Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (64 page)

I’m
a bit envious. I’m depressed again and feel so out of freakin’
place. Who are these people? Where am I? I want something from Jack
in the Box; have to remember to ask Taki to stop there after we leave
this curious place.

These
people are laughing. Is it at me? Would I even be surprised? Calm
down. Taki is just saying something funny about old times with old
friends...I laugh to be nice...mouth numb…my giggle tumbles
out with a 1-second delay...arms feel like their spinning when
they’re not…meat tingling just below the skin...I’m
afraid that someone who works in one of the nearby stores will see us
and call the fuzz...Come on, Taki, get your jollies and let’s
go back inside before the cops come! Did I only think that, or did I
say it?...They laugh – not looking at me, so maybe I just
thought it. Taki stands, so I stand, confident. My head spins. I can
tell that Taki is not immune to these hideous effects as well. It’s
comforting to know. We walk past tall white guys – beefy thick
arms able to break my neck if they wanted to. I see a goofy, human
male, wearing spiked wristbands and a spiked neckband with a spiked
doggie leash and spiked thighbands and anklebands, showing off his
butterfly knife-dancing skills in front of a group of redheaded girls
in black corsets. They seem to be ignoring him as they kiss each
other in a bored way. All except for one disturbing girl: A large
girl with a blue Mohawk, wearing a shiny, black trench coat and Goth
slippers. She stares at him like a hungry wolf. Her hands are in her
dress, moving around in circles.

I
try with all I’ve got to walk straight. I feel like an idiot. I
arrive.

INSIDE.

I’m
sitting down on the couch...alone. When did I get here on this couch?
Doesn’t matter. It feels good. I feel sick. My head spins spins
spins. Makes my belly turn turn turn. Head, stop spinning! Stop
spinning! You’re embarrassing me.

I
close my eyes for a second. Try to control this mental, washing
machine. Get a grip, man. Righty-O. I can do this. I’m strong.
I’m a Virgo.

I
open them:

What
just happened?

There
are at least five people on the couch now. Did I fall asleep? Can’t
be. I’d know, right?? I look around in a frown, confused: Make
eye contact with a young, black man. He’s thin and nicely
dressed. Seems harmless enough. Wait, is he saying something to me? I
lean in through the thick music and open my mouth:

“Huh?”

“Srjpir-0hoj3efkan.”

“WHAT.”

“Toot
toot dingus frandj.”

“Oh.”

“I’m
from the base,” he says, smiling. Pearl Harbor. Military.”

“Oh!
Just relaxing, huh?”

He
nods, happy that I understand him. I lean back and shut my eyes again
because I’m dead inside: Last thing I see is this nice soldier
boy, leaning forward with his hands in prayer between his knees,
looking down and about to go into some surely, dreary life story. I
want to hear it, just so I don’t hurt his feelings. But…

My
eyes are heavy.

They
close.

I
open them.

I’M
ALONE.

Did
everyone just vanish suddenly? The music is different, too. Softer.
Still moody, not surprisingly. Sad sad Emo music. Poo-poos my soul. I
realize now that all this “sad” music is giving me the
mopes. People in the murky distance, who look like Gothic Nuns, give
me final glances as they float down mysterious hallways like toys on
wheels. I look to my left. Good Lord! Someone’s sitting next to
me, leaning on me even: Sweaty scalp on my shoulder. It’s the
chubby girl from outside, one of them anyway: Taki’s pale that
smoked with us. I’m too dizzy to try and wake her up. I need to
use the bathroom. My bladder is mean. My back feels like my front. My
eyes are biting me. My legs are kicking themselves. My neck feels
bloated. Things in my stomach want to fly out from my mouth. Damn. I
can’t do it. I can’t hold down my own cherries.

This
is pathetic.

I
close my eyes – maybe the world will change again and cease
tumbling over itself and she’ll be off of me.

2
seconds later (or at least what consciously feels like 2 seconds
later) I open my face – eyeballs rolling while I groan in belly
pains. It feels like I’m vomiting out my eyes. The girl next to
me is awake. She’s moving around, doing something. Objects
before my eyes are soft, unfocused, floating in the air, spinning in
place.

“Ooooooooh…”
I hear, very close to my bad ear.

I’m
too ill to look at her, but I can see her in the corner of my right
eye. She’s saying something again. Her arm is around mine,
holding on for grim life. I see an image: We must look like an odd
pair, like something out of Jerry Springer. A chubby girl and a thin
fool, arm in arm, sitting alone on a couch, both gone totally
sideways and inside out. She starts kissing my throat. I’m only
slightly shocked.

