It took who knows how long to find the last few hits strewn amidst the mess of junk in the top drawer of my desk\u2014three large chunks of dirty white-on-white paper split evenly between Ira and myself\u2014but we ate what we had and went to Perkin\u2019s for breakfast. It was cold that night, fall had begun. The restaurant was close enough to walk to but we had to cross Route 59 to get there. On the way over we jumped deep-set irrigation ditches running parallel to the highway. At a point where the ditch runs beneath a road crossing over, there\u2019s a tunnel.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow long do you think it\u2019d take them to find a body in there?\u201d Ira asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said. \u201cA day, maybe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, about a day,\u201d he said. \u201cIt wouldn\u2019t buy you much time.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inside the restaurant, people were dressed in costumes with painted faces and it smelled like unwashed feet. For a moment we considered getting the food to go, but neither of us felt like walking home again. Ira looked good that night, a real Larry Ladyslipper. He was wearing a pinstriped suit jacket over a cozy sweater-vest and spiffy slacks. He\u2019s a foot shorter than I am and Japanese. When we go out to nice restaurants and drink wine together people eye us like we\u2019re gay. We play into it, limping our wrists, acting flamboyant. We only do this in the city, though. Not out here in the stix where it could cost us.<\/p>\n
The waitress asked what we wanted to drink and I tried to order fast. I wanted to eat while I still had an appetite but Ira was taking his time making a decision. I told her, \u201cA Coke and a sampler for me,\u201d because I don\u2019t trust cooks, not after midnight.<\/p>\n
Ira ordered a Sunshine Special and a cup of coffee. When the waitress walked away he said, \u201cThis place is weird. There are a lot of different kinds of people here.\u201d<\/p>\n
We were seated in the far end of the restaurant and I was positioned with my back to the place. This made me uneasy, I like to see everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t really turn to see,\u201d I told him. \u201cOr it would be peculiar.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s true. There are a lot of different types of people, though,\u201d he said again, as if to help me visualize it. He fiddled with the dessert menu. \u201cPumpkin pie sounds good right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cListen. I\u2019m not comfortable sitting like this,\u201d I said. \u201cI want to be able to see what\u2019s going on.\u201d<\/p>\n
He regarded me for a moment with what I felt was fear in his eyes. \u201cYou could sit next to me,\u201d he said. \u201cBut it might look strange.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019ll only confirm what everyone is already thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s true,\u201d he said. \u201cWho cares? You shouldn\u2019t miss out on watching the people.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s half the reason you come to a Perkin\u2019s. It\u2019s not for the food or the service.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr the ambiance,\u201d he said. \u201cIt smells like a locker room.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTry not to think about it,\u201d I said, scooting out of the booth and moving in to sit next to him. \u201cIs this weird?\u201d I asked, once I got settled.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot for me. But those people over there gave a double take when they looked up and saw you switching.\u201d He pointed with his eyes at a table on the other side of the restaurant where three twenty-something men in ball caps and Carhartt jackets winced at the sight of us.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt this point I\u2019m committed. I can\u2019t move back now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, that would be even stranger than moving over here in the first place.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you suppose our waitress is pretty?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was trying to figure out if she was,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I decided that she probably is if you\u2019re from around here, but I think to people like us she wouldn\u2019t appeal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe reminds me of a girl I saw in a movie who was pretty in a fucked up sort of way, like she\u2019ll never amount to anything other than a waitress\u2014though the girl in this movie was a housekeeper, and Venezuelan or something like that\u2014but she was pretty if you don\u2019t mind mediocrity.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMediocrity\u2019s the name of the game,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The waitress came back with our drinks. She smiled at our seating arrangement and said our food would be ready soon. She didn\u2019t seem to mind the fact that she was working at a Perkin\u2019s in Podunk at three in the morning on a Saturday night. I could tell because she really seemed to care, smiling sincerely, humming as she walked.<\/p>\n
After she left I said, \u201cHave you ever thought about fucking one of your students?\u201d<\/p>\n
