. I’d heard all of these wonderful stories about having a regression. People were cured of lifelong pathological habits. An alcoholic friend of mine stopped drinking and another overcame her fear of flying. Others found out they were someone famous or finally understood ambitions which had driven them since the day they were born. Me? Not so much.
I decided to get regressed on a lark. Mostly, I guess it was because I have no driving ambition or deep seated issue. I lead a mundane life. It’s full of the average number of ups and downs, I suppose. Just living day to day and week to week, working to pay the bills, playing on weekends, having an occasional date. Whenever I talked about reincarnation with someone, we decided that I had very little karma or dharma racked up, hence the ordinary flow to my life. So, I figured I’d be regressed, have a little adventure and discover something unique about being me. Then I’d go on with my life with have an interesting story to tell.
Well, it is interesting alright. Just not in the way I expected it would be. Turns out I only have memory of one previous life. And in that one, I was a bug.
Yes. A bug. I was born, crawled around, took a nap, woke up, then got eaten by a frog. On the plus side this finally explains my dislike for amphibians, but it doesn’t go much deeper than that.
And I wasn’t even a cool bug. Like a butterfly, bumblebee or a praying mantis. Now that I could live with. I’d have been beautiful, able to communicate or very intelligent. But I got to be none of those. Oh, no. I got stuck with being a dragonfly. Regardless of the facts about them just look at the name. Dragons are fierce. Flies are filthy. Fierce filth. That’s me. And then there is that whole living for 24 hours thing, which I discovered is not actually true. Well, not usually. In my case it was. Busted out of my nymph skin one morning then wrapped up my day in a frog’s belly.
So, there I was in the hypnotist’s office remembering flying; warm sunlight and the tasty crunch of a gnat when he interrupts me to say, “Your history will repeat itself.”
Great. And that message helped me how?
Answer: it hasn’t. This was not an interesting story to tell at parties. I take that back, it would be but not if you are single like me and actually wish to be perceived as neither fierce nor filthy. Oh, and not new agey either. I mean, my dating isn’t much to begin with. I am not dramatic enough to be called edgy and sought after by panting hoards. Nor am I so kind and sweet that the jocks adore and protect me. Having been an insect, and willing to admit to that fact, would do nothing to strengthen my already lukewarm reception to men.
And then, there are the dreams. I’ve only had a few, but then I was only regressed two weeks ago. And I had one again last night. I can’t even really remember it but I remember the way it felt. It felt intense. The verdant algae was pungently full of promise. I sensed my muscles tensing, coordinating and working to achieve that first flight then flawlessly obeying my command. I dipped and dove and sailed over still waters.
Thank god I woke up before the sticky frog tongue found me.
Sometimes it does. There is nothing quite like knowing your life is ending after only just learning to fly. Actually, I think I overdramatize that. As a bug, I could’ve cared less. It sucked, dying that day, but it was what it was. Some sort of Circle of Life crap, I suppose. But when the tongue sticks to me in the dream I sure as hell am not happy or content with it. I am screaming “no” in my dragonfly way and really, really pissed at having my flight interrupted so soon after I figured out how.
But now was not the time to dwell on it. Being Saturday, it was my last day to redeem myself for being late five days in a row. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, peeing and brushing in record time before flying out the door to catch the bus. Then life slowed to a snail’s crawl. I found myself looking at the other people around me. They were weird. Good weird for the most part. Mostly just people like me, trapped in their own lives, staring out the window and trying not to be noticed. Heading to jobs which were pointless and endless but somehow adding to the fabric of life until it became a rich full existence where everybody plays their part and forms a world. I wondered if they like their part in it. I mean, really, does the burger boy behind the counter enjoy his work? Is his lifelong ambition to flip a burger and provide food for the masses? Or does he get up every day, just willing to whore his time for a dollar, reliving the most recent reality show in his mind like some looped film reel? Or is he a painter, with a closet full of canvases they’ll discover when he dies and make him a posthumous millionaire? Who the hell knows, right? When I flipped burgers, I mostly just whored my time so that is probably what everybody else does as well.
My stop came up and I jumped off the bus and ran to Sound Recordings to open the store. The run left me out of breath and I once again promised myself I’d lose some weight to make the two block jog more comfortable. Yeah. Two blocks. Then sitting on my rapidly spreading ass listening to music all day. At least that was a problem I could understand. And maybe even fix.
