The Lunatics 2: Push Tumble & Fall

Saturday 11:01 a.m.

I picked up on the third ring.

"What?" I couldn't hear him very well, so I walked away fast from the RedEye.

"Someone wrote your number on my arm," said a shaky voice on the other side of the line.

It took me a second.

"Hey, man. Someone wrote your number on my arm." He repeated.

It was Trashcan Guy. We had found him the week prior in an alleyway behind the RedEye. Loxi had written my phone number on his arm as a joke at my expense. It was a bad habit she'd picked up; writing my number on strangers' arms, that is.

They seldom called, but this one did. Maybe because we had taken his last and only twenty-dollar bill.

"Sorry I don't know what you're talking about," I said to rush him off the phone. I wasn't interested in any pawn conversation that wouldn't move forward my agenda.

I pulled my journal out and wrote it down before I forgot.

Jude, Love is insanity.

You are my remedy.

Say you'll Love me forever.

Six Times Four. James.

But the guy on the other side of the line was not giving up so fast. "I'm beat up man," he said. "Have mercy."

"Mercy?" I said as sarcastically as I could. "I have to get off the phone now."

"Look, man, I am going to die. If you have it, I need it."

His desperation bothered me. There was nothing wrong with him except whatever self-destruction he was willingly putting himself through. When we'd found him in the alleyway by the trashcans, he was just another pre-frat boy chugging by the loads. I had no sympathy for the privileged who took wrong turns.

"Maybe that's for the best," I said. "A quick death is your best bet. A train, a bridge, Lysol, whatever you like." I expected him to cuss me out, get mad, and hang up. But instead, my words shocked him weepy which hadn't been my intention.

"How can you say that to a total stranger? What if I do kill myself? What kind of person are you?"

"What if you do?" I said egging him on.

"You're a strange girl. How can you talk to people like that?"

"I hear that a lot," I said.

"Look man. I don't know who you are or why someone wrote your number on me. If you took it from me, please give it back. I don't have money left, and if I don't get all fixed up in the next hour, I will die."

He thought I had taken his drugs. That's why he was calling me because he was out of money and he thought I was holding. His urging made my stomach turn sideways because these druggies were always strategic & manipulative in their addiction career. A career in the Black Parade Circus where the tightrope act was a walk on the borders between life and death.

"Sorry, I didn't take anything," I continued.

"The rash is spreading, man," he said.

"What rash?" I stopped on the corner of Decatur & St. Ann. Cafe Du Monde was full of tourists lining up to have cafe-au-laits and beignets. The sugary smell of fried dough felt like a whole meal to me.

"The Remedy Rash, man," he said in a proud versus a frightened tone.

"The heart rash?" I asked.

"The only one that matters, right?" he said.

"The one and only," I said fast before my words became a set of detailed instructions. "It's with me. I have what you are looking for. Where are you? I'll come to you."