He considered it for a moment. \u201cNot really,\u201d he said, messing with the sugar packets next to the dessert menu. \u201cSplenda<\/em>,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cMe either. Why is that?\u201d<\/p>\n He tore the corner from a pink packet and poured the contents in. \u201cI think it\u2019s because they\u2019re immature,\u201d he said. \u201cAt least for me that\u2019s what it is. I can see that they\u2019re pretty, you know, but I can\u2019t have a conversation with them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood point,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019re few and far between, the ones you can talk to. I guess after a while they become something like your cousin. Because you can see that they\u2019re attractive, but you don\u2019t necessarily desire them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n The people dressed in costumes suddenly struck me as strange: women with low cut shirts and slim-fitting shorts, blood-like streaks on their backs and arms, their faces painted as skeletons or ghouls, one of them a hook for a hand. There were men with them, too, dressed casually. Also: the place was wild with people coming and going. Rednecks, geriatrics, a young couple who looked like they just stepped out of a martini lounge in the Loop. One of the waiters looked like he could get us a gram of blow if we asked him nice.<\/p>\n \u201cThese people are ridiculous,\u201d Ira said.<\/p>\n A table of black people nearby had one of the girls pushing a guy into an empty booth adjacent, smothering him with her weight. Outside, teenagers hung around pick-up trucks with their engines running, the exhaust fumes milky white in the crisp, fall air.<\/p>\n \u201cI bought three or four pounds of Honey crisp apples today at the grocery store,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s seasonal, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt is.\u201d<\/p>\n The waitress approached with a platter of food but walked past us to serve it to another table. People came and went, plates clinked, silverware clanked, the pointless drone of late night conversation blurred around us and I could taste it. Ira sneezed and blew his nose into a napkin.<\/p>\n \u201cI think I might go to the bathroom,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I got up and sat across from him so he could get out, but then he added, \u201cOr maybe I\u2019ll wait until after my food comes.\u201d<\/p>\n I realized that maybe he didn\u2019t want to be sitting there with me anymore and for a while I was offended. \u201cThe bathroom could be a dangerous place for someone like you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean, what happens if one of these rednecks follows you in so they can teach you a lesson about gallivanting around here with your boyfriend? They might wrestle you down and drown you in the toilet water.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s true,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve got the shits, though.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI bet you do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt means I got the shits, too. This acid\u2019s dirty, remember?\u201d<\/p>\n The waitress came by with our food and set it down in front of us. She carefully organized the sauces for my chicken strips and cheese curds so I wouldn\u2019t accidentally set my sleeve into one of them. She refilled our water glasses and smiled at us. \u201cAnything else I can get you guys?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow about Tabasco sauce,\u201d Ira said. \u201cFor my eggs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to say \u2018For my eggs,\u2019\u201d I told him. \u201cShe knows it\u2019s for your eggs.\u201d<\/p>\n The waitress laughed. \u201cSure thing, hon,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n After she was out of earshot Ira said, \u201cDon\u2019t call me hon.<\/em>\u201d It was vicious, the way he said it. Riddled with malice. She returned and set it down near my ranch sauce. \u201cThank you,\u201d Ira said.<\/p>\n We ate our food in silence, trying not to listen to anything specific, but enjoying the ambiance for what it was. A group of older kids came in and sat near us: nerds with Mohawks and large, brimmed hats a la Indiana Jones<\/em>. \u201cThese guys just finished a hardcore evening of Magic: The Gathering,\u201d Ira said, cackling as he forked American fries into his mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re harmless.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I watched them out of the corner of my eye. I couldn\u2019t taste the food anymore\u2014not like I\u2019d wanted. \u201cTry this sauce here,\u201d I said. \u201cDoes it taste like barbecue to you?\u201d<\/p>\n He picked it up and smelled it. \u201cIt\u2019s marinara,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Time passed and I waited for him to ask me why I wanted him to test it, but he never did. I admired the way he went about eating his food, though. I noticed he had a deliberate method. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee, repeat; no deviation whatsoever.<\/p>\n \u201cBill Pullman over here could probably get us a gram of coke if we went about asking him the right way,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWho?\u201d Ira asked.<\/p>\n \u201cBill Pullman,\u201d I said. \u201cThis guy. Right here,\u201d pointing with my thumb at the waiter in the nineties haircut and deep-set, chiseled features.<\/p>\n \u201cHe doesn\u2019t look like Bill Pullman,\u201d Ira said. \u201cJerry O\u2019Connell I could see, but not Bill Pullman.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much cash do you have?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills: fives, tens, a twenty or so. He unwrinkled them and set them carefully on the table in order of their denomination.<\/p>\n \u201cSeventy-three,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cSo about sixty after we pay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI might try to get a gram from him, then.\u201d<\/p>\n Ira considered it for a moment. