Friday, June 21, 2013

Bathroom Monologue: Fuzzy Kind of View

The bandages on my wrist itch, and I'm scratching them for a while, for so long that my chin gets comfortable on my chest. For a while I forget whether my eyelids are open or closed, until the bed creaks and I slide left, into Sherri's side. She sits down beside me, you see, which I don't see because these new drugs retard my system. That's what Carlos said they'd do, and he'd know, and he was right.

Sherri puts an arm around me like Carlos was never allowed to in the hospital, tucking my shoulder into her flabby armpit. She feels like dough taken out of the oven too early, and she smells like sea salt and basil, and I dread what she's been cooking while I've been in the hospital.

"Getting drowsy?" she asks, or prods. I can't tell which. I used to be able to. The differences used to annoy. Before these new drugs.

"Nah," I say, shaking my head briskly, trying to wake myself up. I get more tired with every swipe of my head. Dr. Preisblatt's drugs have reversed the way my body wants to act. "I'm good. I'm great. I'm the best." I repeat things more often now.

"Because you look drowsy. It's about time you slept."

"I'm not going to sleep before you," I say to my chest. I didn't even realize my chin was down there again. Jesus wept. I scratch at the bandages, and I think I feel a suture slip. It's like the release of a pinch.

Sherri pinches my cheek, probably because it'll annoy me. It doesn't. The drugs don't let it, but I remember that it would have annoyed me three weeks ago. I pinch her cheek and we snort with laughter together.

"Thirty-six hours with no shut-eye is bad," Sherri says in a tone that can't be suggestive to me right now. "And you're too tense. Your shoulders are like one of those bridges."

Like she is testing my shoulders with her armpit. Sherri was always a weirdo. I explain, "I don't like being asleep when other people aren't. It's... complicated."

"A Facebook status is complicated," she says. "You've got trust issues."

"Dr. Preisblatt tell you that?" I ask her, but also my lap. I forgot to put my skirt back on. This should feel awkward. It's wrong that I'm not embarrassed.

"You had them in high school. Remember when you'd sneak into the boys' bathroom to piddle?"

"Because there was no one in there. Is it a crime to pee alone? I hope you didn't spread that around."

"And I watched out for you then." She plucks my bangs and tucks them behind one of my ears. She's trying to give me a look and I can't read it no matter how much I blink. "So... let me. Okay?"

"Whoa, did Dr. Preisblatt tell you? She's not allowed to fucking talk to you. That's privileged something-something."

"She said you trust me. And you told her the bathroom story."

"I don't trust that quack anymore," I say, or I almost say, until I interrupt myself with a yawn. It's a ripper of a yawn, and my eyes squeeze closed. When they open, Sherri is smiling into my face. Her mouth is so close that even the drugs can't suppress recognizing that dopey jack o'lantern smile. It's awesome to remember feelings.

She asks, "Do you trust me?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Don't yeah-sure. Do you?"

"Yeah," I say, and have to clamp my mouth shut to stifle the 'sure' follow-up. It's natural, not snark. I'm not always good with processing things, which has been evident recently. My wrists itch, and I reach for one of them, and Sherri intercepts my hand, hugging me into her doughy side. She smells more like brine than sea salt. Maybe she's found a new place to swim while I was in the hospital, better than the local beach full of broken shells that cut up your feet.

I mean to ask her where the new skinny dipping spot is, and open my mouth to ask, and find my chin is lodged on my chest, and my skull is too heavy to lift. Thirty-two hours, she said? Or thirty-eight? I'm trying to remember, and trying to ask, and trying to remember how to ask, when she squeezes my shoulder with warm fingers. I breathe in the brine and dream of no questions.

26 comments:

  1. Sub or even semi-consciously I don't trust falling asleep either, it's like a rehearsal of death, you may just never wake up on the other side of the sleep...

    I was curious why all his motor functions were impeded, yet his sense of smell was really sharp. They do say that the sense of smell is the most primeval of our senses & zeroes straight in on the brain.

    I think there's a lot here re the effect of the drugs on the body, you could extend that into a longer piece if you were of a mind to

    marc nash

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    1. Perhaps I'm too comfortable with the notion of death and that's why I'm generally so eager to fall asleep. What a thought.

