Awake

I woke up this morning. Nothing was right. Normal was not going to be.

First was the smell. Cucumber scented something.

Then it was a voice. Southern as all hell.

Almost lost in this was the location. Sterile, small apartment.

The music being played is very familiar, yet it sounds like four songs all at once. Is that even possible? For four songs, all very distinct, playing at the same time, in the same place.

There’s a conversation. It’s just one side of it, like on a telephone. It’s all Spanish.

I hear a blow dryer. And a voice singing. Very high octaves and in key.

Finally, there was the laugh.

How the hell am I surrounded by all four of them at once?

The last thing I remember was passing out in my bed. At the beach. A cool ocean breeze blowing through the open window. The light from the motel next door flickering on and off. And a prayer I made.

“God, please let me stop. Help me stop. I can’t do this anymore.”

Then nothing. Did I fall asleep? Am I still asleep? I don’t remember my dreams, so maybe I’m stuck here in one. Maybe this is death. But why would they all be here? In life they haunted me. Not while they were in it, but when they left it. Always heard stories of needing to put your demons to bed. Is this just the literal appearance of this hokey thing that has been passed down from generation to generation.

I used to think that stuff was useless. Much like the bibles in hotel rooms.

This is too hard, I think. But that’s been an excuse too long. This is the zit coming to a head. Time to pop it and take the chance at another scar or just let it fester.

I start to get out of the bed I’m on. The sheets are clean, so I know I’m not at home. I pull back my covers to see that I’m completely naked. The clothes I was wearing yesterday, a pair of green mesh shorts, underwear and a Lucero t-shirt are laying on the floor. First the shirt, then the shorts and finally the underwear. Just like they should look as you are taking them off in a hurry while moving toward the bed with a lover.

But I have no lover. Just myself.

“He just doesn’t get it,” a voice says in the next room. I look towards it, seeing a gleam of light through the crack under the door.

“He never did,” another voice replies, laughing that same laugh from before.

“I think he does get it. But he’d rather not admit it,” a third voice bellows out. It’s louder than the others, more confident. Yet, it only sounds vaguely familiar.

The sound of beer bottles being opened. Psssst. Psssssst. Pssst. Psssst. Four of them alright.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

“What do you think?” they trio says in unison. I guess to the fourth person that I heard earlier.

“Wait,” voice number 2 says quickly. “Let’s have a toast. To all things right and wrong.”

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

“And…to him.”

Laughter. Giggles. And a snort.

“It is all about him, isn’t it?” No. 1 says.

“Well, I’m sure that’s what he thinks. It’s what he does,” No. 3 points out.

“Yep.” No. 4 finally speaks again.

Silence. Drinks are most likely being drank.

Four bottles hit the table. One at a time. All but one of them are empty. I guess I’ve spent too much time with bottles, empty, full and half-full.

“Well?” the trio demands. “You still haven’t answered the question. A promise is a promise.”

“I’m not allowed to say,” she says.

That voice makes me smile for some reason. Was it the answer or the lack of one? Or maybe it simply was the soothing feeling I got hearing it.

“Damn, it’s been a long time,” I say out loud.

That feeling I get comes upon me at that instant. That Sam Raimi-moment. Where the world is fine. Happy even. Then you say something. Do something. Don’t do something and the world begins to speed up. You feel the rush of air around you. The room, the field, the car, wherever it happens, begins to move. And I’m helpless to stop it. I just go along for the ride. It’s all you can do. Knowing there is a crash at the end.

It comes with words from the other room.

“I see our guest is awake,” the fourth voice says. “Let’s go.”