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said. \u201cHow much do you have?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cForty, after breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. How are you going to ask him?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDirectly, without any sort of confusion,\u201d I said. I took a sip from my Coke and rose from the booth when the waiter neared us. He was wiping down a recently abandoned table.<\/p>\n \u201cYou seem hip,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n \u201cDo what, now?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s late, I don\u2019t want to bother you. Where\u2019s the blow?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked to the kitchen and frowned. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d He dropped the rag on the table and stared at me.<\/p>\n \u201cThis time of night, up here at Perkin\u2019s, you know, just looking for some blow. I got enough for a gram, depending on how much you\u2019re asking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUh,\u201d he said. \u201cYou got the wrong guy, or something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcept you fit the profile, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo what, now?\u201d he asked. He was trying to get back to wiping, but I was too far into the proposition to simply recede to my table and let him forget all about it. I had to get something out of him.<\/p>\n \u201cListen man, someone around here has some blow and I think you might be able to point me in the right direction. That\u2019s all I\u2019m saying.\u201d<\/p>\n He was ignoring me now, lifting the sugar holders and condiments off the table as he wiped it down. He didn\u2019t answer for a moment, but then he said, \u201cWell, Raechel\u2019s boyfriend is a bouncer at Diamond\u2019s. He picks her up most nights at four and has an omelet while he waits. Maybe when he gets here you can ask him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s perfect. Will you point him out to me when he comes in?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll try to remember,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I can\u2019t make any promises. We\u2019re busy, it\u2019s Saturday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course. I\u2019m over here with the Asian.\u201d<\/p>\n I gestured toward Ira who was playing with his food in oblivion.<\/p>\n \u201cRight. I\u2019ll let you know, if I can remember.\u201d<\/p>\n When I got back to the table I noticed Ira didn\u2019t care to ask me how it went. I waited a while before I said, \u201cWhat do you suppose that<\/em> was all about?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat, he doesn\u2019t have anything?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe was coy about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWeird . . . . \u201d<\/p>\n He emptied a packet of cream into the center of his cup, stirring it with his spoon and watching it mix. Clockwise, counter-clockwise, back again. \u201cCoalesce,\u201d he whispered. \u201cActually, my favorite two words together are Manifest Destiny.\u201d<\/p>\n That struck me as a very human thing to say. \u201cI\u2019ve always been fond of bereavement,\u201d I said. \u201cOr Matt Abbatacola.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cTechnically that\u2019s not a word, though. It\u2019s a name.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, it\u2019s a term in baseball now that means \u2018broken bat base hit.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n A table of people near the cash register suddenly began to applaud. It caught on slowly, spreading toward the back of the restaurant. In a moment everyone was cheering and pumping their fists in the air. A chant broke out. \u201cUSA! USA!\u201d they shouted. Ira was pale with fear and my own heart was racing. I\u2019d lost my appetite long before, but I looked down at the untouched plate of food in front of me and felt disgusted. I noticed that even Ira\u2019s was only partially eaten. The noise continued until it swelled above us and for a moment I could see it hanging in the air like static in my peripheral vision. But then it died down to a dull trickle of excitement neither Ira nor myself could contain.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s get the fuck out of here,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n \u201cBe cool. We can\u2019t just get up and leave now, they\u2019ll think we\u2019re fucking socialists and lynch us for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no. Don\u2019t say that,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n The place was buzzing; everyone was smiling but us. Even the cooks in the kitchen had grins on their faces.<\/p>\n \u201cPatriotism is an abstract concept I will never understand,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cAlright. Let\u2019s go. Just get up, toss a twenty on the table, and act natural.\u201d<\/p>\n We each reached into our pockets and laid the bills down. On the way out we passed our waitress.<\/p>\n I said, \u201cListen, we left enough money to pay our bill on the table there. Just keep the change and tell Raechel I\u2019ll see her & her boo some time next week.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked at me funny. \u201cI\u2019m Raechel,\u201d she said, her nametag confirming it was true. Ira lingered awkwardly, balancing on his toes toward the exit.<\/p>\n \u201cHaha, I know,\u201d I said. \u201cIt was a joke.\u201d<\/p>\n She appeased me with a closed-mouth smile and said, \u201cTake care, drive safely.\u201d<\/p>\n As we approached the highway outside Ira paused, walking in place and holding his oblique\u2019s. \u201cI have to shit,\u201d he said. \u201cI think I\u2019ll shit down there in the ditch.