And
then I see something that makes my heart faint and the hairs on my
arms flail about.

“Blood
in stool,” I say, cursing my luck.

I
see my ex walking toward me. I can’t keep my eyes open. It’s
as if she’s popping in and out of reality as she grins toward
us. She says something to the girl around my arm, calls her by name.
Not good, I think to myself. I don’t know why it isn’t
good, but it isn’t. Jesus, does she know everybody here?

Ex
to me: (brightly) “Hi!”

Me:
(trying as hard as I can to sound normal) “…ello.”

Ex:
“It’s really good to see you here!”

Why
don’t I believe her? Sounds sarcastic.

Me:
“Thanks! I saw you at the movies earlier.”

Did
I say that right? I hope I didn’t stutter like I always do.

She
says more, but unfortunately, it all skates over my glazed eyes. I’m
trying really hard to remember her face, but even that takes too much
concentration. My heart is a skydiver, yanking on the ripcord wildly,
shrieking, “Where’s the parachute!?”

She
leans in, smiling in a wrong way.

Ex:
“It’s-really-good-to-see-you-here.”

It’s
like she’s talking to a child – came near to sounding
like a laugh. She walks away, probably went home to mentally vomit
the pile of drunkenness known as Me.

Is
she really glade to see me?

I
hope so.

Heart:
“Of course not, idiot.”

Girl:
“I don’t think she likes me.”

And
then she runs her tongue into my ear.

I
barely notice, thinking of other images. The past seems so inviting.

I
know – God I know – that I’ll remember all of this
in the morning, and it will throw the next 5 months into the old,
emotional meat grinder.

I
lean back wanting Taki to take me home, and close my eyes again as
the tongue in my ear vibrates.

2
Years Ago...

I’m
with my X and her gay pal at a Goth club called The Dungeon, on
Halloween, near airport. There’s a long line. As you can
imagine, this is an important day, and we’ve got backstage
passes (later we’ll learn they were useless). She gives the fat
man at desk our tickets. They seem to know each other. He studies my
ID and thinks nothing of me: “Looks like anyone else.”

Why
even say such a thing?

Asshole.

I
feel ugly but keep up the façade. At least act like it doesn’t
bother you. You’ve been acting on public access for over 5
years, acting shouldn’t be a problem. My friends try to cheer
me up by saying: “You’re so handsome, you’re so
pretty.”

Pretty??
Is that supposed to make me feel better? I laugh, and we head inside.
A naked man wearing a tight leather mask with a zipper mouth is on a
wooden, mini stage, tied to cross. A woman tugs on his penis with
pliers while hunched over and scanning the area, grinning. I expected
myself to be thoroughly appalled, but instead I am moderately
interested. It helps that the “slave” seems to be
enjoying this odd “act”. We move to the rear of this
wondrous place.

There
are bottles of Zima everywhere: On vibrating speakers, the ground, in
the bathroom, the tables. We just stand in the back, outside under
the moonglow, looking in. My girlfriend gyrates to the music. I touch
her back and she feels it...smiles...and I feel so lucky. I feel very
very very lucky and normal. We go back in and she scolds me for
drinking a stranger’s discarded Zima bottle. I’m told
that I could get hepatitis or something. They’d know, surely,
both being in the medical field.

I’m
embarrassed at the scolding. That’s what I get for trying to
look cool. Like, “Hey, look at me drinking some stranger’s
bottle of beer! I don’t care, since I’m so hard!”

Come
to think of it, that was pretty stupid of me.

We
stick toilet paper in our ears to soften the pounding bass. Now we’re
dancing. I feel like an idiot. No one seems to care though, and soon
enough I’m too drunk to care as well. The female DJ is topless.
My girlfriend’s homosexual friend is dancing shirtless. My
girlfriend grazes her fingers across his sweaty, muscular chest. I do
the same…WHAT AM I DOING?? Get a grip, man. Don’t start
going sideways on me now.

I’m
just jealous that she touched his muscles (at least I hope I’m
just jealous). I’m such a child.

Later,
we’re by a staircase that’s painted black. She speaks
with an older, white fellow, looks like he has money and a decent
job, but ugly-ass hair. I grow jealous. Next to him, I look like a
16-year-old with far away dreams.

