Dell's Journey

Chapter 11: Dell Comes To A Mental Crossroads

 Dell woke up the next morning with his hair in his

eyes. He swatted at it compulsively until it stopped

tickling him. His throat was harboring a detestable taste,

that peculiar combination of alcohol and 4 cigarettes aged

for 10 hours of sleep. His head was a little heavy, but

not bad considering. Pet was stirring on the bed, down by

his feet. He rose and stretched in the funny way dogs do,

where their limbs shake a little, and hopped down onto the

floor, making his way into the kitchen. Dell heard him

lapping up water from his dish and imagined his little pink

tongue rapidly slurping up and down. He shut his eyes

again and rolled over, pulling the blankets up around his

head. It was Saturday, the most glorious of all days.

The light of an overcast morning was trying to squeeze

in and irritate his eyes. He often thought about what an

awful bargain had to be struck in order to sleep in. It

was so wonderful to lie around and put everything off, but

all too often he'd just steadily become more and more

uncomfortable.

I'm so concerned about missing something that I can't

even decide between two pleasures.

He turned over. He thought of the claim that the

average person swallows eight spiders every year in their

sleep. He wondered how this could possibly be true, and

yet there was no way he could empirically test it. He

supposed he could spend a good deal of money on a video

camera, and a good deal of time reviewing hours of

nighttime footage.

It's probably just an urban legend. And if it's true,

why don't more of us wake up with spiders in our mouths?

Or with spiders on our noses, just ready to hop in? It

seems that if the tale were true, at least one person I

know would have experienced it.

10 years ago he had, in fact, woken up in the middle

of the night with what he later discovered was a silverfish

on his face. When he considered the intensity of his panic,

the way he flailed and slapped at the thing, he mused that

this may have been a moment of pure instinct.

He threw off the covers suddenly, without realizing he

had decided to. He got up and used the toilet. He glanced

at himself in the mirror and straightened his hair a

little, imagining someone thought him handsome. He

shuffled into the kitchen and began the coffee.

Dell stared blankly at the mug between his hands. His

thoughts returned to the previous night; the beers with

Rian, the anguish, the embarrassment. Could he convince

himself that he'd come off as edgy? No, he had looked

petty. He had been a baby. But wait. She was the petty

one who had never taken the time to understand him! She

had to pursue her un-original, socially acceptable goals of

college-life, binge drinking, sporting events, and an

upper-middle-class career. Please.

She is just doing what she wants. At least she knows

what that is.

For a split second he wanted to call her so bad he

felt sick. He would prove to her that he was the good one.

He could show her experiences of life that some well

tanned, cookie-cutter guy in So-Cal could never dream of.

But even as he rehearsed an imaginary triumph over Gabe

(Rian's self-effacing apologies, the reconciliation, his

benevolent pardon, a magnificent kiss) he realized his

folly.

1. Guilt

2. Regret

3. Anxiety

4. Passivity

These were things Dell would gladly give up if he

could. Or would he?