\u201d<\/p>\n I went along to help shield him from the highway. He pulled his slacks to his ankles and squatted.<\/p>\n I said, \u201cBefore you shit, find something to wipe your ass with. You don\u2019t want to have to look for something when you got shit on your ass to wipe.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve already started,\u201d he grunted. \u201cCan you find something for me?\u201d<\/p>\n I found a few maple leaves scattered near the opening to the tunnel. I grabbed them and brought them over to him. He finished up and wiped, stood and refastened his belt. We waited there for a moment looking at the little piece of shit he\u2019d left on the downward sloping side of the ditch.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you think they\u2019ll know a man made this shit?\u201d He asked. \u201cOr do you suppose they\u2019ll think it was some other animal?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s rather small for man shit,\u201d I said. \u201cI think you\u2019ll be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s hope so,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n The orange-glow of the lights along the highway made us feel ghastly as we crossed. The early morning wind picked up and I could all but see my house from down the windswept street\u2014bristled leaves tossed across the pavement, gumball seeds gathering along the curbside. The trajectory of one particular leaf garnered my attention and I followed it, Ira walking briskly ahead, every so often looking back to slow his pace. Moments later we were jogging. I could still hear the people chanting in my head, had taken to repeating it over and over, a patriotic mantra of sorts. Ira said something about shin splints and stopped to itch his leg. My front yard had recently been dug up by the city to repair a broken street lamp illuminating the driveway.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen we get to the street lamp I want you to tell me what color it smells like,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n He brooded for a moment, his lips taut as he considered the question. I could tell he was having a difficult time dealing with the affect of the drug in the way he twisted up his face. Taking note of this, I felt a little uneasy myself.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you talking about synesthesia?\u201d he asked, but I pretended not to hear him.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s probably good there aren\u2019t any cars out right now, otherwise I might be tempted to hitch a ride with one, see how far it could take me. You know what I mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not sure I do,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Soon we were standing beneath the streetlamp. \u201cOkay. Take a deep breath. What color does it smell like? I have a very specific color in mind and I want to see if you pick the same one.\u201d<\/p>\n He drew in through his nose. It whistled.<\/p>\n \u201cFuscia,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cInteresting. But purple<\/em> is what we were looking for there. The correct answer was \u2018purple.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan we go inside? I\u2019m sweating.\u201d<\/p>\n I noticed someone left the lights on\u2014the kitchen light, two lamps in the living room, even the light above the stove. Further examination revealed that the bathroom light, the bedroom light, and the lamp on my desk were also left illuminated. Strange how foreign and unnerving it was to see my house so brightly lit. I asked Ira, \u201cWhy do you suppose these lights are on?\u201d forgetting that before we left for Perkin\u2019s we\u2019d been searching every inch of space for the blotter I\u2019d stored absent-mindedly. It all came back to me as he explained it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou couldn\u2019t remember where you put the LSD,\u201d he said angrily, his hair matted and disheveled from wearing his winter cap. He was having trouble speaking and breathing at the same time. I could tell he was flustered. \u201cGod damn, don\u2019t you remember? We were searching for an hour.\u201d He paced the room so that he wouldn\u2019t have to look me in the eye, fanning himself by pulling at the collar of his shirt. \u201cChrist, is the heat on?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe we should smoke some pot,\u201d I said. \u201cThat might make us feel a little better, take things down a notch.\u201d I figured it was a good idea to roll something up, too, while I still had control of my hands.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I guess,\u201d he said. He went and grabbed the darts down from the dart board. While I rolled the blunt he cast them from his fingers, walking urgently to collect them from where they\u2019d landed, and repeating the motion. I used a cigarette rolling machine. The blunt paper, flavored PURPLE in this instance, was too large to fit within the confines of the plastic roller. I found the scissors and tried cutting the wrap evenly on all sides to make it fit. The task took several minutes to complete; I think it had something to do with my coaching Ira as he threw the darts.<\/p>\n Licking the paper, I said, \u201cYour toe crossed the line on that last throw, Ira. Look\u2014you\u2019re standing tip-toe, reaching for it. Lean back on the balls of your feet. Relax. Throw confidently, follow through.\u201d<\/p>\n He nodded, muttered something, ignored me for the most part. I finished rolling the blunt and lit the tip, allowing it to burn for a moment so it wouldn\u2019t go out. I lit a stick of nag champa, too, and let that burn. I could see the individual smoke created by each combining in both smell and taste to form what I thought was an extraordinary sound\u2014something like ice breaking free from a plastic tray. Ira came to sit beside me, looking down at the floor, breathing irregularly, though I wouldn\u2019t say that to his face.