When I opened the door with a cheerful little jingle everything was as I’d left it the night before. Cluttered, impassable, kinda smelly but my home away from home. I walked over to the used bins and started searching for music for the day. Okay, I admit it. My job is not simply whoring my time. I do care about it a little. I like music and I like being one of only two employees. As jobs go, this was my personal favorite in a long list of waitressing, cashiering and receptionist jobs. I even tried stripping once because of the pay. They auditioned me. Maybe if I’d known I was a bug before I went in I would’ve reconsidered but I didn’t, so I didn’t. I went in and started busting a groove, shaking my butt until my heel caught and I fell down in a rather spectacular fashion, bruising far more than my pride while the dude watching started laughing and said I should I try the comedy club down the street. I don’t think when Cosmopolitan recommended introducing laughter in with sex this is what they had in mind. At least I hope not.
For this day, I had narrowed down my musical choices. It was either Pink Floyd, Bille Holiday, Ani DiFranco or the Bee Gee’s. Before I could decide I heard the door jingle and my first customer walked in.
It was David. My first customer every day. He knew my schedule and was my one personal stalker. Too bad he was ten years younger than me. And smelled like the fish he sold. And had really bad teeth. And didn’t manscape his unibrow. Which I could forgive and maybe deal with except he always wore a hat and dressed way better than me. That was more than I could handle. Because chicks dig him. Really and truly dig him. It is unfair, and inexcusable, that a man with so little going for him can get so much attention. Of course, according to him, he was Derrick de Marney in his past life. Not a bug like me, so maybe that helps.
“Hey, Jess, overslept again?”
“No, had a hot date which ended just before I came in.” Hey, a girl has to try to be a little cool and sought after, right? Even if it is to impress a guy she doesn’t want.
But David just smiled at me and gestured to the mirror with a knowing grin.
I was scared to look. I knew I was busted. I really didn’t want to know what extra humiliation was coming, but I looked anyway to see what gave me away. I couldn’t see what he was getting at. Everything seemed to be in place. Short brown hair chopped and cropped, yesterday’s makeup mostly intact, even the t shirt and jeans were clean. I turned back around. He was smiling at me.
“What?” I asked “I look alright.”
“Yup, you look great. But I’d know if you had a hot date. It’s all in the eyes and your eyes tell me you haven’t gotten any lately.” He wiggled his one eyebrow which extended temple to temple in a knowing grin. “Remember that my services are always available to you free of charge.”
Eeeeeeew. I allowed myself the brief vision of his skinny little hips pounding against my rather fleshy ones with his brow wiggling in his orgasm face, and felt a shiver of ickiness. What was it about this man that other women went for? “Yeah, well.” No way out of this one. New subject, new subject. I pointed out my musical dilemma for the day and ran to the pile of CD’s. “Which one will it be?”
He looked at me with his big brown eyes, his one good feature I’ll admit, and then gave a long dramatic sigh. “Really? I mean usually you kind of have a theme for the day, Jess...” He thumbed through them, lingering on the Floyd before declaring “None of these will do. Today is a Shaggy day.”
I had to smile. David really was sweet. Smelly and infantile but sweet. And he did know me pretty well. I got out Shaggy’s “Clothes Drop” and started up the island rap. Immediately I felt the absurdity of life, looking at David as he browsed through the aisles in the tiny shop. His steps matched the rhythm of the rasta beat and I could almost picture him in his other life, proper Londoner and a shock of thick hair spilling over so he looked a little naughty.
God, I needed to get laid soon.
I told myself not to encourage him but I couldn’t help this moment. That music had me moving around and before I knew it I was dancing with him around the CD’s, wiggling and shaking. Shaggy was singing “Ride like a jockey when mi peddle and a wheel it” and we were both smiling and laughing, feeling nothing but the moment. It was like the dream again. The sun on the water now streaming through the window and the dust in the air. Seeing David smile. And for one crazy moment I thought he was handsome, and debonair. He stood in front of me, tilting his stupid ratty fedora and leaning toward me, looking into my smiling eyes while he sang with Shaggy, “Mi seal it, tink seh she hype mi reveal it. Blessed with di talent but she just cant believe it Ugh!” I couldn’t help myself. I felt him, this skinny little white dude who’d probably never even had him da ganja, swaying to island rasta. I saw myself through his eyes and I looked way cooler than I am. My tiny boobs and big ass seemed almost sexy.
