The next night I retrace our steps. Here, here, here. Here was where we started drinking the Gin. What time was it? Eight? What were listening to? Rachmaninoff? Why does my neck hurt so much? Where were we going then? The beach? Where am I going now? The doctor? What were we doing last night in the water? The lights blinked in the distance and everything was spinning, spinning, spinning….
In the morning, the sun is shining brighter, brighter than ever before. I feel good, I feel amazing, I ask an Indian man for a lighter politely, he smiles and gives it to me, I smoke, the sun is bright, so bright, he comes up to me and gives me a bag of sweets, I like you, he says, God bless you, child, he says and though there’s no God to bless me, I am a child a few hours later when I convulse on the floor of my new office. Everyone bent around me, confused. The boss’ wife picks me up, sends me home in a car. I run to my door carrying a bag of vomit.
What happens now? It feels like a crisis but it’s probably a boring change. The doctor tells me I might have Hyperthyroidism. What does that mean? I want the house to be empty, I want to be fed and coddled, I want to be the nice bits of child, not the crazy bits, I want to hold your hand and leave on a paper boat for a place where there are no people, no one to point and laugh as I collapse on the floor, possibly forever.
