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She’s crashing. It’s not a mechanical or a drug induced crash. On the contrary – it’s a crash that could be stopped by pharmaceuticals. The right one in the right dosage, of course. She’s sick of experimenting. You see, she has a loose connection in her brain. The wires don’t connect and her emotions short out. At times she feels like her world has been pulled out from under her and her heart has been pulverized into bits. The mental ache is often accompanied by a feeling of intense, searing pain that courses through her body. Other times she feels nothing at all, a blankness, like looking into a pitch black ocean at night. She feels as if the water is beckoning her to come in. It calls out to her as a mother calls out to her lost child. Those are the times she should worry. But she can’t because she has no sense of feeling, no awareness of fear. This is the nature of her crash right now. This is the time she could walk right into that ocean and go home.
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As Bud shoved the mail into the slots he noticed the postcard. Christ another one of these sappy, wish you were here-but not really postcards. Then he read it. “Hey Baby, like what you see? I’m all yours tonight…Love, Elise.” He studied the picture. It resembled the old pin up girl posters his grandfather kept in his garage, only this was a photograph of a real babe. “Jeezus look at those tits!” he murmured under his breath. The girl was wearing black lacy lingerie, straps slipping off her shoulders. She knelt on a bear rug, knees on either side of its head. A blonde in black straddling a polar bear rug. Bud moaned and closed his eyes. Oh to be that smiling bear. Fuck the bear. Bud wanted to be the guy.
Elise was on Bud’s mind all day. On his break he used the mail truck to jack off. With Elise in his head he didn’t need much else. Later that night as he climbed into bed her image was still with him. Dozing, he heard her speak.
“I thought you’d never get home baby.” she cooed. Bud sat up but couldn’t see in the darkness. “Who…?” he asked. “It’s Elise, baby…I told you I’m all yours tonight.” He could hear her walking closer. “Ride me like the bear, bitch!” growled Bud as he rolled over.
“I AM the bear!” Elise snarled as Bud felt his back shatter and his skin rip.
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I approach her. She smiles at me and caresses my head, then goes back to
her work. I walk into the living room and look at the others. They ignore
me as they lounge on the sofa, one staring at the tv, the other dozing,
drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. Sometimes they understand,
but today they don’t seem to share my anxiety. The feeling is getting
stronger now. I run back to the kitchen, trying to get her attention. She
thinks I just want something to eat. I’m starting to get really impatient,
and fidgety. She gives me something to drink. Food and drink are the last things
I want right now. I start to run around the house as my heart beats faster.
My tongue curls and my breathing speeds up. The pressure is intense.
Doesn’t she realize there will be a catastrophe if she doesn’t listen to me?
I run up to her this time, touch her knee and look at her with pleading eyes. She
still doesn’t get it. There is only one thing left to do. I start running in circles and
scratching the carpet. Finally she looks. She gets my leash.
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I thought to myself “Really! This guy is fuckin crazy!” Of course I
couldn’t say it to him. He was sitting in my chair waiting for me to
start cutting his hair. He was, after all, a paying client. Between
the small talk we exchanged I was wondering if he was on some kind of
drug. Would it be appropriate, I thought, for me to refuse to cut his
hair the way he wanted me to cut it. After all, when people asked him
“Who the hell cut your hair like that?” he would tell them. Do I want
that type of reputation? Does it even matter? After all, I have my
regular clients that know my work. But still, it’s like sculpting
someone’s head and I don’t want to be thought of as a lousy sculptor.
Half an hour later he looks at himself quizzically in the mirror. His
head tilts from side to side and back to front. I spin him around and
hand him a mirror to look at the back of his abstract head. He spins
around again so he is facing the mirror. He looks up at me and I’m
waiting…. He speaks. “Hmmm, I think I may have to get used to
this.” And with a look of puzzlement, surprise and amusement he says
“You did exactly what I asked for. You really listened to me! No one
usually does.”
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52|250 A Year of Flash 