I really needed to get laid.
I don’t know what I’d have done if the front chimes hadn’t rung. But thankfully they did, and it broke the moment. I was myself again. Plump in places I shouldn’t be, skinny where I didn’t want to be. Wishing there was a way to squeeze myself like a toothpaste tube and force the junk from my trunk to somewhere it’d be useful like my chest. And David was once again my nerdy personal fish boy with a snowball’s chance in Hell of “sexing me up,” although everyone else seemed to want him to. The lady that had walked in was busy looking at Neil Diamond, so I just told her to let me know if she needed help and turned back to David.
“Sorry, Hon, duty calls.”
“Come out with me, well, US tonight.” He tried to turn on the charm again and recapture that moment in the sunlight as Shaggy started singing “Strength of a Woman.” Sometimes music seems to form the soundtrack of my life.
“Who’s in? And where? Please don’t tell me this is another attempt to get me alone in some weird English pub.” I gave him my best stern look.
“No way, Jess, I know you don’t want that right now. You aren’t ready.” He sighed a bit before continuing. “We are going out to Ambrosia. And ‘we’ means at least Ginger and Ralph but maybe a few more.”
I really did try to stop it, but I couldn’t, “You mean Spice and Vomit?”
He looked hurt. Really hurt. Dammit.
“Sorry. I love them both. You know that, I just can’t help...”
“I know, hard ass. Nobody’s immune from that mouth of yours.” He interrupted me without even a hint of a smile. Before I knew it, guilt propelled me to agree to come and he left quickly. I couldn’t tell if he was glad I was coming or calling himself an idiot. I really did like Ginger and Ralph. They were a great pair of people very in love. Very adorable. She had blond hair down her back which was straight and sleek and shiny. He looked like some construction worker, always a little sweaty but in a good way which made you feel like a pretty little female who needed his protection. And they made goo goo eyes, finished each other’s sentences and started laughing and hugging in the middle of arguments. Okay, I actually hated them. But it was nothing personal.
Neil Diamond girl came looking for me to ask about some weird CD I’d never heard of and more people trickled in and soon I was too busy to indulge in anything else but people’s musical addictions for a while. I was grateful for the break and it lasted all the way until my shift ended and I turned over the shop to the high school chickie named Sarah who came in after school and weekends to earn some cigarette money.
But the moment I stepped out of the shop I felt the shift again. Like earlier when I was dancing with David. Time slowed to a crawl. I saw the sunlight dancing on the pavement, illuminating the cracks and outlining its imperfections until it appeared to be some abstract still life. The voices around me settled into a drone of people with no individual words. It became a musical accompaniment to my perceptual experience.
I ran my hands through my hair, momentarily distracted by the feel of the soft strands across my fingertips. I dropped my head and took deep breaths, wondering what the hell was happening to me. For an instant I felt almost normal again, then I realized that my jeans seemed comprised of six different shades of blue; the threads individually woven, each in contrast against the other. I could see them being loomed on huge machines, the threads turning and weaving, choreographed to create the denim I wiggled into almost every day. I felt the light breeze blow against my bare neck. Lifting my head, I let it flow over me and became lost in the sensation. My eyes drifted closed involuntarily. As my back muscles started gently tensing, I could almost feel myself lifting. There was a rush of noise through my ears, then pounding in a heady beat. The desire to understand these sensations faded into a warm rush of longing to feel more. My eyes began tearing beneath the lids and I felt the sudden urge to lift my arms and sway and let go and...
The screeching of tires and a horn brought me out of it.
“Watch where you’re going!!”
I opened my eyes and swayed a little, disoriented. A car sat not even a foot from where I was standing in the middle of 5th street. There were tears running down my face and my hands were shaking.
The angry voice softened. “Hey, are you okay?”
