Night Trip

by Peter Ackers

  ***

  I think I went out. One moment I was on the kissing chair, trying not to throw up, and really wanting one of those chews. One moment later, it seemed, I was again strung between Nymph-girl and Surfer-dude, closing on the main bedroom. The door was closed and there was a photo of a cartoon dog holding up a sign that was secured to his hand by Velcro. It said DO NOT DISTURB. On the other side, I knew, it said YOU MAY DISTURB. I had pinned the sign DO NOT-side out many times before. My girl kind of insisted, even if her dad was at work and we had the place to ourselves.

  "She's prettier than I thought she'd be," Nymph-girl said right by my ear, so close I could feel her hot breath. It smelled of mint.

  "Thanks," I said, deadpan. My voice was strong again, but I could almost feel a dividing line between my upper and lower body, and below that boundary energy just seemed to refuse to trespass. Were these my legs?

  "Someone like you, bet you don't pull often."

  "She's not as shallow as you, evidently."

  "Aw, I didn't mean anything by that." She punched my arm playfully. Ah, but can it ever come across as playful when your kidnapper/drugger punches your arm?

  "I just meant you obviously don't go out on the hunt often."

  "Guess I'm not as shallow as you, either."

  "What's the illness you have? Down's syndrome, is that the one?"

  "Thanks."