Luca:
I was once happy. Content. Sloshing around in my own private, primordial pool. Then one day, for reasons beyond my control, I was repeatedly crushed, over and over, by the cruel cervix of my mother, Subway Guy. I put up a good fight, but I lost. For the first time, but not the last.
—
“I would say he’s suffering from…” The therapist’s smile was gentle, yet their hands were folded with uncertainty. “Obsessive bear fucking disorder–” My Mom gasped softly, bringing his hands to his lips as they parted, a single teardrop falling down his face. I was four years old and obviously unconcerned. My tendencies to justify the normality of wanting to fuck bears senseless was completely unquestionable to me.
—
“It’s just the way your brain was hard-wired. It’s no big deal, plenty of great, intelligent, funny, interesting, and creative people have struggled with the same things you struggle with.” Subway Guy took a bite out of his Baja chicken and bacon sub with avocado, which has been his breakfast for as long as the measure of my memory goes. I look up at him, completely catatonic.
“Like who, bitch?” I ask almost robotically, my eyebrows narrowed at him in skepticism. He sets his Baja chicken and bacon sub with avocado down in front of him on the crumpled Subway wrapper that curled and crackled to the new weight. Subway Guy finished chewing and cleared his throat.
“Lots of people.” He exclaimed, reaching for a brown paper napkin across the table, then wiping off his hands.
“But who?”
Subway Guy averts his eyes and squints into space in thought. Parents don’t like admitting their child is different. I’m sure there are enough people out there like me but saying ‘lots,’ is a bit generous. After all, ‘humans fucking bears isn’t natural,’
Bullshit.
My mother looks back at me, unsure. “You know, lots of talented and capable individuals,” He smiles, “Like you.” So that confirmed next to no one.
In retrospect, him saying that likely played a keystone part in me becoming a stoner and junkie. If I was always high, nobody would even wonder about my condition, they would just think ‘Oh, Luca’s high again.’ Even if I was actually sober and simply brush off my ramblings of rationale to fuck bears, with consent, of course, I’m not an animal. (Unfortunately.)
—
“Do you have any tampons?” I asked.
“In my bathroom, under the sink.” Subway Guy confirms. My chair skidded against the floor as I stood up. I walked back into my mother's bathroom, peering back toward the kitchen making sure Subway Guy wasn’t looking. I coughed loudly to muffle the noise as I opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a prescription bottle. The bottle rattles and I cough again, opening it, dry swallowing a few pills, and pocketing a few more. To mask the sound of the cabinet closing, I flush the toilet before putting the bottle back in the medicine cabinet. I know my shit. Thank you, to all the suburban mothers out there for the unending supply of xanny bars.
Bam. Title card.
—
It all started when Audrey moved to town. She would rush down the suburban streets of Bloomington riding her bike, wearing dresses with ribbon ties that whip in the wind behind her.. She’d ride her bike continuously through the endless sprawl of the suburbs - a mix of single-story and two-story homes. Bloomington’s idyllic charm seems to have disappeared over the years. Now, this is a cough syrup town with metheads on the outskirts, and no family is just coasting.