<\/p>\n He hit the blunt and started to cough\u2014a wretched, hacking cough I could feel in the meat of my cheek. When I hit it I started coughing too and pretty soon we were sitting with our hands on our knees, our tongues hanging from our mouths, coughing violently, listening as the vibration of our cough bounced, not only from the walls of the room, but also from within our chest where I could feel the sound more clearly than I could the room. And then we were outside\u2014we\u2019d ran to get there\u2014bent over beneath the street lamp spitting phlegm onto the driveway and checking it for blood. Ira said, \u201cI don\u2019t want to say it,\u201d trailing off.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s okay,\u201d I told him, because I didn\u2019t want to hear what he didn\u2019t want to say, although I think, for a moment, we communicated our feelings without having to say anything at all. It was brief and then it was gone and then the wind took up the frills of Ira\u2019s jacket and we realized we were standing beneath the streetlamp outside my house at five in the morning.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re like moths under this street lamp,\u201d I told him. \u201cHave you realized we\u2019re outside standing under a street lamp right now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe needed the fresh air, what the fuck?\u201d he said, because I think he realized too how identifiable we\u2019d made ourselves to greater society as villains. I saw in his face the fear of that notion take hold, because his lip twitched and then he hummed to himself, glancing each direction of the street as if to spot the outside forces coming to get us.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s cold,\u201d he said. \u201cShould we go back in?\u201d<\/p>\n I wondered. \u201cAre we done coughing yet?\u201d<\/p>\n And then we were coughing again, or was it that we never actually stopped coughing? It\u2019s difficult to say, but I know we couldn\u2019t stop coughing and then I said, \u201cHow is it we\u2019re both coughing so much?\u201d though when I said it we were inside again, having come to the conclusion that part of what was making us cough was the cold air we weren\u2019t accustomed to.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat was in that weed?\u201d Ira asked, holding his hand near his Adams apple in the shape of a claw. \u201cWas it laced with something, do you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think it was the cigar wrap, it must have tobacco in it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck. Are you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s not talk about it, it\u2019s no big deal,\u201d I said, only halfway able to finish the sentence on account I couldn\u2019t help but cough as I said it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not making sense. I have to use the bathroom,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Soon he was in there alone, coughing up phlegm, spitting it into the bathtub. I could hear the splat of the saliva echoing from the walls of my bathroom. Did I go to my bedroom so I could pass the bathroom door to listen to what he was doing? I was lying in bed listening as a car drove by outside, its tires rushing against the pavement of the street. It dragged a chain from what I imagined to be the hitch of a truck, a blue-collar worker, perhaps a locksmith of some sort, on his way to unlock a drunk\u2019s car door down at the strip.<\/p>\n As Ira turned the ventilator on in the bathroom, sucking out the vile air he\u2019d created, I convinced myself, if only for a moment, that the house was funneling the stench into my bedroom. In all actuality, I imagined that the culprit of the phenomenon was the architect, or at the very least someone in charge of the construction crew who thought it would be funny to do such a thing.<\/p>\n The ventilator turned off and all was quiet. I needed to hear something\u2014I needed sound. I went to my closet, pulled out my space heater, plugged it in, turned the lights off, turned the space heater on, listened to the hum, smelled the dust burning as the coils grew hot, watched from behind my eyes the swirling images cast in transparent green light, red light, puce. The door to the bathroom opened and Ira stepped out. I heard him walk across the hardwood floor and felt the house shift as he opened the front door to peer outside. The screen door whined and slammed shut a moment later. My heart was pounding with excitement. I waited for him to reenter, figuring he would check beneath the streetlamp and return to where it was safe, but time passed and I couldn\u2019t hear him.<\/p>\n Humming from the bottom of my throat, I allowed the vibration of my voice to travel through the sinew of my face and neck, feeling it in my chest especially, and onward toward the outer reaches of my body. A fan secured to the wall just above the place I lay my head was dormant. I turned it on, but the sound was too much, so I shut it off and pictured Ira outside instead, lying in the grass behind the old oak in the yard, making angels in the leaves that had fallen from the limbs.<\/p>\n Then I heard him coughing from outside my bedroom window. I figured he was standing under the streetlamp again, catching his breath. He was coughing up phlegm still, but I didn\u2019t want to get up and see.