(Me and Jason - right - from back when he had ten toes.) |
There’s
a time machine at the end of the hall. I told you about it already next week.
It’s not a DeLorean and it’s not a police box. It’s a room in my friend Jason’s
house.
The
red light, wait, the red light comes earlier, I believe, that bit. I have not told
you that bit yet. Too early then. Or else too late. I can’t remember nor
foresee which.
There’s
a time machine at the end of the hall.
I
went there for some clothes, for Jason, for the hospital, for where they’re
cutting off his toe, that’s all, it started reasonably. I believed it to be a
closet. Believed, reasonably. It wasn’t a closet and have I mentioned there’s a
time machine at the end of the hall? I will.
When
you flip on the switch for a light – which you didn’t, I did – a red glow
appears and the sound of static fills the space. I was looking for undershirts.
I found a chair, and a red light, and a little radio, and mirrors cover the
walls, and when you sit in the chair like a death chamber electric chair, straps
screwed to the chair arms snap on your wrists, and really, I ought to write a
blog post about the time machine at the end of Jason’s hall.
Look
into your eyes. In the mirror. I did mine. And your eyes are there but your
face soon melts away. From the staring. Different shades of red blinking maybe
Christmas lights. This explaining will be better in the future, I hope.
You
know that it’s working when the clouds come. No reflections now and then the
shapes. After, definitely after, I believe. Then the moment you met Jason in
1991. 500 comments on an old Adri blog. Distant fingers wave. And the part
where you stop blogging and the part where you die. Rewrite this in first
person. Imagine it’s me. “OK then, I’m
Harry” – Twenty-three, pointing down Hawthorne.
This
is the point in the story when I’m in a time machine at the end of the hall.
Then…
then? Cannot remember getting out of the straps; cannot remember leaving. Perhaps
I will. Cannot remember the return to the hospital where downstairs, there’s a
sign that reads, “Assaulting a nurse is a
felony.” Jason takes the clothes and he says, “I was going to ask you to bring me some clothes!” but I’m too
early now and he hasn’t yet. I will show up later here before this has
happened.
I’m
still in the chair, perhaps, there’s a chance of it, I know, of that being the case, that’s how these
work in the movies, and how can I ever be sure when there’s a time machine at
the end of the hall?
If
his hospital stay is long, then I can go back and I can check.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
“In that unquiet vastly
stitched”
is stolen from Thomas Pynchon’s Bleeding
Edge.
“Distant fingers wave” is stolen from
probably every William Burroughs novel ever.
Finally a face
ReplyDeleteThere are only about 4 recent pics of me in existence where I'm looking into the camera, let alone smiling. I avoid it when I can.
DeleteA little less mysterious, but I won't let that change my mind about anything.
DeleteThanks. It should actually add to the mystery since I'm wearing a Ukrainian black metal t-shirt.
DeleteGood thing it's not a misdemeanor
ReplyDeleteThey shouldn't have to remind people that assault is a crime at all. I know people are not in the best of moods when they go to the hospital, but wow. Reminders not to assault people make me sad.
DeleteWow, there's a Thomas Pynchon book I haven't read? Is it good?
ReplyDelete-Doug in Oakland
"Bleeding Edge" is an amazingly clear-eyed story about justified paranoia in the Information Age, in the same vein as "Lot 49" or "Vineland" but with a more East-Coast vibe. Even lacking a cameo appearance by Pig Bodine or any of his relatives, it rocks.
DeleteIt's his latest. Maybe 2016.
DeleteWhat David said, above.
Pynchon always focuses on times of great change and then goes nuts with his insider vs. outsider thing. This deals with the time around 9/11. I hope it doesn't mean that he';s caught up with the calendar and is done.
Incidentally, I share a birthday with Pynchon. Me, Robert Johnson, Thomas Pynchon, and Harry Truman!
What is on that shirt, if you don't mind me asking?
Delete-Doug in Oakland
It's a Drudkh t-shirt. They're a Ukrainian black metal band and have an album called "Microcosmos" that I listened to a lot back in 2011.
DeleteThe problem is, that we're now stuck in a purgatory where I don't and can't know if that picture or what you write is the real you or another avatar. But I suppose that's completely pertinent to the tale being quilted together. Perhaps you've already told us all about it next week and I need to catch up.
ReplyDeleteI love anonymity. I have sort of given that up the past two years, but so far, so good. It's sort of my nightmare for some of the people I write about to find this place.
DeleteYeah. What Pickleope said. I'm waiting until next month then replay the tapes in my head. Oh, I BELIEVE in the Time Machine, Pynchon, Burroughs, etc. ... but my eyes are wide SHUT, this time around. And .. what about Nurses assaulting patients? I've seen that more than a few times first hand. I suppose a sign about that might cramp their style, though.
ReplyDeletebeej in TN
Hi, beej!
DeleteYou know, I work at a law office where we have signs about who to complain to if I screw up. You don't see that very often in other sorts of offices. Maybe it encourages complaints. Especially when people come in already in a bad mood - as they do in law offices and hospitals!
Hi Harry. Nice to see you in person. Best of luck to Jason and hope the stay in the hospital isn't long.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Mr. Shife. Jason is out and just waiting for his special diabetic shoe to come in before he goes back to work. I probably will never mention the mirrors, chair, and lights in his closet. None of my business.
DeleteI'm confused! LOL! But, I do hope your friend's stay at the hospital goes well! I can't believe that sign about assaulting nurses. That is horrible. I read in your comments, that you are wearing a Ukrainian black metal t-shirt. My heritage is Ukrainian and Polish! Take Care Harry! Good to see you!
ReplyDeleteIt appears that everybody was confused. My friend had apparently set up a scrying area in his closet. Scrying is like a crystal ball - something that is supposed to make you see things when you stare for long enough. I borrowed his set-up and saw weird shapes in the mirror.
DeleteI guess that is what it was intended to be, anyway. I can't imagine what else the set-up could be for and I won't ask.
That time machine at the end of the hall - same as mine except I call mine dreaming. Different places, situations, and people pop up in my dreams. Just the other night or was it three years ago, I had some important item that somehow got placed on the top of train. Maybe it was traveling in India. I don't know I've never been to India except possibly while time traveling.
ReplyDeleteI never remember my dreams and I am jealous as hell of people who do. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life to make up for my lack of a dream life. Scrying (such as with the mirror and lights) is probably a way better idea than the stuff I've done.
DeleteI used to have an archaeological sense when I entered my son's room. Layers of his life in books, music, hot babe posters, etc. Then he moved to grad school, and his apartment was just one jumble.
ReplyDeleteI'd like a time machine.
Ha. I moved my dresser into my parents' storage unit after grad school. All my stuff was still in the drawers. Years later, I went to clean it out, but there were movie ticket stubs and notebooks, Christmas cards and post-t notes, all of which now had some sentimental value to me because of their age, even though they were basically just trash.
DeleteMy poor parents were paying to store my unsifted trash for so long.
Wait. Cut his toe off?
ReplyDeleteYeah, he's diabetic. Apparently, it's not all that uncommon for diabetics to NOT be able to fight off simple infections in their feet, and for it to migrate into the bone.
Delete