teel alloy chain in Nina’s hands. Chrome links, cooled
by the New Mexico high-desert air, winked in the moonlight. Kneeling
before the iron gate to Splendor, a master planned community
with homes starting in the “mid $900’s”, she
fed the python-sized chain through the wrought iron bars, then
joined it with an equally industrial-grade padlock. Above, through
the young trees, the darkened McMansions housed their sleeping,
unsuspecting owners.
“Hey,” said Dodge, from behind the wheel of her
aging, but well-loved ‘98 BMW Z3. “How ‘bout
it, Nin? Paperboy will be comin’ soon, probably. Let’s
move.” He offered a narrow-eyed, toothy grin. She had only
known Dodge for about a week, but his visible discomfort with
this first excursion had nearly vaporized his steady, stupid
cool she had found simultaneously endearing and arousing.
“Drive,” Nina said, jogging to the nearest streetlamp.
Dodge turned the car around, pulling beside her. Nina leaned
through the passenger window and grabbed a screwdriver.
“Let’s go,” Dodge said.
“We are going,” she said, unscrewing the panel
off the streetlamp’s base. She reached through factory-fresh
wire then pulled the fuse. Above, amber glow winked out. She
pocketed the fuse, then closed the panel. Satisfied, she jogged
to the next light.
At the bottom of the hill, sweat lining her neck and dripping
between her breasts, she darkened the last light, two dozen in
all. Unceremoniously, she slid into her car, leaving behind a
black stretch of road which led to a community that no one could
visit and no one could leave.
Out on the fresh four-lane blacktop, speeding past young master
planted trees and flowers, and a soon-to-open strip mall, Dodge
asked, “Didn’t think the chain was enough?”
“No,” she said. Truth was, she had come here to
inconvenience Splendor’s residents. Killing the light above
the gate was an add-on. But, (and she should have known better)
once she had blacked out the first, she had no choice but to
do the whole damn road. Just one of her ticks.
She chuckled, grabbing a joint from the glove compartment.
Lit it, took a heavy drag, then passed it to Dodge. He squinted
as he inhaled.
They drove east, a setting moon in the rearview, two strangers
who had become lovers and now, together, had begun what Nina
had fantasized about for years. Action. Real action. Finally,
she had moved forward.
To here. Washing grime from her face in a roadside motel, transfixed
by her own pupils. Dilated, like black pearls, this was Ecstasy’s
first sign it had crossed her blood-brain barrier. Her mind had
mistaken the MDMA invader for a more innocuous run-of-the-mill
neurotransmitter. And, as the synaptic gaps were jumped—dendrite
to dendrite—the first warm embrace rolled through her.
She combed back her closely cropped jet-black hair, losing
herself for a moment in her increasingly visible blonde roots.
She brushed her teeth vigorously, giggling at the mundane act,
then opened the door.
And Dodge, sitting cross-legged on the king size bed, wide
eyed, rifling through her knapsack, pawing the various bottles
and baggies of herbs and chemicals.
“You got a regular drug store in here,” he said,
clearly impressed. While she was in the bathroom he had filled
the trashcan with ice and stocked it with bottles of Sierra Nevada
Stout (for her) and Budweiser Select (for him). He had dug out
her iPod and jacked it into the room’s TV which, on screen
simply read “Aux,” but no music played.
Nina bent over the tiny component, selected SHUFFLE, GENRE,
ELECTRONIC, and gradually a bass beat began to ooze from the
TV’s cheap, tinny speakers. She noticed the ashtray nearby
and the rolled joints scattered about. She started to arrange
the little white sticks, first parallel, then again, by thickness.
Here it was again. One of her ticks. Sort and arrange. Group
and clean. And, if necessary, repeat.
“Paxil?” asked Dodge. “Ain’t this legal?”
“It is,” Nina said, finishing with the joints, “but
that’s not Paxil.” She took a deep breath, the E
rolling heavier now. She regarded her companion and wondered
how a guy, at thirty-three, which was ten years her senior, could
mistake a strip of LSD tabs for doctor prescribed medication.
“Nina Anders,” Dodge said, reading the label, then
added, “antidepressant.” He looked up at her with
a half-smile. It was the ‘Dodge smirk’, a pale imitation
of the Harrison Ford grin, but, thanks to the E, a positively
adorable one.