<\/p>\n The coughing drew nearer. He was walking now. One last sputter and the screen door opened, his boots falling on the hardwood floor, slowly but surely, headed across the room toward the kitchen. I heard the vibration of his voice, more coughing, and the vibration of his voice again\u2014however not in search of me: his tone was too formal and I couldn\u2019t place the words, couldn\u2019t tell you who he was talking to, exactly. I wondered if he\u2019d taken to talking to himself in my absence. The darkness of the room danced at the corners of my eyes with each syllable that struck a higher decibel of sound. I rose from bed, went to the door, and listened:<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I\u2019m sorry. What time is it there?\u2014no, no, no emergency at all. I just wanted to call to catch up, see how you\u2019ve been.\u201d More coughing. \u201cGood, good. Yeah, I\u2019m out here in the stix, you know, ed<\/em>ucating the youth.\u201d He laughed anxiously. \u201cYes, yes. It\u2019s been too long. Yes, of course. Indeed. I will. Thank you. You too. Sorry to wake you.\u201d<\/p>\n Tensely I waited for something more to happen, for him to come to my room and find me, but after a short amount of time he moved and sat on the couch, the springs squeaking beneath him. He continued to cough, and I heard him slam his hand against the cushion in frustration. \u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d<\/em> he called out.<\/p>\n He walked into the kitchen, the linoleum floor emanating a different kind of echo from the fall of his boots. He opened the freezer and as time passed I wondered what he thought I was doing, where I\u2019d gone, if he even cared. And then, without my knowing it, he opened the door to the bedroom and flipped on the overhead light. Exposed beneath it, I squinted long enough at him to feel ashamed, tried focusing my eyes on his, and when I did, I saw that they were fearful\u2014that the top of his forehead was covered in sweat dripping down his sideburns.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got my head in the fucking freezer out here,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you realize it\u2019s only been an hour and a half since we took that stuff? What do you think is wrong with us? Come here, look.\u201d<\/p>\n I followed him to the kitchen. Still, all the lights in the house were on, and for some reason it surprised me\u2014I had imagined they were off.<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d he said. He opened the door to the freezer and stuck his head inside. He held it there and then pulled it out again. \u201cSee?\u201d he asked. \u201cSee what I\u2019ve been reduced to?\u201d<\/p>\n All the while he was coughing. He went to the sink and spit into the basin, running the water to wash away the spot in which it landed.<\/p>\n \u201cIs there blood in your saliva?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n The question unnerved him. \u201cWhy<\/em>?\u201d he asked, pale-faced.<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t have an appropriate answer.<\/p>\n \u201cI think we need to call the hospital,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\u2019ll know what to do. We need help.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no,\u201d I said. \u201cLet\u2019s go to church and pray. We can sneak in to one of the early bird services. They\u2019ll accept us there, won\u2019t they? Isn\u2019t that better than the bright lights of a hospital?\u201d<\/p>\n He walked past me into the living room shaking his head. He pulled his phone out and held it in the air, turning to face me as I stood in the doorway of the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck no,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m calling an ambulance. Who\u2019s going to drive? Neither of us are capable of driving right now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m capable. I\u2019m fine. See? All this coughing is psychosomatic. You\u2019re not dying, I didn\u2019t mean what I said before about the blood.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not psychosomatic,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s real. I was looking at my mouth in the mirror and I saw that it was black at the base. It\u2019s like my insides are decaying.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet me take a look,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n We were in the bathroom with the bathwater running as hot as we could get it so the steam would fill the room and act as a sauna. I had a mini-mag light in my hand, Ira was sitting on the toilet seat with his mouth open, tilting his head back so I could look deep inside. Difficult now to express the sensation I felt peering with that flashlight into my friend\u2019s throat, the sound of the water filling the tub, the smell of the water mixed with halitosis\u2014.<\/p>\n The base of his tongue became a gray sort of purple as it descended toward the back of his throat, but it surely wasn\u2019t decay. I could see old silver fillings turning black in the cores of his teeth and off-white enamel peeking through pea-sized holes in his gums where his wisdom teeth should be.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks like your wisdom teeth are coming in. I think they\u2019re impacted.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you serious?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhat else?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow often do you floss?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHardly ever.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe too. I hope it doesn\u2019t come back to bite me.\u201d<\/p>\n I set the mag-light on the sink and grabbed a bottle of body wash from a shelf in the shower. I emptied a healthy amount into the water of the tub, which had filled a quarter of the way. A sharp scent filled the room\u2014described on the exterior of the bottle as Ocean Breeze.