Submission 2 inspiration: anti-drug commercial, what happened the night before.
“I got the recipe off the Internet,” I say and begin to slowly stir the rapidly greening chemical swirl with the oar I found near the river last year after Alexa first broke up with me and I got lost in the woods.
“You got a crystal meth recipe from the Internet?” Tim asks and leans over my shoulder, looking down into the bathtub. I can hear the disbelief in his voice. Maybe if I had cleaned the bathroom up a bit more this wouldn’t be so hard to believe.
“You know you’ll love it”
“Didn’t you try a bathtub gin recipe you got off the Internet last semester?”
I sigh audibly.
“That was toilet wine, Tim,” I say and remove the handkerchief from my mouth, turning to him. I lean casually on the oar as it sticks out of the tub. “And it turned out amazing”
He rolls his eyes and walks out of the bathroom, takes the corner for the living room. I can hear him collapse onto the couch. The fumes are getting to me I think, even though I don’t really smell anything yet. My fingers are tingling a bit. Better take a break. The oar I leave resting gently on the edge of the tub. The wood’s stained already around the tip. A good sign?
“Wait a minute,” Tim begins when I enter the living room. “You don’t even smoke pot, you barely even drink, what would compel you to do this?”
“I’m sorry Tim, you’ll have to repeat that. I’m a little high from the fumes”
Tim sits up, annoyed I think. “You’re high from the fumes?”
“Yeah I think it’s going to be a pretty potent batch,” I say standing over him. My eyes peruse the walls. I have let the posters in my apartment fall into a tragic state of disarray.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works”
“Listen, I’m new at this Tim, so I don’t know either,” I begin. I stare again at the posters along the wall, admiring the wrinkled and cracked image of Carmen Electra. She’s on a beach. “I’m that guy who looked over the
“Magellan died in the
“And that’s just it, Tim. I have no plans at present to visit the
“You’re dodging the question”
“I’m not, really. What’s now slowly fermenting in that tub back there is a means to an end. My ticket from this mundane apartment to the exoticism of the Orient. Or, you know, whatever. I use ‘the Orient’ figuratively”
Just then Tim’s pants emit a soft buzzing sound, followed by a series of for-some-reason arrhythmic electronic drumbeats. He digs into the pocket and retrieves his phone, flips it open. The blue hue of light from the display just barely reflects off his glasses that form the top line of a triangle that’s lower point is dotted with an auburn soulpatch below his mouth. His thumb stumbles across the keypad slowly and deliberately. It’s a short response.
“I have to leave here in about five”
I don’t ask why for and just assume. I finger the phone in my pocket, waiting for it to vibrate. I haven’t spoken to Alexa in six months.
“So you interested?” I ask maybe too casually and fall onto the recliner across the room from the couch Tim’s using.
“On being an Internet drug lord? No, I really am not”
“Don’t gotta be a dick about it,” I rub my eyes and feel dizzy. My heart’s racing.
“You don’t need my help anyways,” Tim stands and looks down at me from across the room.
“I may though,” and then I have it. How I’m going to do it. I once saw a kid seize back in middle school, and I try to conjure him now. My teeth clench. I flex my arms and legs until they feel like they’ll burst. A slight twitch to start.
“What’re you doing?” he asks. I can tell he’s genuinely afraid.
“Seizing, Tim. I’m seizing from the bathtub drugs,” I manage to spit out from my clenched jaw. By now my legs are in full jerk mode.
“Shit man, don’t do that”
“Do what, Tim? Die?”
“No this bullshit where you fake being high”
“This is as real as a high gets, brother,” I say and punctuate it with a swift shift of my weight in the chair. I’m slipping off to the carpet.
“Aleee…I need to pick her up in like 2 minutes, seriously”
“Oh so she let her license expire? I knew she would,” I say, half on the ground. I’m afraid that came off too effortless so I flop myself out of the chair and begin the truest-to-life imitation of that kid in middle school that I’ve yet done in my short life.
“Oh so that’s what it is,” Tim says and I imagine the tight concern on his face has disappeared, replaced by that bemused smug he had moments ago in the bathroom. I can’t tell though, what with my eyes rolling into the back of my head and all. I just grunt a response.
“Get up, dude. I’m not playing along. You just need to get over her and me. I…”
“This may require hospitalization,” I grumble out between spasms.
“Seizing people don’t talk”
“This must be some new type of seizure then,” I say, letting my spit froth a bit on the ends of my lips. Seizing takes a lot out of a man.
Tim is quiet again for a moment. I can tell he’s considering his options.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital just so they can tell us both you aren’t high and aren’t seizing”
I take the seizing down a notch.
“You’re an angel, Tim”
He walks over me to the coat rack. He gets both his and mine. When I know his back’s to me I relax my muscles for a brief moment and breathe in deep. Look up at the wall again. The ocean framing Carmen is still and calm and easily navigable. I consider asking Tim to bring the oar along too but it’s asking too much, I think. Tim drops my coat on me and I start to think of a ways to convincingly develop a facial tic by the time we get to the emergency room.