“My mom,” said Nina, moving to the side of the
bed, “took Prozac when she was pregnant with me. She was
hooked. Wasn’t supposed to be taking anything. But she
did anyway.”
“You were born with withdrawal?” asked Dodge, empathetic
with Ecstasy.
She laughed. “They called it—once they knew where
my problem had come from—discontinuation syndrome.” Dodge
curled an eyebrow. “Yeah. Well, later on, the answer to
my drug problems was more drugs.” Daylight, rectangular
and burning bright, traced the curtained window and threatened
to consume the lamp lit room.
“Anyway,” she said, “Mom killed herself last
year. I got her money, which, incidentally was a lot of money
and I stopped following doctor’s orders myself. Quit Paxil
the night I met you.” Nina remembered that dingy sports
bar back in Phoenix she had gone in just looking for some dinner.
And meeting a guy who said he liked a strong woman.
Dodge hadn’t so much as blinked, she thought. He just
stared at her, listening, taking her in. But then he moved. Slowly.
Across the bed, until he had his face nestled against her stomach.
She smiled, running her fingers through his messy, somewhat overgrown
hair. He raised her shirt enough to kiss her navel.
“Oh my,” said Nina, promising herself to give this
man more E in the future.
“Sorry ‘bout your mom,” he said, his breath
warm on her flesh. “Rollin’ hard, Nin. Like you a
lot. Gorgeous. You’re so damn gorgeous.”
“...news time: It’s eight o’clock. I’m
Leornard Jenson and here’s what’s happening now.”
Startled, Nina turned to the bedside clock radio which had
switched on. The news reporter’s voice contrasted then
mingled with the iPod’s trancy mix. Dodge, unfazed, continued
romancing her stomach.
“Locked in! That’s what residents of the new gated
community, Splendor, were before police arrived on the scene
this morning. Following a streetlamp power outage outside the
neighborhood, Officer Mark Stevens discovered a steel chain had
been locked to the front gate. Stevens cut the chain before any
residents experienced a delay. Police are investigating. Next,
traffic watch sponsored by...”
Nina’s clenched fist hovered above the radio, poised
to smash. She stared at the glowing, leering digits until the
minutes advanced by one. What this signified, apparently, was
the inevitable passage of time. An incremental marker in the
timeline which all of this misery and madness traveled above.
But Dodge’s hands were moving further up her shirt now,
over her breasts, diluting her urge to pummel the defenseless
object. Slowly, she lowered her hand, switched off the device,
and submitted to his passion.
few hours and a day later, Nina’s
at a roadside rest area, leaning against her car’s hood,
watching the sun’s late afternoon rays
go yellow, orange, then red all before Dodge returns from the facility’s
food court. Joining her on the hood, he hands her a banana and granola bar.
Already halfway through a bag of barbeque potato chips, he takes long pulls
off of a can of Vanilla Coke.
Snapshot: north Texas. Over-sized vehicles carrying plus-sized
Americans inhaling up-sized value meals. Excess rotting food
and plastic and aluminum containers choking the non-recyclable
garbage. Although this particular scene was not exclusively Texan,
it was distinctly American.
“How long do you expect this is gonna last?” asked
Dodge, his roving eye casually following a girl about her age.
He wasn’t obvious about it, but that didn’t prevent
her anger from rising. Not that it was particularly difficult
to agitate her, but...what the hell? Wasn’t she enough
for him?
“How long is what going to last?” said Nina, purposely
forcing him to clarify his question, knowing full well what he
meant. Her one-woman crusade to delay, irritate, frustrate, and
combat as many environmental baddies as possible would last as
long as she did. These weren’t pranks. This was a way of
life. And it was for the greater good, so no one would have to
suffer because of someone else’s short-sightedness.
A minivan lumbered into a parking spot directly across from
them. Kentucky plates, windshield replete with bug carnage, the
Mickey Mouse antenna ball bobbled joyfully. Out jumped a family
of five. Dad: beer-bellied, “FDNY” baseball hat, “These
Colors Don’t Run!” American flag T-shirt, an extra-large
McDonald’s drink in hand. Mom: pregnant, baggy velour sweat
pants, “Shop-a-holic” T-shirt. Three kids toppled
out of the side door, dragging in their wake a cascade of tourist
brochures and a Ziploc bag filled with crushed cookie bits. Ignoring
the trash on the ground, they charged towards the food court.
