8 months ago

Comfortable Madness First PDF 4-13-18

“Well,” she said.

“Well,” she said. “You made it.” Suddenly, I needed to sit. I needed to lie down. Nausea and shame churned through me. “Are you okay?” I nodded but Angie saw more than I wanted her to. “Listen,” she said. “Let me know when you get home. I have some thoughts for the next show.” “Okay.” An eyebrow lifted. A hand rose for a moment before dropping. She hugged me. “Get better,” she said and walked out. I stood there a long time. I stood there feeling naked, like a monkey in a zoo, making everyone laugh. I stood there a long time and told myself I’d done nothing wrong. It was a lie and I wasn’t buying.

The Dead On the edge of sleep, just before I woke, I found myself standing in the middle of the room, but I wasn’t standing in the middle of the room. I was in bed. I saw my body there. This was my room. These were the walls and these were the drawings I’d hung there. These were my windows looking out at the hills. But then, this was not my room. The walls were too far away. The windows were dark and there was no noise from my neighbors or the traffic on the street. The walls turned pale and the windows closed and merged. Above me, the ceiling arced and disappeared. Light thinned and I was alone. Music came from nowhere and it rasped through my legs, my ribs and head. Slowly, I spun and then I danced. It felt good. When I stopped, my legs quivered and my lungs bellowed. And then, the world shifted again and I stood there. Dead folks hung from short, black ropes. They hung in shades of lavender. Their bulging eyes were white as boiled eggs. Their purple tongues hung from pale lips, swollen and slick as slugs. I would have left, but there was no path, no gap big enough to get through. I spun in place, careful not to touch anything. There was only enough room for me. Somehow, I knew the people hanging there. I knew their faces. I knew their hands and the way their hips sloped into their legs. Something told me that these people where part of me and a panic built in my belly, scratching along my spine. Gid came up behind me. I tried to turn, but his hands held my hips. His voice whispered in my ears. “These are my dead,” he said. I stared at the bodies. There were so many of them. The dead hanging there marked an eternity of something. “None of them,” Gid said. “Not one of them loved me with perfect faith.”