But it wasn’t the driver. He was still hanging out his window hurling insults. It was a woman who had braved traffic to come to my rescue. She took my arm and guided me out of the street. Her dark eyes were full of kindness. “I know life gets tough but this isn’t the answer.” She petted my back and said uncertainly, “Look, I know a place you can go”
Her words continued but I couldn’t really hear them. What had just happened to me? I’ve only dropped acid once so a flashback was probably out. I had somehow walked four blocks without even knowing I did it. All I could remember was that roaring and the sunlight. Fucking sunlight. I am going to become a vampire.
I felt her tugging on my arm again, telling me about some shelter and some therapist and realized I was within a cab ride of being committed to the looney bin. So, I did what any reasonable psychopath would do: I pulled away violently, then remembered my manners and thanked her for her kindness. Before she could reply, I turned and started running as fast as I could go, cursing my out of shape body as I went. Turns out I could run faster than I thought. I guess blind panic and fear of mental institutions coupled with a black out will give you a little adrenaline boost. Who knew?
Eventually the panic eased and I found myself in Pathetic Park. Okay, that’s not the actual name. But calling a dirty fountain with overgrown brick paths and scorched brown grass a park seems pathetic. Or maybe that’s just me. So, there I was in the “park” looking at the fountain full of pennies from wishes made when it hit me. I had just nearly been killed. That car could’ve hit me while I was lost in whatever trance I was in, feeling whatever it was I was feeling. And I just knew that damn regression was to blame. Why, oh why had I let that hypnotist go in and start mucking around in my brain? I sat down.
“What in the hell?”
I had never experienced anything like this before. I mean the closest thing I’d ever felt was the one time I dropped acid. The colors seemed brighter, sensations enhanced, no attention to the real world and yet completely focused on it. But this had only lasted, I looked at my watch, maybe 10 minutes. When I tripped it was almost 10 hours so I guess no one had slipped acid into my morning coffee. But then what was it? Just as I asked the question I could feel it happening again, feel the sunlight until it seemed a vibrant living thing. I shook myself. I slapped myself. I pinched myself. A woman crossed to the other side of the park to avoid me, the crazy chick that was abusing herself while she kept swaying and muttering.
Finally the spell abated. The focus went from almost tunnel to the wider view. Everything sped up and the sunlight became just light and not an all encompassing presence. I swore right then and there put on some dirt perfume, find the nearest vampire and become a creature of the night.
I decided to get regressed on a lark. Mostly, I guess it was because I have no driving ambition or deep seated issue. I lead a mundane life. It’s full of the average number of ups and downs, I suppose. Just living day to day and week to week, working to pay the bills, playing on weekends, having an occasional date. Whenever I talked about reincarnation with someone, we decided that I had very little karma or dharma racked up, hence the ordinary flow to my life. So, I figured I’d be regressed, have a little adventure and discover something unique about being me. Then I’d go on with my life with have an interesting story to tell.
Well, it is interesting alright. Just not in the way I expected it would be. Turns out I only have memory of one previous life. And in that one, I was a bug.
Yes. A bug. I was born, crawled around, took a nap, woke up, then got eaten by a frog. On the plus side this finally explains my dislike for amphibians, but it doesn’t go much deeper than that.
And I wasn’t even a cool bug. Like a butterfly, bumblebee or a praying mantis. Now that I could live with. I’d have been beautiful, able to communicate or very intelligent. But I got to be none of those. Oh, no. I got stuck with being a dragonfly. Regardless of the facts about them just look at the name. Dragons are fierce. Flies are filthy. Fierce filth. That’s me. And then there is that whole living for 24 hours thing, which I discovered is not actually true. Well, not usually. In my case it was. Busted out of my nymph skin one morning then wrapped up my day in a frog’s belly.
So, there I was in the hypnotist’s office remembering flying; warm sunlight and the tasty crunch of a gnat when he interrupts me to say, “Your history will repeat itself.”
Great. And that message helped me how?
Answer: it hasn’t. This was not an interesting story to tell at parties. I take that back, it would be but not if you are single like me and actually wish to be perceived as neither fierce nor filthy. Oh, and not new agey either. I mean, my dating isn’t much to begin with. I am not dramatic enough to be called edgy and sought after by panting hoards. Nor am I so kind and sweet that the jocks adore and protect me. Having been an insect, and willing to admit to that fact, would do nothing to strengthen my already lukewarm reception to men.