<\/p>\n We had taken our shoes and socks off and were sitting with our feet in the tub. Ira\u2019s coughing had subsided. I got out and turned off the light, grabbing the mag-light again and turning it on instead, shining it into the suds of the bathwater. Ira was \u201cOoing\u201d and \u201cAhhing\u201d and I too was impressed by what the light was doing to the soap. We were seeing numbers and letters in the suds. Ira pointed out a word to me, but I couldn\u2019t see it. \u201cDisparate,\u201d he said. \u201cThe soap there spells \u2018disparate.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n It could\u2019ve been that it did, but often times we see what we want to see. I was seeing numbers\u201459, 17, 2031. Forming where the faucet water clashed with the water in the tub was the phrase, \u2018Cowabunga,\u2019 but it quickly deteriorated into a slovenly lion, misshapen and depressed by a sense of his own mortality. I was telling the story to Ira who interrupted to demand the light be shone in certain places. \u201cThere!\u201d he said, pointing. \u201cYou missed it. It said, \u2018See you next Wednesday.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m good enough to drive to a church,\u201d I said. \u201cWouldn\u2019t it be nice?\u201d<\/p>\n He thought about it so long I figured he had chosen to ignore the question. But then he said, \u201cI\u2019m ripe with original sin.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t know exactly how to respond to that other than to say that it was probably true, so I shined the light on his face and saw his nose was streaking blood.<\/p>\n \u201cStop shining the light in my face,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cExcept I think your nose is bleeding,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n He lifted his feet out of the water so fast he splashed some into my lap. At first I wanted to curse him for it, but then I understood that if I had a bloody nose I wouldn\u2019t concern myself with wetting someone by jumping out of the bathtub too fast.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck, man, are you joking<\/em>?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019m joking,\u201d I said, and when the light came on it confirmed that I wasn\u2019t. His nose had been bleeding down his shirt and chin and around his mouth now for quite some time.<\/p>\n He slapped at the toilet paper roll and unwound a long piece. Balling it up he held it to his face, his hand shaking. \u201cCall the ambulance,\u201d he said, coughing again. He spit into the sink and peered at it. \u201cBlood in my saliva now, too,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t know why I wasn\u2019t more alarmed, but my placidness under pressure only seemed to make things worse.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s a big deal, Ira. It\u2019s only bleeding because it\u2019s dry. It\u2019s colder outside today than it has been in months. Don\u2019t you remember how cold and dry it was?\u201d<\/p>\n He was yelling at me now. \u201cWill you fucking<\/em> drive me to the emergency room? Please, man, I need to see someone as soon as possible or I\u2019m calling 9-1-1.\u201d<\/p>\n Probably because I didn\u2019t want to deal with emergency personnel, I decided to drive him to the hospital. The whole scene was difficult for me to grasp, though. I felt near-sighted. Things were blurry in places they weren\u2019t usually, and at other times I could see my surroundings with perfect clarity. I think I took too long getting out of the tub, putting my socks on because Ira held his cell phone out at me threatening to call the ambulance every time I got distracted by something. Soon we were sitting in my car. We had stuffed our pockets with paper towels. He was tapping his foot against the plastic floor mat and I remember starting the ignition, thinking, \u2018This whole thing. I wonder why I do this to myself,\u2019 allowing the car to idle before putting it into drive. This, though, was wrong. We moved forward and knocked over the mini-Weber grill in front of us.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck, man. Are you cool, or no?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m cool,\u201d I said calmly.<\/p>\n The hospital wasn\u2019t far from where I lived, but it required us to drive down the main highway that ran through town. At almost six in the morning I felt we would look suspicious if we went the speed limit, so I drove ten over. Initially, I felt I\u2019d have a difficult go driving, but I found myself calm and almost peaceful with the process. I was hoping Ira would feel the same and come to the realization that all was well, but instead I think the trip made him even more upset.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck, man, you need to slow down, seriously. What the hell are you driving so fast for?\u201d<\/p>\n I considered explaining why I was driving so fast, but I didn\u2019t. Instead I turned the radio on and hit the scan button. Nothing but talk, talk, talk. We found some classical music but it was violent\u2014rushing past us as we drove. Ira hit the power button and leaned his head back.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019s your nose?\u201d I said. \u201cStill bleeding?\u201d<\/p>\n He\u2019d stopped coughing, at least. I noticed that much. And then, almost shamefully, he said, \u201cIt\u2019s not bleeding anymore. It stopped.\u201d<\/p>\n We were already to the entrance of the hospital, though, so I turned in. There was a series of speed bumps and I maneuvered them carefully so as to not upset Ira. Despite my lackadaisical attitude I felt sorry for him. We parked in the lot where brightly lit letters were illuminated over a pair of sliding glass doors. \u00a0EMERGENCY, they said.