My Black Heart: Part Four
The Long Walk
I open my eyes to the bright morning sun. It hurts.
“Ugh.”
I swallow a dry throat and lick my lips with a sandpaper tongue.
Water.
I uncoil myself from the bedsheets, swing my legs to the floor, and stand. The world swings and swims, so I place a hand on the wall to steady myself.
I run an arm over my clammy forehead.
Food, too.
I trudge into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water, and chug it. The liquid runs down my throat, soothing and cool.
I exhale and shake my head.
Time to worship.
I pray at the altars of caffeine and grease. The breakfast gods gift me with nourishment, providing me with coffee and bacon to sustain me through the morning.
“Braow!”
Peasy begs for food, her milky eyes tracking me in stuttered flicks.
I nod my head.
“Coming right up.”
I feed Peasy, plate my own food, and sit down. The leather squeaks and moans as I settle into the chair. My cat and I eat our breakfasts in silence. Dish Mountain grows.
I purse my lips at the pile.
Later.
A tear falls from my eye and I feel myself slipping into The Null.
I set my jaw.
No. Not again.
I kick down the leg rest, stand up, and walk to the bathroom. I reach into the tub and twist the handles until steaming water pours from the chrome spout.
I crinkle my forehead.
When’s the last time I showered?
I shake my head, step into the tub, and close the curtain. Steam billows around me as I cleanse myself of the previous two days. Dirty water flows down the drain, washing away my sorrow and pain.
I adjust the fancy shower heads that I installed when I moved in.
The plumber genes run strong.
Soothing aqua pounds a beat on my neck and shoulders. The drain chugs a bass line and water drops pepper the curtain in staccato pops. Time passes in a blur of steam.
I turn off the shower, then I towel myself dry. A strange, yet familiar man stares at me from the mirror. His eyes are sunken and his skin has a sickly, yellow pallor.
I shrug.
Not as bad as I expected — could use some sun, though.
I dress in my bedroom, then I walk to the entry hall. A long, vertical mirror hangs next to the front door. My feet cocoon in their shoes and a jacket wraps me in fuzzy fabric.
I assess myself in the mirror.
Almost look like a real boy — just about feel like one, too.
I nod at Pinocchio-me, then I kneel down to scritch Peasy’s ears.
“I need to leave for a bit.”
She gives her approval.
“Praow!”
I stand and retrieve my keys from the hook by the door. A THC pen sits on the key hook’s small shelf. The golden honey within glows with gilded splendor. I pocket the pen as I exit my apartment.
The hallway stretches before me, warping and twisting like a Hitchcockian dolly zoom. Fluorescent lights buzz from faux-silver wall sconces. I push through the vertiginous air, stumble down the stairs, and emerge into the mid-morning sun.
I shade my eyes with my hand and squint.
Have I been outside at all this weekend?
I shake my head, drop my hand, and set a brisk pace. My legs carry me up a hill and into a park that’s filled with barking dogs and shouting children. I find an unoccupied bench and plop myself down.
I inhale a deep breath of dewy air. The earthy musk of oak and petrichor saturates my lungs. I sigh as my lips twitch into a wan smile.
Mother Nature always wins.
I fish the THC pen from my pocket and pull a long drag. Vapor fills me and a pleasant numbness blooms on the edges of my brain. I take another toke, hold my breath, and exhale white mist.
Clouds of conversation float around me, raining down ephemeral words. Cantonese, Mandarin, and Punjabi dominate the sky. Smatterings of Tagalog and Jamaican Patois intermingle amongst the linguistic lenticulars.
I inhale another puff and my eyelids droop.
I sit on the bench and the world passes me by. Folks walk on the path, feet crunching in the gravel. They flit about, pursuing some goal or dream, as a light breeze tugs at their hair and clothes.
Tension releases from my shoulders.
Huh. Didn’t even know about that.
I sit on the bench and people-watch until my gut grumbles for food. I fumble my phone from my pocket and check the time.
Almost noon. Half a day wasted away.
A groan escapes my lips as I stand and begin the journey home. The sudden shift in perspective causes the trees around me to morph and mesh together.
I stare at the distraction, trip, and my phone slips from my hand.
Crack!
The phone lands face down.
Fffuck.
I kneel down, pluck my phone from the ground, and flip it over. Hairline cracks radiate across the screen like forks of glass lightning.
I inhale a slow breath, then exhale an annoyed sigh.
That’s gonna cost me.
I plod along the park path toward my home and my cat. My phone dangles in one hand, the freshly scarred screen a reminder of my ever-present clumsiness.
I snort and shake my head.
Sure wish this was the first time I did this.
I clutch my ill-fated phone as I walk through the park. I pull the THC pen from my pocket and puff. The afternoon sun shines down on me and my mind floats away.
Adoption papers flutter as I set them on the counter. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap out a message on the cracked glass.
“Just got home from the SPCA. I think Treo’s kind of stressed.”
I tap the “Send” button.
Schwoo!
My phone whispers a confirmation as the text message flies into the airwaves, destined for Sawyer’s device. Split glass distorts a small check mark as it appears next to the message.
I roll my eyes at the shattered screen.
Will I ever own a phone that doesn’t break?
“Braow–aow–aow!”
My eyes widen and I look around. Treo the black cat plods back and forth between the laundry room and the hall. She stops and stares at the front door.
“Raow!”
I bite my lips.
“Sorry, kitty, there’s nothing for you out there.”
Treo looks at me. Her green and yellow eyes flash with anger, then she opens her mouth and bares her fangs.
“Hssss!”
I take a step back.
“Okay, you need your space.”
Treo turns around and paces to the laundry room door. She pokes her nose inside, sniffs, and squeezes through.
I freeze and listen.
Will she…?
Scratch-scratch-scratch!
Sandy sounds of sifting cat litter spill from the laundry room. Treo saunters out and a noxious odor assaults my senses.
I wave my hand in front of my nose.
“Blech!”
Treo squats on her haunches, stares at me with hazel eyes, and drags her butt across the carpet.
I lift my hands, palms up.
“Seriously, kitty?”
I drop my arms and shake my head as Treo stands. She opens her mouth and takes several shallow breaths.
I cock my head.
Do cats — ?
Ding!
My phone lights up with Sawyer’s reply.
“What’s she doing?”
I type out a message.
“She just wiped her ass on my carpet and now she’s — panting?”
Schwoo!
I send the message. An elliptical bubble appears as Sawyer taps.
Ding!
“She’s stressed.” says Sawyer. “Do you have anything from her previous home? Or the shelter?”
I spot the cardboard carrier that I received from Melanie, the SPCA volunteer. The temporary cat container holds a white towel that’s covered in black fur.
I snatch the mangy moisture magnet from the box, sit down, and drape the towel over my crossed legs.
“Pss-pss-pss! Treo!”
Treo walks to me. She tilts her head, wiggles her hindquarters, and launches.
Poof!
She lands in my lap, kneads at the towel, and lies on my legs. Her shallow, fractured breathing becomes even and deep.
I lay my hand on my knee. Treo opens her mouth and sets her teeth on the meat of my thumb. She doesn’t apply pressure, but her canine teeth still prickle my skin.
I snort.
Why do felines have canine teeth?
Peasy pulls her teeth from my hand.
I furrow my brow.
Who’s Peasy?
Color drains from the world and I’m left in a featureless, gray void. I shake my head and squint into the non-space.
What am I doing in The Null?
“Praow!”
Peasy stretches in my lap and looks at me. Her black fur becomes a muted gray and her hazel eyes frost over, as white as fresh snow.
“Wake up,” she purrs.