And then, there are the dreams. I’ve only had a few, but then I was only regressed two weeks ago. And I had one again last night. I can’t even really remember it but I remember the way it felt. It felt intense. The verdant algae was pungently full of promise. I sensed my muscles tensing, coordinating and working to achieve that first flight then flawlessly obeying my command. I dipped and dove and sailed over still waters.
Thank god I woke up before the sticky frog tongue found me.
Sometimes it does. There is nothing quite like knowing your life is ending after only just learning to fly. Actually, I think I overdramatize that. As a bug, I could’ve cared less. It sucked, dying that day, but it was what it was. Some sort of Circle of Life crap, I suppose. But when the tongue sticks to me in the dream I sure as hell am not happy or content with it. I am screaming “no” in my dragonfly way and really, really pissed at having my flight interrupted so soon after I figured out how.
But now was not the time to dwell on it. Being Saturday, it was my last day to redeem myself for being late five days in a row. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, peeing and brushing in record time before flying out the door to catch the bus. Then life slowed to a snail’s crawl. I found myself looking at the other people around me. They were weird. Good weird for the most part. Mostly just people like me, trapped in their own lives, staring out the window and trying not to be noticed. Heading to jobs which were pointless and endless but somehow adding to the fabric of life until it became a rich full existence where everybody plays their part and forms a world. I wondered if they like their part in it. I mean, really, does the burger boy behind the counter enjoy his work? Is his lifelong ambition to flip a burger and provide food for the masses? Or does he get up every day, just willing to whore his time for a dollar, reliving the most recent reality show in his mind like some looped film reel? Or is he a painter, with a closet full of canvases they’ll discover when he dies and make him a posthumous millionaire? Who the hell knows, right? When I flipped burgers, I mostly just whored my time so that is probably what everybody else does as well.
My stop came up and I jumped off the bus and ran to Sound Recordings to open the store. The run left me out of breath and I once again promised myself I’d lose some weight to make the two block jog more comfortable. Yeah. Two blocks. Then sitting on my rapidly spreading ass listening to music all day. At least that was a problem I could understand. And maybe even fix.
When I opened the door with a cheerful little jingle everything was as I’d left it the night before. Cluttered, impassable, kinda smelly but my home away from home. I walked over to the used bins and started searching for music for the day. Okay, I admit it. My job is not simply whoring my time. I do care about it a little. I like music and I like being one of only two employees. As jobs go, this was my personal favorite in a long list of waitressing, cashiering and receptionist jobs. I even tried stripping once because of the pay. They auditioned me. Maybe if I’d known I was a bug before I went in I would’ve reconsidered but I didn’t, so I didn’t. I went in and started busting a groove, shaking my butt until my heel caught and I fell down in a rather spectacular fashion, bruising far more than my pride while the dude watching started laughing and said I should I try the comedy club down the street. I don’t think when Cosmopolitan recommended introducing laughter in with sex this is what they had in mind. At least I hope not.
For this day, I had narrowed down my musical choices. It was either Pink Floyd, Bille Holiday, Ani DiFranco or the Bee Gee’s. Before I could decide I heard the door jingle and my first customer walked in.
It was David. My first customer every day. He knew my schedule and was my one personal stalker. Too bad he was ten years younger than me. And smelled like the fish he sold. And had really bad teeth. And didn’t manscape his unibrow. Which I could forgive and maybe deal with except he always wore a hat and dressed way better than me. That was more than I could handle. Because chicks dig him. Really and truly dig him. It is unfair, and inexcusable, that a man with so little going for him can get so much attention. Of course, according to him, he was Derrick de Marney in his past life. Not a bug like me, so maybe that helps.
“Hey, Jess, overslept again?”
“No, had a hot date which ended just before I came in.” Hey, a girl has to try to be a little cool and sought after, right? Even if it is to impress a guy she doesn’t want.
But David just smiled at me and gestured to the mirror with a knowing grin.
I was scared to look. I knew I was busted. I really didn’t want to know what extra humiliation was coming, but I looked anyway to see what gave me away. I couldn’t see what he was getting at. Everything seemed to be in place. Short brown hair chopped and cropped, yesterday’s makeup mostly intact, even the t shirt and jeans were clean. I turned back around. He was smiling at me.
