Dustin and I were becoming increasingly annoyed with the apartment complex management. They didn't seem to relish the fact that my aunt left us in possession of the property and often cited wordy legalese in some meaningless lease agreement. Dustin had a hard enough time deciphering the instructions on a TV dinner and I couldn't be bothered to care. They also constantly harassed us about the Family Truckster, claiming it was always "inappropriately parked" and an "eyesore."
After a long night shift at the station I walked into the living room with Dustin and plopped down on the couch. I had been feeling increasingly ill the past few days, with a worsening rattle in my chest and a weak stomach. It was so bad that even pot was tasting weird. We had been searching for apartments all week and brought a vacancy listing paper home with us.
I analyzed the large wooden entertainment system Dustin's mother had left with us while he scoured the apartment for CC. CC was Dustin's black cat, given to him by Wayland, the king pixie. CC didn't take well to his move and spent most of his time on top of the refrigerator growling and hissing at anyone passing through.
"Dude, what the fuck?" I rattled.
The entertainment system had been converted into a shrine sometime overnight. Dustin had taken the television out of it and left it on the floor. He had a new aquarium - the source of which I didn't even want to know - and put it where the television used to be. The opening in the cabinet around the aquarium was trimmed with Christmas garland and "KALYPTIS" had been sprayed across the cabinet with gold enamel paint. He loved that rat.
"Oh, man, I used Kalyptis' old cage for target practice last night!"
"Now I understand." At least as much as I wanted to.
"Are you hanging out with Tracy tonight?"
"Nah. She's staying with her sister. She's taking Tracy to the dentist tomorrow to get her wisdom teeth out."
"Some friends are coming over tonight, if that's cool. You should hang out with us!"
I was feeling somewhat listless, but hanging out with insane pixies would probably take my mind off of missing Tracy, "Yeah."
"You don't look too good man!"
"Yeah. I think I have bronchitis or something. I've been coughing up blood and shit."
"Oh shit, Darren, you better get to a doctor!"
"I'll get right on that."
Slowly, the place filled with pixies running in and out of the apartment and chattering meaninglessly among themselves. Dustin and I sat on the couch looking through apartment listings and passing a joint between us. We had the infamous she-male porno going on the television but nobody was really watching it.
"Oh my God, Darren, look! LOOOK!" Dustin pointed at a listing with his shaking finger, his eyes widened with excitement, "It has washer and dryer hookups!" He jumped up off of the couch and ran into the kitchen waving the paper, "Look CC! Washer and dryer hookups!"
The next thing I heard was a shriek, but it wasn't Dustin's usual pixie-anxiety, "Oh my body!" shriek. There was a crashing sound and a thud and CC ran bullet-like through the apartment and hid under my bed. I walked into the kitchen where Dustin was sprawled out on the floor. His eyes had a look of confusion and betrayal in them, "He attacked me, Darren!" His voice trembled. That was only the beginning of a long, pot and pixie-filled night.
❖
The next morning, I dredged myself from bed at 7:30 with my head spinning from the four hour reprieve from pixies and marijuana. I went to the bathroom, vomited and washed my long hair. I was greeted by Kalyptis, who was sitting in the bathtub for some reason. I went back to my room and threw on some jeans and a black shirt and pulled on my sandals. I hurried through the living room, where Kalyptis' brand new glass cage was shattered into a million shards all over the carpet. Outside, it was pouring down rain, so I ran to the Probe. I had decided to visit my mother at the only time I could - before she left for work and while Tracy was getting her wisdom teeth pulled.
I felt like collapsing by the end of the fifteen minute drive. I stood dizzily until my mother opened the door. I rushed into the apartment, to the bathroom and vomited.
"Are you okay, Darren?"
"Yeah. I think I have bronchitis or something."
"You better get to a doctor!"
"Yeah."
"Guess what I found out," My mother had a sly look on her face.
"What?"
"Shafto was arrested last month."
My eyes lit up for the first time since I last saw Tracy, "For what?"
"Statutory soddomy. Molesting his stepdaughter."
"Gee, I didn't see that coming from a mile away."
"I know," my mother replied, shaking her head, "I heard he's on oxygen now too. Emphysema."
We talked a couple of hours, sharing fantasies about what might happen to Shafto in a state prison. Eventually, I fell asleep on the couch.
❖
I parked the Probe along the curb in front of Tracy's house. Her sister answered the door and let me in. Tracy was still passed out in bed, no doubt having wonderful dreams on the painkillers the dentist had given her and the Valium I had given her to help calm her down before the procedure. I kissed her on the forehead and joined Susan in the kitchen.
Susan was my age, and she was definitely pretty, though in a different way than Tracy. She had short hair and was not quite as tall or thin. She had the same dark brown eyes and baby-smooth skin. Her husband worked at Ford with their dad. She stayed at home with her daughter and made extra money babysitting.
"Are you feeling OK?" she looked at me with concern as she slid a cup of hot chocolate toward me.
It was starting to make me nervous that everyone was suddenly asking me that.
"I don't know. I've been feeling like crap for the past week. I think it's bronchitis."
"You better get to a doctor."
"Yeah," I croaked.
I chatted with Susan for about an hour, reassuring her several times, in between gulps of hot chocolate and bouts of painful coughing, that I would get to a doctor. I still had a couple of hours before I would have to be at work. I decided to head home and ask Dustin about the weird-tasting pot.
