Figure It Out! - 013
I was sick of being a hermit. I was sick of being paranoid. I was sick of my life and the direction it was heading. So I finally rolled out of bed and began to fucking live again. I got in touch with all my old friends. I even went out and made some new ones. I stopped being so afraid and bitter and worried all the time. I really tried to just be.
Bob was about to hit the hooch when he saw a lone figure standing on the bridge. Hoisting his brown bag in mock salute, he studied the person’s face. Recognizing it immediately, Bob ran towards the guy.
“Hey there, friend!”
“Huh?” replied a bewildered Bobby.
“Remember me? You saved my ass at the 7-11 one night, with that underage jerk trying to buy booze. I’ve been looking for you ever since. I still owe you a Slurpee.”
“Or how about a drink?”
As Bob hands Bobby the bottle, he mutters: “I didn’t want it anyway.”
Bobby takes a deep swig and declares: “Thanks, man. I really needed that.”
“Hey, I know a place down along the river. Maybe, we could go shoot the shit or something?”
“Sure, friend. Sounds like a plan to me.”
Nike and Jim embraced heartily. Neither of them said a fucking word for there are no words that could possibly convey their feelings. Jim hugged her with every cell in his body. Though, for some strange reason, it didn’t feel like she was really there. Still, he didn’t give a shit. He felt so fucking good about himself and the world that it didn’t matter whether she was there or not.
I’d just dropped Stan off at the airport. He was going back to California for some sort of decomputerization rehab program (apparently, he too wanted to start living again).
When I returned to my apartment, there were tons of people lined up around my complex, as if there’d been an accident or something. Not being the type of guy who likes to watch other people’s misery, I stood across the street and smoked a cigarette while I waited for the crowd to clear out so I could get into my place and start cleaning up all my shit.
“That’s him! The one in the sweatpants over there smoking.”
“Oh crap,” I thought to myself.
“Yeah, that’s definitely him. He’s the one who shouts obscenities at all hours of the night and is constantly hammering. Get him!”
As the crowd turned on me, three men in white uniforms grabbed my legs.
Naturally, I started screaming: “Fuck you, fucking motherfuckers!”
“See, he’s obscene.”
“But I haven’t done anything!”
“That’s not what your neighbors say or your parents. . .”
“My parents? I haven’t spoken to them in years. They’re so fucking ingrained in my psyche that I don’t even need to actually talk to them anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what they said. That you hadn’t contacted them in quite some time and that you’d gone totally crazy. Your neighbors also claim that you’ve been acting insane. The CPD have a thick file on you as well. Thus, the consensus seems to be that you need help.”
“Well, that may be true, but I wouldn’t trust your sources, asshole. Who the fuck are you guys anyway?”
“We’re mental health workers,” explained the tallest of the trio while they worked furiously to strap me onto a cold metal gurney.
“What the. . . That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard! Wait a second, is this one of Bobby’s pranks?”
“Oh my God, I think he’s delusional. Get me a tranquilizer! Fast, he’s resisting.”
“Man, I’m so sick of you assholes fucking with my head. Please, just let me be.”
“Now he’s paranoid as well. Hurry up with that sedative.”
“This is such bullshit! I’m a human fucking being. Sure, I may have some fucking problems. But in this fucked-up world of ours, who the fuck doesn’t? I also have all kinds of brilliant ideas and feelings and questions and answers and. . . Fuck it! You don’t even fucking care, do you? You’re just doing your fucking job, following the rules and shit. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, look at me, I’m a real person! Aren’t you even human? How can you do this shit? You’ve practically got me chained down here.”
With all my strength, I attempted to wiggle away from their collective grasp, even as they held me down tight and injected me with some type of clear liquid.
“Fuckers! I wanna see Dr. Szasz or Dr. Laing. You can’t fucking do this to me!”
“Shut him up.”
Someone shoved a rubber muzzle down my mouth.
Still, I tried to scream: “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
Soon enough, the sedative kicked in and I passed out.
When I awake, I’m in a straitjacket. My tiny room is completely dark and covered with padding. I shit my pants because, well, what the hell else am I gonna do?
Then, I run (or, at the very least, try to run) and jump at the padded walls. I do this for hours and hours, just to show them that I’m still alive and fucking kicking in here. It’s kinda fun. You should try it sometime.