“What?” I asked “I look alright.”
“Yup, you look great. But I’d know if you had a hot date. It’s all in the eyes and your eyes tell me you haven’t gotten any lately.” He wiggled his one eyebrow which extended temple to temple in a knowing grin. “Remember that my services are always available to you free of charge.”
Eeeeeeew. I allowed myself the brief vision of his skinny little hips pounding against my rather fleshy ones with his brow wiggling in his orgasm face, and felt a shiver of ickiness. What was it about this man that other women went for? “Yeah, well.” No way out of this one. New subject, new subject. I pointed out my musical dilemma for the day and ran to the pile of CD’s. “Which one will it be?”
He looked at me with his big brown eyes, his one good feature I’ll admit, and then gave a long dramatic sigh. “Really? I mean usually you kind of have a theme for the day, Jess...” He thumbed through them, lingering on the Floyd before declaring “None of these will do. Today is a Shaggy day.”
I had to smile. David really was sweet. Smelly and infantile but sweet. And he did know me pretty well. I got out Shaggy’s “Clothes Drop” and started up the island rap. Immediately I felt the absurdity of life, looking at David as he browsed through the aisles in the tiny shop. His steps matched the rhythm of the rasta beat and I could almost picture him in his other life, proper Londoner and a shock of thick hair spilling over so he looked a little naughty.
God, I needed to get laid soon.
I told myself not to encourage him but I couldn’t help this moment. That music had me moving around and before I knew it I was dancing with him around the CD’s, wiggling and shaking. Shaggy was singing “Ride like a jockey when mi peddle and a wheel it” and we were both smiling and laughing, feeling nothing but the moment. It was like the dream again. The sun on the water now streaming through the window and the dust in the air. Seeing David smile. And for one crazy moment I thought he was handsome, and debonair. He stood in front of me, tilting his stupid ratty fedora and leaning toward me, looking into my smiling eyes while he sang with Shaggy, “Mi seal it, tink seh she hype mi reveal it. Blessed with di talent but she just cant believe it Ugh!” I couldn’t help myself. I felt him, this skinny little white dude who’d probably never even had him da ganja, swaying to island rasta. I saw myself through his eyes and I looked way cooler than I am. My tiny boobs and big ass seemed almost sexy.
I really needed to get laid.
I don’t know what I’d have done if the front chimes hadn’t rung. But thankfully they did, and it broke the moment. I was myself again. Plump in places I shouldn’t be, skinny where I didn’t want to be. Wishing there was a way to squeeze myself like a toothpaste tube and force the junk from my trunk to somewhere it’d be useful like my chest. And David was once again my nerdy personal fish boy with a snowball’s chance in Hell of “sexing me up,” although everyone else seemed to want him to. The lady that had walked in was busy looking at Neil Diamond, so I just told her to let me know if she needed help and turned back to David.
“Sorry, Hon, duty calls.”
“Come out with me, well, US tonight.” He tried to turn on the charm again and recapture that moment in the sunlight as Shaggy started singing “Strength of a Woman.” Sometimes music seems to form the soundtrack of my life.
“Who’s in? And where? Please don’t tell me this is another attempt to get me alone in some weird English pub.” I gave him my best stern look.
“No way, Jess, I know you don’t want that right now. You aren’t ready.” He sighed a bit before continuing. “We are going out to Ambrosia. And ‘we’ means at least Ginger and Ralph but maybe a few more.”
I really did try to stop it, but I couldn’t, “You mean Spice and Vomit?”
He looked hurt. Really hurt. Dammit.
“Sorry. I love them both. You know that, I just can’t help...”
“I know, hard ass. Nobody’s immune from that mouth of yours.” He interrupted me without even a hint of a smile. Before I knew it, guilt propelled me to agree to come and he left quickly. I couldn’t tell if he was glad I was coming or calling himself an idiot. I really did like Ginger and Ralph. They were a great pair of people very in love. Very adorable. She had blond hair down her back which was straight and sleek and shiny. He looked like some construction worker, always a little sweaty but in a good way which made you feel like a pretty little female who needed his protection. And they made goo goo eyes, finished each other’s sentences and started laughing and hugging in the middle of arguments. Okay, I actually hated them. But it was nothing personal.