I
don’t want her talking with him. I KNOW what he’s
thinking. I know what he’s thinking! I wanna kill him! Did
mention she was wearing a black leotard?

Uhg.

Not
thirty minutes later, we’re in her SUV with her homosexual pal
at the wheel. I have no idea where we’re going. We end up in a
place in Waikiki called Fusions. I only see men in this place.
There’s happy, techno music and many platforms below us to
dance on. There are a lot of tiny, happy lights. Is that a disco
ball? Nice people here. One fellow buys me a Cosmopolitan, and it’s
good.

My
girl/woman stands over a railing, looking down on barren platforms
that move in disco lights. Must be a slow night. I stand next to her,
dazzled by all these lights. She’s pretty…looks a little
saddened by some mysterious problem. I touch the small of her back
and she says, quite suddenly: “No, I don’t like that. Not
here.”

I
catch my breath.

Yeesh.
I was just trying to be romantic.

I
retreat to the bar and hope some fool buys me another drink.

Doesn’t
happen.

That
night we argue in the kitchen: Trust me, love me, free me, have
make-up sex with me.

I’m
growing increasingly afraid of her. Does she love me, really? One day
I’m going to get hurt in a bad way, I can feel it.

Watch
out.

2
Years Later...

I
open my eyes: The girl has vanished – thank the Lord. Taki is
here with his friends (their faces are blurred – as if I’m
looking through some cheap JVC camera). I stand and make my way into
the bathroom, eyes low to the crazy ground. CORNER OF EYES: The dance
floor is empty, save for lone dancer male. Is he dancing, or having a
vertical seizure?

BATHROOM.

Man
pisses...I make my way to the urinal...so close now...BURST OF NAUSEA
RUNS UP MY BELLY AND INTO MY BRAIN.

Uh
oh. I’m falling.

Darkness.

Voices,
distant.

“Hey
hey glasses wake up water....”

***

Smell
something familiar, stimulates memory…something from the past
comes into my mind, something I read: Cat's urine glows under a
black-light.

Freezing
wet tiles on my cheek.

Stink
of urine around sides of my mouth.

I’m
lifted up.

I
hope my black shirt’s not wet. It is, all around the right
side. It better be water. My face is in the sink, hands helping me.
Water blasting: Cold...splashed onto my face.

“Are
you okay?”

For
some reason, I mumble:

“…xoowh…my
name is Bomb…qiff-93-yaw…my name is Rrrrr…daoc-super
3-a….” (or did I just think it?)

There’s
a popping sound in my ears – feet dancing on bubble wrap.

Sledgehammer
punk is at my side, splashing water continuously into my face and
repeating: “Are you sure, are you sure, are you sure?” I
think: Please Lord, pound him with the Fist of God. Someone hands me
my glasses (I don’t put them on) and I hear fats say, “Sorry,
dude, but you gotts ta go.” He sounds genuinely concerned. I
head outside...and…they’re following me, aren’t
they? (no) And judging me, and eyeing me out, giving me the stiff
one-eye: Staring at meeeeeeee!!!! (no, no one’s following you)

Where’s
Taki? Keep walking...don’t make eye contact with anyone. A few
years from now, no one will remember this.

Really?

No.

Fireworks
go off over my shoulder, and I’m shook-up for a good 3 seconds.
Where’s the fuckin car? Taki’s car? I don’t see it.
What time is it? Don’t wait for him, boy. Take the bus.

I’m
a good length away from the club. Good. I sit at the bus stop and get
up abruptly and vomit on a fence. I’m impressed by the volume
of my regurgitation. I feel sooo much better. I smile at myself, and
nod my head in approval. I hope passing cars don’t honk at me
and laugh. I’m at the wrong bus stop. I cross the street to the
other one, and lay back and close my eyes. My head isn’t
spinning anymore. Think back on bathroom: Feelings of anger. I know
that everything happens for a reason. This is no exception. All
proper emotions...much to learn from this. And what did I learn?
Trust your gut. I shouldn’t have gone out after that movie: I
should’ve gone home, home, home. I’m really angry with
that one guy. I hate feeling this way. What kind of human being feels
so much anger toward a fellow human? A bad one. I’m bad. I’m
bad and ugly and disgusting and disgusted at myself and so very
skinny that my mum makes fun of me and looks at me in repulsion many
times when I walk past her while she watches the Filipino channel. My
eye hurts. Is there a pebble inside?? It really hurts. I cry, which
is the body’s natural way of washing out unwanted articles.