Spinning

Chapter 26: space cowgirl

That night, I had the most agonizing dream. The weird thing is, I can't actually remember any details of the dream. Nothing. Only a feeling. And it's the worst feeling in the world. I wake up abruptly, aware of a restless sleep, and this terrible, cursed feeling. A pain that burns my heart, actually, literally compressing and engulfing it in flames of betrayal and heartbreak. A pain that lingers in my throat, making it impossible to speak and difficult to breath. My mind is clouded and I'm barely cognizant of my room around me. The worst pain, though, is waking up to this and realizing I never want to wake up again. I want to sleep through the rest of this life.

The next day, I wake up like this again. I make it to work. Barely. I drift through the day, ignoring everyone and everything, only aware of this haunting and unshakable pain. What is this feeling?

It's still Friday. I'm staring out the window next to my lab bench. We are only on the third floor, but the elevated ceilings and complex ductal work make the height much more impressive. It's a long way to fall from this window... it would feel like flying...

It's Saturday. Susan is calling me but I don't pick up. I delete her number, Stone's number, his number.

It's Sunday, the seventh day. On the seventh day, God rested, so I rest. I rest in bed, wondering if there is some spell that could morph me to the mattress permanently. That wouldn't be such a bad life...

A Jordan-sized indentation has been committed into the mattress. I stare up at the horse tail on the ceiling above me. I've been staring at the ceiling for so long, I've memorized the different patterns and shapes to the textured brush strokes. I've decided one is a perfect horses tail. There is no horse, but it's the perfect horse tail. Maybe I'll draw in a horse, if I ever stand again.

Something is disturbing me from my ceiling studies. My phone. Of course, it's my goddamn phone. I throw it against the wall angrily. Only, I haven't eaten in two days, so it barely reaches its target and ends up bouncing off the wall and back onto the bed, like some perverse boomerang. It's taunting me, threatening me to try to expel it again. It will find its way back to me.

And on cue, it buzzes again. It's a missed call and a voicemail from an unknown number: Susan, Stone or him. 2/3 odds... not terrible... only moving my arm, keeping my eyes closed, I pick up the device and listen.

"Hey Jordan, it's me. Uh, it's Eddie. You're probably screening my calls but we really need to talk. I don't deserve your time... or your attention... or your respect... might as well complete the list... I don't deserve you. But I need to explain things, some things which I hope can heal... us. I've never been one for hope, but hope is all that's getting me through these past couple days. Please call me."

An onset of anger overcomes me. I'm surprised by its existence, truthfully, given my lack of energy, but I completely bend to its will. My eyes flash open and I sit up completely for the first time since the sun entered and left the sky. I take my phone and storm onto the deck. With the remaining energy of my fatigued body, I fling my phone from the deck, into the darkness. I hear it hit the neighbors building with a dull clunk and with a satisfactory crack, it hits the concrete of our trash alley. Several rats scurry up to it, curiously. Good. In the trash where it belongs. Where I belong...

I feel the voicemail taking over my brain. I'm convinced I'll stop blinking or salivating or breathing as my brain redirects its energy and focus away from sustaining life to processing the voicemail. I need to stop this process in its tracks. I open a bottle of NyQuil from the bathroom and take a long draught. I take a second for good measure. My thoughts become fuzzy, and I know I've outsmarted the voicemail. I stumble back to bed, and darkness comes swiftly.