Neil Diamond girl came looking for me to ask about some weird CD I’d never heard of and more people trickled in and soon I was too busy to indulge in anything else but people’s musical addictions for a while. I was grateful for the break and it lasted all the way until my shift ended and I turned over the shop to the high school chickie named Sarah who came in after school and weekends to earn some cigarette money.
But the moment I stepped out of the shop I felt the shift again. Like earlier when I was dancing with David. Time slowed to a crawl. I saw the sunlight dancing on the pavement, illuminating the cracks and outlining its imperfections until it appeared to be some abstract still life. The voices around me settled into a drone of people with no individual words. It became a musical accompaniment to my perceptual experience.
I ran my hands through my hair, momentarily distracted by the feel of the soft strands across my fingertips. I dropped my head and took deep breaths, wondering what the hell was happening to me. For an instant I felt almost normal again, then I realized that my jeans seemed comprised of six different shades of blue; the threads individually woven, each in contrast against the other. I could see them being loomed on huge machines, the threads turning and weaving, choreographed to create the denim I wiggled into almost every day. I felt the light breeze blow against my bare neck. Lifting my head, I let it flow over me and became lost in the sensation. My eyes drifted closed involuntarily. As my back muscles started gently tensing, I could almost feel myself lifting. There was a rush of noise through my ears, then pounding in a heady beat. The desire to understand these sensations faded into a warm rush of longing to feel more. My eyes began tearing beneath the lids and I felt the sudden urge to lift my arms and sway and let go and...
The screeching of tires and a horn brought me out of it.
“Watch where you’re going!!”
I opened my eyes and swayed a little, disoriented. A car sat not even a foot from where I was standing in the middle of 5th street. There were tears running down my face and my hands were shaking.
The angry voice softened. “Hey, are you okay?”
But it wasn’t the driver. He was still hanging out his window hurling insults. It was a woman who had braved traffic to come to my rescue. She took my arm and guided me out of the street. Her dark eyes were full of kindness. “I know life gets tough but this isn’t the answer.” She petted my back and said uncertainly, “Look, I know a place you can go”
Her words continued but I couldn’t really hear them. What had just happened to me? I’ve only dropped acid once so a flashback was probably out. I had somehow walked four blocks without even knowing I did it. All I could remember was that roaring and the sunlight. Fucking sunlight. I am going to become a vampire.
I felt her tugging on my arm again, telling me about some shelter and some therapist and realized I was within a cab ride of being committed to the looney bin. So, I did what any reasonable psychopath would do: I pulled away violently, then remembered my manners and thanked her for her kindness. Before she could reply, I turned and started running as fast as I could go, cursing my out of shape body as I went. Turns out I could run faster than I thought. I guess blind panic and fear of mental institutions coupled with a black out will give you a little adrenaline boost. Who knew?
Eventually the panic eased and I found myself in Pathetic Park. Okay, that’s not the actual name. But calling a dirty fountain with overgrown brick paths and scorched brown grass a park seems pathetic. Or maybe that’s just me. So, there I was in the “park” looking at the fountain full of pennies from wishes made when it hit me. I had just nearly been killed. That car could’ve hit me while I was lost in whatever trance I was in, feeling whatever it was I was feeling. And I just knew that damn regression was to blame. Why, oh why had I let that hypnotist go in and start mucking around in my brain? I sat down.
“What in the hell?”
I had never experienced anything like this before. I mean the closest thing I’d ever felt was the one time I dropped acid. The colors seemed brighter, sensations enhanced, no attention to the real world and yet completely focused on it. But this had only lasted, I looked at my watch, maybe 10 minutes. When I tripped it was almost 10 hours so I guess no one had slipped acid into my morning coffee. But then what was it? Just as I asked the question I could feel it happening again, feel the sunlight until it seemed a vibrant living thing. I shook myself. I slapped myself. I pinched myself. A woman crossed to the other side of the park to avoid me, the crazy chick that was abusing herself while she kept swaying and muttering.
Finally the spell abated. The focus went from almost tunnel to the wider view. Everything sped up and the sunlight became just light and not an all encompassing presence. I swore right then and there put on some dirt perfume, find the nearest vampire and become a creature of the night.