Dustin was sprawled out on the couch, obsessively pasting together a collage he was making out of some of Toad's porno magazines he'd stolen. I sat in a chair, staring blankly at the video Dustin had going in the VCR - "Hey You, Fuck My Ass!"
"Dude. That last bag I got from you tastes different or something. What's up with that?"
Dustin twitched and grabbed a lump of pot from his own bag. Shaking, he cleaned it and stuffed it into his pipe. He lit it and inhaled deeply and passed it over to me, "Tastes cool to me, man."
I took the pipe and inhaled carefully. My lungs stung from the smoke but the taste was normal, "This is the same stuff?" I coughed.
"Yeah, man."
This was getting weird. I sat and chatted with Dustin a bit about Tracy, CC and Kalyptis before we headed out to work.
❖
It was two days later, and I was still feeling terrible. I was awakened by the phone around 9am. It was Tracy and she was sobbing, "My mouth is swollen and it hurts so bad!"
"I'll be over in a minute," I replied, hazily.
I went to the bathroom and pulled my hair back into a pony tail. My head was spinning and I vomited into the toilet. I rinsed with Listerine and went to my room to throw on some clothes. I went through the yellow pages until I found an oral surgeon who was close and who would take us without an appointment. Dustin came in, completely spun out of his mind on pixie dust, carrying a glass aquarium.
"Dude, you don't look so hot." Dustin observed, once again.
"Neither do you," I pointed out, annoyed. "Tracy needs to go to the doctor - I'll be back in time for work."
Dustin trembled, his eyes were aflame, "Ohh cool, man. I was just gonna get some sleep before work."
"Good luck with that."
I rushed out of the apartment and went to pick up Tracy. We sat in the waiting room at the oral surgeon's office for one miserable hour. I was rattling with every breath and pale and sweating. Tracy was wrapped in a blanket with her head on my shoulder, tears streaming from her eyes. Everyone in the room kept glancing at us, no doubt wondering which one of us would be the first to drop dead in front of their eyes.
They had Tracy in the room for twenty minutes or so. They drained the infection and then stitched it up. I paid her bill and walked her back out to the Probe. We got back to her house and I passed out with her until I had to get up again to go to work.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot where Toad was busy under the hood of his old primer-gray Ford pickup. I morosely walked over to him.
"What's up?" I coughed.
"You don't look so good," Toad noted.
I grunted.
"I'm just fixing the fuel line."
Toad had a piece of metal tubing and a screen, "What's the screen for?"
"I was going to make a filter, but it looks like that's OK."
I wondered why he wouldn't just buy a new filter, but shook my head, realizing that was Toad's way. He would rather spend a few hours cobbling together some nutty contraption out of duct tape and window screen than spend a few dollars just to buy the right part. I eyed the screen suspiciously, "Is that where you've been getting the screen you've been giving me for my pipe?"
"Yep!"
The screen looked strange. It mostly looked like a normal metal mesh, but there was something odd about the way it reflected light. I grabbed the piece of screen and ran it between my thumb and finger. It all became clear.
"Dude, this is fucking plastic!"
"No it isn't..."
I took the screen out into the parking lot, pulled out my Bic lighter and held the flame to the screen. When I took the flame away, the screen remained burning with a sweet, all-too-familiar odor. I dropped it to the ground and stamped out the fire.
"No wonder it kept clogging up! Are you trying to fucking kill me?!"
Toad ran over to me, grabbed me in his arms and squeezed me tightly, "Oh, man! I'm so sorry! Honestly, I didn't know!"
I stood there weak and breathless while Toad began to weep on my shoulder. When he finally let go, I went inside and made an appointment with Doctor Horton.
Later in the evening, during a lull in business, I sat with Dustin who actually seemed more upset about the whole screen deal than I was. We had the television on and were making fun of a "Beverly Hills: 90210" rerun. In my sickness and disgust, I had thrown my pipe in the trash, deciding I was completely finished with drugs.
"What the hell was he thinking? Was he trying to kill you?" Dustin wondered.
I just shook my head, preferring not to use my lungs to utter a sound.
Dustin grabbed a pen from the ceramic jar on the side of the desk. He took his lighter and started burning the cap of the pen, "Fucking Toad." His eyes stared intently at the flame he was holding to the pen cap, "burning... burning... plastic... plastic... burning plastic... plastic burning... plastic... plastic... pla... stic..."
I watched with a furrowed brow as the pen cap warped from the heat. Dustin threw it on the desk as a car pulled in, "A customer!" he exclaimed with joy.
I folded my arms on the desk and lowered my head to rest on them, my face covered in a futile attempt to hide from the chaos around me.
❖
I painfully explained every detail to Doctor Horton. He gave me a lecture about the perils of chronic marijuana use and prescribed me some syrup which I drank like Dr. Pepper. He said it would probably clear up within a couple of weeks and told me not to smoke - anything. I assured him I was finished with drugs for good.
Dustin and I pulled into the station and got started with our shift. A Gladstone Plumbing truck pulled in and Dustin went to get it. I went over to the desk drawer to pull out the receipt book for their account. I saw the melted pen cap sitting there with a yellow Post-it note attached to it. I removed the note and read it: "IS FIRE A COOL THING TO PLAY WITH IN A GAS STATION? IS TOAD A COOL THING TO PLAY WITH IN THIS GAS STATION? CUT THE SHIT NOW!!!!"
I threw the Post-it in the trash and dreamed of setting fire to that pen cap and shoving it down Toad's lungs.
Posted by DevilMonkey at 4:28 PM