Lenders

by Johnson, John

  “Damn,” Jerry said, “that’s deep Rab.”

  “Really Rab,” Jon said.

  “Maybe it was a moment of enlightenment, something, who knows. Maybe my mind was repairing itself from the damage I had done. Anyway, from that moment on, it’s like everything bad in my head—was good. From then on, what was a curse, as a result of my bad trip from hell, is now a gift—and I use the fucking hell out of it.”

  “I’ll attest to that,” said Jon. “He works twenty-two hours a day seven days a week, with only two short naps.”

  “More than two Jon,” Rab replied. “Like I said, just a regular dude. Don’t exaggerate.”

  The group was in awe after hearing the story, except Leti, still flaunting her sex appeal, but she played it off well. For her Rab might as well of been recanting an old camp-fire tale. She didn’t speak English well enough to fully grasp his story. It didn’t matter anyway, she wasn’t there to do very much talking, but occasionally had to do some waiting or acting. It was one of those stories that would make anyone say: this guy is a complete nut. But, coming from Rab, and the way he expressed himself, there wasn’t a doubt.

  The talk went quiet; the sounds of the club took over and their heads and feet moved to the rhythm.

  “What about you Jerry? How’d you and Jon meet up?”

  “Well, Jon came by to pick up some of your orders. We just started talking and hit it off then he told me about this place and we’ve been here a few times now. A bit far but I like it—and I think the chicks dig my style.” He said it with a head-back grin pulling his collar. Jon laughed. Jodi shook her head and smiled, and with that Jerry finished a full beer and slammed the bottle down. “So, what’d you do with all those toys anyway? One of each, damn!” They all had a laugh and knew he was joking.

  “Well it wasn’t that many shit,” Rab replied. Jerry shook his head. “The girls surely liked them. We fucking used them, what else? Until Jon got is hands on them.” Jon shrugged his shoulders; Jodi angrily bumped him. But many knew it, no secret; much because of the gadfly Tim Tench and his revealing news reports. Yet he had no shame in telling the truth; it was one of the reasons people were drawn him. Also had anyone else told a story like that earlier, it would have been called nonsense within the first minute, but everyone believed Rab not only because of his blunt straightforwardness, there had to be some crazy out-of-this-world reason for his mind-boggling success.

  The channel changed, refreshingly. The gang laughed for a while at sex jokes. Jerry spilled a bucket-load; he was full of them and they were quite funny. Then he went on about details of the new shipment he just got in. Agape, Jodi was surprised at the things some people do with their bodies, although it did spike her curiosity, a little, and she nudged Jon a couple times.

  A pause came over the table after a full hour of bonding talk. The group got along well. The club was primed: a good feeling in the air, good friends, and a perfect buzz that demanded some motion.

  16. Party Time!

  “Well who wants to make a fool out of themselves already?” Jerry asked checking the dance floor, half standing up; knowing very well he couldn’t dance for shit—and as always, he didn’t care. There wasn’t a ton of space, but he’d make some, oh he would. “Dance?” he asked Leti holding out a gentleman’s hand. Rab picked up her vibe; he noticed all the intricate details, everything, like a world in coding. She glanced to him after the question, probably taking the hint—not interested. She emitted a toothy smile and gladly accepted the dance with Jerry; a man more than twice her height. After extinguishing her menthol she went with him two levels down and they joined the action.

  10:30 p.m. By now the energy was a full frenzied liberation of inhibition, an eruption of a week’s worth of normalcy and routines; the last day of life because tomorrow didn’t exist. The crowd below—a chaotic yet concise depiction of not just past and future, but all time pushed aside—making room for only one moment—the present.

  “Woo, think I’m gettin’ a little messed up myself just sitting here,” Jon said shaking his head a few times to shake off the sedimentary buzz. “Jodi how about it? Whataya say Rab?”

  “In a bit Jon. You two go ahead.”

  “You sure Rab?” Jon asked.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna kick it for a few. My head hurts a little.”

  “Alright man, Jodi and I are gonna hit it. Burn off this buzz. Come and join us whenever you want.”

  Rab got up to let them out. Jon looked at him feeling a tad concerned yet didn’t outwardly show it, and figured, he’ll be fine, just another one of his thinking moments. Jodi smiled at Rab as she passed; a nice friendly caring smile. Holding hands they went down to join Jerry and Leti on the dance floor. Rab watched them descend the worn carpeted steps and felt an overwhelming sense of good feelings for them as a couple.

  They immediately started dancing in the space Jerry had so easily stolen. Jerry was having a blast, living for the now. The way it should be, Rab thought watching. He stood out in the crowd like a giraffe and although he really couldn’t match a beat to his movements, no one cared. He was quickly the center of attention. He gave high fives (hunching down) to people cheering him on, somehow knew Spanish (for the moment), and made friends with ease. Not long after Leti took another glance upwards at Rab. And his eyes met hers, then he looked away. He knew he was not interested, not this time.