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, Ira. Go on inside and tell them you took too much acid. Your brain is bleeding and there\u2019s cancer in your lungs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you saying this? Why are you telling this to me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re outside a hospital, Ira. You\u2019re going to be okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes it doesn\u2019t matter how close you are to the hospital,\u201d he said. \u201cDeath will find you if it wants to.\u201d<\/p>\n That made sense to me, and I felt bad for saying what I did. \u201cLike getting run over by an ambulance,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s exactly right,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n An attractive man with blonde, spiked hair stepped out of the doors and lit a cigarette, shaking in the cold.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you think his name is?\u201d I asked. Ira turned the music on and found a station playing soft-core trance. \u201cGood ambiance,\u201d he said. \u201cThis is music you can sleep to.\u201d<\/p>\n He pulled the lever on his seat and leaned it back so he could rest his eyes. I put mine back a little, too. I\u2019ll admit we went wrong not playing music to calm ourselves in the first place. What\u2019s an acid trip without music? I asked myself, or maybe I said it out loud, I can\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n I started to get paranoid though. After all, the car was running and the lights were on, but only because I didn\u2019t want to be left in a position where I couldn\u2019t escape quickly if I needed to.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat now, Ira?\u201d I asked. He sat up.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m feeling better,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I don\u2019t want to leave yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m feeling paranoid just sitting here like this,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWell I don\u2019t want to leave until I know for sure I\u2019m okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlright, Ira. Some time more here, but I want to go for a little drive out west so we can watch the sun rise.\u201d<\/p>\n The birds were chirping in the trees and the sky was a pale grayish hue. The music stopped and suddenly the car was filled with silence. We waited for it to return again but the station must have quit its feed.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck?\u201d Ira asked. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe we\u2019ll have to find something else to listen to,\u201d I said. \u201cHere. Fiddle with it while I drive. Okay? We\u2019re going now, I know just the spot.\u201d<\/p>\n He tried to complain but I told him I was making an executive decision. \u201cYou\u2019re fine,\u201d I said. \u201cNo one\u2019s ever died from an acid trip.\u201d<\/p>\n On the road out of town we passed the Perkin\u2019s. Now the place was filled with Oldsmobiles, Cadillacs, Towncars. The early morning church crowd. Ira\u2019s spirits lowered just seeing it and I told him not to think about it. \u201cWe\u2019re safe now, they can\u2019t hurt us.\u201d<\/p>\n There\u2019s a park outside of town called Leroy Oaks with a spot deep in the Nicolai where a boulder overlooks a drop-off dipping down into a canyon. Off in the distance you can watch the sunrise from the east. I\u2019d watched it once with a girlfriend a few months before but hadn\u2019t made it back. When we got to the park the gates were closed.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat now?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n To my credit, I hadn\u2019t considered it might not be open yet so early in the morning.<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d I said. \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s a good idea for us to go back to my house.\u201d<\/p>\n We parked the car outside the gate and locked it up. Half-way to the spot I mentioned, we lost our spark and grew frightened of the silence around us. Sure, there were trees rustling and they looked digital as they fluttered in the wind, but it wasn\u2019t enough to keep us going.<\/p>\n \u201cShit, we\u2019re out in the middle of nowhere, man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know, I just realized we shouldn\u2019t have done this.\u201d<\/p>\n Instead of leaving though we laid in the grass together with our hands behind our heads, our backs wet with early morning dew. I was flying. I asked, Ira, \u201cHow are you feeling now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPerfect,\u201d he said. \u201cNever better.\u201d<\/p>\n Some time later we must have fallen asleep because I woke with a start from a dream of someone shining a flashlight onto my bedroom ceiling. They were twisting the bulb so that it expanded and contracted into itself\u2014the miracle of life. Someone said, \u201cThis is God\u2019s eye peering down at us.\u201d<\/p>\n I woke Ira and told him we had to run. Our car was locked outside the gate\u2014a telltale sign of the presence of junkies when they come to open it. The sun hadn\u2019t yet cleared the tops of the trees.<\/p>\n Stiff from the hard, wet ground, we made our way to the gate where the car was left unharmed. No one was waiting to see who we were.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m thinking of a number between one and ten,\u201d I said, buckling my seatbelt and starting the car. I pulled out onto the road and drove back toward town.<\/p>\n Ira thought about it for a moment. \u201cYou\u2019re thinking of the number eleven,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n