Bob Arctor doesn’t feel himself
today. He didn’t feel himself yesterday either. Maybe cause he didn’t ball
Donna after they gulped that fifth. Arctor needs to get the next thousand tabs
of Death and he hasn’t seen Donna in two days. Or was it three. No. Two. Two
thousand tabs. He needs to work his way up, find someone really worth taking
down. That chick has some real groovy energy, Arctor thought; those summer
brown eyes really give a beating…
Freck says our
souls are putting on costumes when we sip our slow death. Souls are like
ghostly apparitions, he says. Bob Arctor had seen a woman die and she didn’t
breathe out any phantom spectre. Heads didn’t have souls. Donna might. All lost
souls.
…to a guy like me. Bob Arctor remembers
a conversation he had with Freck a day or two ago about souls. It doesn’t feel
like a memory, it feels like someone is giving him a telling to. Like it’s all
new information. Crosstalk? He’d told Freck he hoped souls were real cause
maybe that meant someone is watching out for him.
Donna asks Arctor if he wants some
more sticky, black hash.
“Do
you ever wonder who named it death?” Arctor can’t look at Donna. He is too far
slushed, like an ice-drink deserted in the Nevada heat. Donna probably has relatives in
Nevada ; an
overweight aunt and uncle who pop a D a day to lose weight. Well it used to be
one a day. Nobody does one a day.
“Some
people do one a day, when they first start.” Donna replied.
“When
they first start?” He echoed.
“Yeah,
it doesn’t last long. No heads last long.” Donna looks down at the hash pipe.
She can’t help but smile softly.
Did he say that out loud? I don’t
like people talking for me, he thought. I don’t need a narrator to tell me I’m
not doing a good job. But Donna is beautiful, funky, sweet. Can’t be blamed for
needing a hug from her.
“I
don’t normally let people touch me, y’know? I do a lot of coke, not that brown,
slick, slimy stuff, but the snow on the trees kinda stuff. The kind a real
freak does after he shoots up with death. His eyes roll back and his sight
glazes over, like a donut. You can’t see through a donut.”
Arctor laughs. His feet tingle as
he puts them on the coffee table.
“No,
I’m serious, and don’t put your feet on my table, I ripped that from a truck
and I don’t want them knowing it’s got scuff marks. The trees by the mountains
have snow, I’m sure. I want to live there. In the snow.”
Arctor wants to kiss her. He thinks
maybe he already has, but dreams and real life and nightmares aren’t much
different. If I kiss her now maybe the dope will romance her away. And I can
follow.
“I
want to kiss you, can I kiss you?”
“I
said I do a lot of coke, the snow and the trees y’know? I have to be careful;
I’m not anyone’s dream girl. I really don’t pixie for anyone.”
Bob Arctor tries to smile, but his
eyes don’t trust his mouth.
“Yeah
of course, of course. The trees, the mountains, the snow. The coke. The coke...
Can I come? I like farms and animals and that kind of funk. We’ll bring our
deaths and live until we die. We will make something of ourselves. Facere, to
make.” Funny, I can’t remember how I know that.
He drinks some more tequila, almost
dropping the bottle. I am slushed, that death was primo. Donna is primo with
her kinky death.
“You
like flowers, right? The little blue ones?”
“Yeah
I’m a real romantic type, I bring the little blue flowers to all my chicks.” I don’t
know what she’s talking about but I can’t help…
Arctor leans
over and kisses her. Donna is open-mouthed and stoned, this is my dream. But
it’s not a dream right? It’s not. That is Donna. Fred watches the screens and
sees Arctor leave the room. Barris. Barris? Why is Barris in the room with Bob
Arctor’s girl? Fred doesn’t believe it. Barris is the lying scum in Arctor’s
house. Follows him around to slime all over his heart pieces. The slug dripping
between the gaps of his toes. Bob Arctor doesn’t deserve this from his supposed
friend. His cephalochromoscope too. Arctor is a good man. Fred watches Arctor
return to the room. Jim Barris slinks away between Fred’s eyelashes, nowhere to
be seen. Fred is confused, where is Barris? Where is Arctor? Where is Donna?
Maybe I’m Donna.
… but play along.
Donna laughs in that dainty,
depressing way.
I realise that
now is the perfect time to kiss her. She is laughing; she thinks I’m a frolic,
a jest, a sport, a whimsy. A real catch.
Arctor leans over and kisses her;
full-blood, full-spirit. Donna is full-mouthed, stoned and furious.
“I
said you need to leave my body alone!” Donna is broken.
I reassess myself. This job really takes
a toll on me. I hope the scanners see this clearly, because I can’t. Maybe they
can spot my mistakes. Maybe they can spot me a dollar in a pinch. Barris said
that the scanners are everywhere; the peace officers have eyes and ears from here
to the horizon. Donna sees clearly but she can’t see me. I can’t see me.
Fred chuckles. A sad, lonely
chuckle.
“Y’know
what? Fuck this and fuck you. I don’t need this. Bob Arctor is a good guy.” I
say to her.
Donna looks confused, and like a
damned straight, says, “I don’t need you either, you’re acting weird. A real
headcase.”
I didn’t expect that, Donna is my
girl. I walk out the door and slam ten deaths down Bob Arctor’s dry, swollen
throat.
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