      And what would you want to see in a longer version of this, Marc?

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    2. Marc, did you mean "her motor functions"? Isn't the narrator female?

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  2. I also really liked the power of the sense of smell. The most powerful trigger for nostalgia that I know. Thanks.

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    1. And thank you for the kind words. I'm glad it touched down for you.

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  3. They have an odd relationship.
    I'm not that leery. I'd be out like a light.

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  4. Nobody has ever tried to kill me while I slept.

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    1. That you know of....
      Couldn't help it Tony, you stepped right into that one. :)

      Sorry for the hijack Jon

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  5. I did not recognize the extent of the injury or illness until I read the keywords under the story, but we have already established the fact that I often don't get your humor mostly because I lack that sense, it seems, or I am not looking for it. I really liked the description of her "flabby armpit" and "She feels like dough taken out of the oven too early." Where others mentioned the sense of smell I was more impressed by the sense of touch. Overall, the character's vulnerability in this exhange are strongly evident. Good job, John. I liked it.

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    1. Touch and smell were the tactile grounds I tried to work this one through. Very happy the armpit landed for you, Susan. I admit to having taken a little too much pride with that passage.

      And you get what you get - I have no grounds to tell you you're wrong. I may just as easily have gone too subtle or obscure in reference to what happened to the narrator.

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  6. Oh dear this piece was fantastic, but made me very, very, very anxious for some reason!

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  7. I'm not sure I got all the between the lines stuff. She slit her wrists, but now she's having trouble sleeping? The drugs make her anxious to stay awake? I think dealing with a large Word file this morning has melted my brain at least as much as our MC here. :-P

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    1. Heavy editing melts my brain for subtext as well, though I'm also willing to accept flaws in my story. Trying to go surreal in this fashion is always a risk for me. Happy to have any other readers pipe up if they have issue.

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  8. Loved the sensory descriptions:)Interesting psychological piece - raises many questions: Why she hurt herself, who is Carlos, what exactly is the relationship between her and Sherri, the type of drugs she's on...Will there be more?

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    1. I think this is a hard slice of life vignette. I wanted to take the narrator from the middle of things to that ending point of some tranquility while leaving the baggage all around the scene. Does it sound weird that this felt like doing the narrator justice?

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  9. I enjoyed this take on a difficult subject, John. I like the way it left me with a lot of questions - should she trust Sherri? What drove her to this point? etc. I think I liked that because these situations always leave a lot of questions. It least she made it through and is getting help.

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  10. Great detail in this John and I agree with Marc, you could continue this into a short, or even longer.

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  11. I really felt the character's perspective here. Being drugged up is never nice, especially in the hospital. And the feel of the itchy wrists was quite awful.

    Jai

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  12. Nicely done, John. Difficult subject matter handled in an almost surreal manner.

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  13. There's something twisty going on here, a very strange energy between the two characters. Color me intrigued!

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  14. I got a playful feel between the narrator and Sherri, even in these dire circumstances. I think you handled it well.

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  15. I didn't get that she was a girl at first. Realized this a couple of paragraphs in. LOL wonder what else I missed. Is she and the other girl friends or lovers? I can't quite tell?

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  16. Really liked the descriptions and all the sensory detail.

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  17. There is nothing, nothing, nothing worse than somebody who wants to care for you and you can't stand them. Maybe she wasn't supposed to, but Sherry creeped me out. In an effective sort of way.

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  18. I'm not sure that I found this surreal, per se, but it was a bit difficult - I felt like she shouldn't trust Sherri, that there was some kind of ulterior motive, and I was wondering if maybe Sherri had a lot to answer for in putting her in that position to start with.

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  19. "She feels like dough taken out of the oven too early, and she smells like sea salt and basil, and I dread what she's been cooking while I've been in the hospital."

    This line sold the whole damned thing for me.

    And this reminds me of an exercise in unreliable narration cause no matter how suspicious I may be of Sherri or Dr. Preisblatt I'm more suspicious of the drugged-out, itchy-wristed narrator by far.

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