  He continued to battle the war within his mind: a pulsar, spinning atomically accurate, yet yearning at the chance for imbalance. In darkness at the core of this pulsar was a sphere of fuzzy electrified yarn, every color, flavor, and texture, spinning recklessly, violently. Strands randomly whipped outward, escaping like solar flares slashing the inside of his skull. Although he’d learned how, it wasn’t always for sure. He shielded them from escape, forcing them back in, but nevertheless doing so left scars, shocking psychotic lacerations. It’d never left. The real fear and anxiety—that state of mind; it had never actually fucking left!

  The recollection of his memories; it was the first time he let it out like that, to other people anyway. In a way he’d always known he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t afraid to talk about it, so that was a good thing.

  But as he contently watched his friends below, the pain worsened. It originated in the back of his skull—the dream factory—putting pressure on his rational grip. He winced, tucking in slightly then stood up firm, defiantly. The lights and crowds and smoke of the club, combined with his recant—he couldn’t stop it—put him into a trance. Julian walked by and couldn’t get his attention so eventually just left. His gaze fixed itself about the flux before him. With his feet rooted into the raunchy carpet floor he stood with his arms at his sides—his half full beer fell adding to the disaster that was the carpet. His eyes jerked suddenly then relaxed and floated. The massive group of people, their arms waving to the beat: smiles, laughter, bouncing, swaying people—the entropy of it all. The colors started to merge into a soup that rolled from side to side in waves—from one side of the club to the other. His mind fought to retain an image of reality, anything. Music came in from the edges and surrounded the soup, entrapping it more with each pulse. Bass merged with treble, beats dove into the in-betweens. Twisted low-toned humming and distorted pounding fingered its way into the beautiful lights clouding the mix with a terrible feel. The first invasion was always the sound, marring the light, this time, to darkness. Emotions lingered on the outskirts of it all, waiting for their own turn, next.

  He blasted it away. “No!” Yelling at the top of his lungs; his outburst bounced off the glass wall catching the attention of many. Around him they laughed, hunching down and joking amongst themselves, telling each other secrets; look at the weirdo, standing over there by himself.

  Anxiety reared its ugly face, hissing at him from atop his left shoulder. Rab literally swatted him away. Whispering ensued around him. He continued rearranging his thoughts, lassoing them back and mentally repairing his mind from what had just happened. He’d done it
before, and since had always been able to. But he felt something. He’d felt it before—before things happened, big things. His thoughts briefly questioned each other, a change coming? He could never put a finger on it, but ever since he’d learned to—mostly—control his rewired—and fucked-up—mind, he could sense things. His mental balancing act included insights that he was only beginning to understand.

  Many of the clubbers in the bar area noticed once again. Rab shook his head vehemently to destroy the feelings, to wipe his messy slate of ideas, to shake the lump-that-was-a-brain inside his skull. “Fuck—I’m here to unwind,” he said, loudly once again, and walked away. People moved aside as he walked ardently to the bar. Realizing he didn’t much care what others thought, he was largely dismissed; people went on sucking face, guzzling beers, and hiding all-out sex in ways only a borrachón could.

  Jon looked up from the dance floor watching him. And Jodi noticed Jon. She knew he had a very special bond with his friend. He was having a good time with her and thought how some things never change, but this wasn’t the case right now. Wondering about Rab, as he saw him walk hastily to the bar, thinking how his friend was different, changed, how things can never be like they once were: when they partied seven days a week and things were wild and crazy, and great; when they almost got their asses kicked for using a college kid’s head as an ash tray from a tier up; when Rab had gotten taken to jail for protecting his friends, and vice versa; the stupid things. Back then they lived and explored, pained and died laughing together; all until Rab began experimenting with the drugs and became obsessed. He’d always taken things to the extreme, so the inevitability of the end of the era, was always unavoidable.

  Rab ordered a Blue Hawaiian and walked to one of the overlooks that had a single empty round table; one he liked, been there before, almost never empty; but most were dancing by now. It was a booth space, a curved thinly padded couch with the usual, nasty faded velour: once purple but long since faded, mixed with the pale color of puke. One level down from the bar, and somewhat private, it was surrounded by its own two-foot tall rock wall. He stared at the dance floor below, reminiscing about the sweet coconut flavor of the drink he hadn’t had in years. His mind, holding steady, was back in place—for now.

  Then he saw her. He mated eyes with a beautiful dark girl. She was very skinny, almost bony, the tallest within her group of two others, looking somewhat out of place. Her hair was mostly shaved on the sides, but long on the top. She wore short straggly cut-off shorts and a tiny lime green top. She looked at him almost bashfully with her head tilted to his right.

  And time stopped for a brief moment as their gaze shut out the rest of the world. She was dancing with her friends who started looking around attempting to find what had stolen her attention so suddenly, and they tried to shake her out of it. Rab put it together and knew—this was the moment, the odd feelings that were tapping at him. His mind snapped at the precipice of the change and in that moment he knew, from here on out his life would be forever different. He trusted his gift. It emanated from deep within his subconscious—the time was now—although the forefront of his mind, his awake and ever-contemplating consciousness, never received such a freebie, clues to the road ahead.

