Catharsis

TEN

August came and went in a haze of insomnia. The odd episode of chills and double vision broke up the monotony of the nightmares. I feel like I'm losing touch with reality.

Nights are beginning to cool off as the first couple days of September pass by. Leaves are starting to dry up already. Some of them have already scattered. It's been unusually cold, but the forecast shows another heat wave coming.

It's Friday and I'm trying to mentally prepare for the possibility of another incident tomorrow. Fine, it's a transformation. I may as well admit it to myself, but I'd rather pretend that's not what it is. I've already seen it in my head a hundred times over: I'm going to go somewhere secluded, and I have to confine myself so that I don't end up lost in the woods come morning.

All that's left is an excuse so that Sammy isn't suspicious for my absence. I'm trying to keep her happy and hopeful that things will go back to normal. But I'm starting to believe that less and less. I can't seem to stop drinking away the anxiety. The number of beer bottles in our recycling bin is getting ridiculous.

It's that smokey, black, demon-looking thing . . . the one with my dad's armband. . . it won't leave me alone.

"What's the problem?" Jonah whacks the back of the head with his open hand as he makes his way up the ladder to change a light bulb. Normally his friendly abuse wouldn't phase me, but I've got a brutal hangover right now so he may as well have smacked me in the skull with a hammer.

"Nothing." Burying my annoyance, I continue to twist the screwdriver, crouched on the floor. We're on unit three of a five-unit flip that needed to be finished yesterday. It's an empty one-bedroom with no air conditioning and it still needs a lot of work before it's livable. Laura is still piling on more work than we can handle.

Jonah pauses and sighs loudly, his disbelief is almost audible. "You're really into that light switch cover right now, huh?"

"Nobody asked you." The tip of my screwdriver slips out of the drive of the screw. I sigh and put it back, but it slips out again.

"Well, well! Someone's pissy."

"Knock it off." I try again to get the tip in the drive, but again it slips out.

"You've been out of it going on three weeks, man. I watched you do your paperwork yesterday. You're a mess."

"I'm always a mess, that's why you like me. It's that genius brain." I peer up at him perched on the ladder and tap the handle of the screwdriver to my temple. "Right on the edge of sanity."

"Whatever." Jonah smiles and shakes his head dismissively, knowing that I'm not going to give him any more personal information.

He steps off the ladder and wipes his hands on his tattered jeans. Again, I try with the screwdriver but my hands are shuddering terribly and sweat is trickling down my temples. I rub a hand against my hot neck, brushing away some of the perspiration.

"I have some news: I want to go to Madison," Jonah says. "You and me, to play soccer, bar hop. But mostly to play soccer before it gets too cold."

His words barely register. I've got my tongue hanging out the corner of my mouth as I push more firmly against the screwdriver and finally grip the drive. "Soccer?"

"Duh. Yeah! The thing you used to do all the time before adulthood fucked you up." He holds out his arm like I should have just automatically known this. I probably should have. He readjusts the ladder against the wall and steps up again. "The dream to play the FIFA World cup, remember?"

"When will it be?"

"Second week of October. You better work on your skills, though. I think you've seen better days, not gonna lie."