  After a moment he lost her. He scanned the club but she was gone. He looked right, left, to the stage. Maybe she just went up to the bar? He thought. A bad feeling came over him and his thoughts began to race—while everything else slowed. The rapid difference frightened him; he’d just finished putting his mind back together—now this. Not again, he thought, trying to stay calm. He saw her friends, two short girls, dancing, and laughing—as if she never even existed. It was only in my mind, he thought. Everything. All of it, only in my mind.

  A drip of sweat fell descended his face and he saw white jagged bolts come out of the large speakers near the two laughing girls. The bolts moved in his direction with each beat. The two girls looked at him and pointed and their laughing got louder. The laughs turned into hollow echoes. He flicked his head to the side and back then they were gone too. The rhythm of the rap music that was playing got harder, louder, faster, then the sound slowed momentarily and things got bright.

  “No, not again,” he whispered to himself trying to climb out of it. A vision appeared in his thoughts—himself in a straight jacket, inside a white padded room, a bloodshot eye in the peephole. It winked. Then it turned to stare at him. Upon winking again, this time in slow motion while he waited for it, waited for it—the eye was that of a snake, vertical and yellow.

  “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he yelled out trying to grab onto something, about to fall over. He felt a cold liquid touch his hand. The dance floor sagged inward toward the center, the stage waved slowly up and down and the people on it warped along with the ride. This time the sounds pulled on the light, bringing more, joining forces with bolts belched from the speakers. The lights got beautifully bright and intense and he could see it, just like the first time: the grey stormy halo materialized. He could see it rotate around his head like a hurricane and so quickly it appeared more prominent and real. As it spun faster, time around him slowed. Before a moment of the twisted time had passed everything became so bright he could only see the storm spinning around his head. But only a single emotion appeared orbiting it, far, then swinging close—laughing and hissing as it passed near his face. He could tell, it was Snake. He hated Snake. And the storm kept spiraling it closer and closer.

  “Come on, take hold. Hiss. Get me, get me. Hiss. Grab me you fuck,” Anxiety the Snake yelled in a shrill voice. Fear the Troll climbed up from behind, the weight of the ugly brown glob pulling his right shoulder down. The beast interrupted Anxiety and began yelling at him as the pounding got louder and faster.

  “I’m gonna fuck you up,” Fear the troll yelled. His voice had a terrible gritty tone that warbled along with the tormenting sounds of the club’s hammering bass. And the beat escalated, faster, faster. Fear reached for his face with a slimy dripping hand, and Snake whipped by laughing. It slapped his cheek with a whip of its tail as it went round another now shorter orbit. The sounds of the club merged into a deranged warbling evil hum.

  “Now. Take me now. Hiss. You puny weakling!” Anxiety yelled. Rab felt his lungs about to explode. He couldn’t breathe fast enough to get air.

  “You’re a pussy, piece of shit, and I’m here now,” Fear the troll groaned. “I’m gonna fuck you—” The troll spoke his words unnervingly fast.

  “Hola.” A soothing voice came from behind and flipped the world back on end like a switch. Vision changed from bright white, to a brown grid. The grid faded from the center out letting reality ooze in. Back, at the club. He knew, once again, where he was.

  “Hissssss… I will be back…” The voice of Anxiety faded. A faint cursing grumble fell like mud sliding down his back until he heard rock music playing—all night long... The lyrics never sounded so satisfying.

  He turned, and it was her! The ground reappeared below. The nasty faded black-light carpet, as gross as it was, was welcome under his feet. The world finished putting itself back together in a whipping rebound. The tone in her single spoken word had pulled him out.

  “Estas bien?” she spoke again. She still had her face bashfully turned to his right, her eyes moved to see him. As they stood looking at each other—Rab still panting wildly—she slowly turned to face him directly.

  She had a large dark brown, almost black, birthmark that covered most of the left side of her face, ear, and much of her neck. Her hair on the top was shoulder-length, curly but forced to be as straight as it could, and fell to partially hide the mark. For a long moment they both stood there, wordless, facing each other. Rab’s breathing finally slowed close to normal. Relaxation and relief cascaded, hitting him in waves like lingering pulses of orgasm. He gazed into her eyes, and she into his. She had large deep brown eyes that gave him a feeling of comfort. There was no awkwardness to their quiescent moment. He had never heard or seen anyone so beautiful
in all of his life. This really was it.

  “Yes, I am now,” he said, although too late to the question. She smiled to him gently. Her top front two teeth were slightly crooked. He loved her smile, it grounded him even more and he felt something black inside float away; something that couldn’t hurt him again.

  “I’m—just gonna sit down for a minute,” Rab said. His black shirt was soaked in sweat. His color returned from the negative zone. He felt better but knew he had to sit and fell onto the couch that surrounded the small round table. He unbuttoned another button on his shirt for some air and took a drink of his Blue Hawaiian. It had mostly splashed out when he lost touch with reality and stumbled against the table knocking it.