Mom, oblivious, followed, stepping on the already migrating paper.
Dad regarded the drink in his hands as if its existence had suddenly
become a mystery, then popped the lid and poured soda and ice
on the asphalt. That achieved, he dropped the container and followed
his family across the parking lot, remotely engaging the car
alarm, evidently unaware he had left the driver’s side
window halfway down.
Moving off her car, Nina felt heat spread through her face,
flushing her cheeks. She circled the minivan, pausing at the
rear, taking in the bumper stickers: “Sandals Antigua,” “I’d
Rather Be VACATIONING!,” “Jesus Was a Fetus Too,” “First
Iraq, Then FRANCE!” Nina continued around, grinning at
Dodge.
He frowned. “Give me your keys,” he said. Nina
tossed him the keys and headed to the nearest trash can. She
held her breath as she pulled up the bag, taking with it a myriad
of rancid food and smeared, sticky containers.
Dodge backed out her car as she walked around and inserted
the bag’s mouth into the minivan’s opened window.
In one fluid motion she heaved the contents into the interior,
spilling an attractive array of junk over the seats. She left
the emptied bag hang slack in the window. Next, she grabbed the
McDonald’s cup, the Ziploc bag, and each of the scattered
brochures and tucked them all underneath the windshield wipers.
Sauntering back to her car, Dodge was about out of his mind
by the time they drove off.
“Move a little slower, why don’t you!” he
cried, pulling onto the highway.
“Calm down,” said Nina.
“Least a dozen people saw you back there!”
“I didn’t see anyone,” she said, pulling
a small pipe from the glove compartment. She lit it, took a drag,
then handed it to Dodge, who quickly accepted a hit.
Coughing, he glanced at the pipe and asked, “What the
hell’s this?”
“Just weed and Salvia,” she said, eyeing with disdain
a Wal-Mart standing proud just beyond an exit. “You know,
Dodge, if we’re going to continue together on this little
journey you need to relax.”
Dodge, one arm straight on the steering wheel, massaged his
bicep. Nina liked the definition in his arms and chest as much
as the fact that he didn’t flaunt it. “I’m
relaxed. Just pick up the pace, is all I’m sayin’.
What’s Salvia?”
Nina let out a second hit, one she had been holding in a long
time. Almost immediately, the interior drone of highway travel
deepened. Texas plains bathed in pale blue dusk. The car, a vessel
throttling through it. Nina’s body became heavy in the
seat, as if she were strapped to an amusement ride, shooting
skyward. And everything—the illuminated dash, the frame
of the windshield, and the view beyond—all of it seemed to lean
into
some invisible gelatinous mud. Her and everything; heavy and
sinking. But any potential exploratory enjoyment was suddenly
poisoned by a very grounded sense of alarm. What had she just
put into her body? More importantly, why? This new world, although
it resembled her own, was no place she cared to inhabit. Here
she felt exposed, isolated, and borderline terrified, wondering
if she could ever return home.
Dodge had just said something, repeating his question. But
who was Dodge? And how had she come to this place, with him?
For that matter, who, exactly, was she? A woman, hurtling through
this alien blue prairie void, blowing a monster inheritance.
With a heaving breath, as if emerging from the ocean’s
depths, Nina reconnected. The sinking reversing, her wits collecting,
and finally wondering: What the hell was that? Comparable to
smoking acid, she had totally underestimated a substance that
literally had been tossed in extra during one of her large batch
buys. Still holding the pipe tight between her fingers, she moved
it to the ashtray, her muscles like dead weight.
“Salvia,” said Nina, giving speech an attempt, “is
a plant. Shamans, I think, use it. Obviously it’s not a
social thing. Let’s not do that again.” She turned
to the darkening view and the world whirling past. And there,
in the distance, she spotted yet another Wal-Mart, more than
vaguely resembling a big-box parasite on the landscape. “Man,
I want to hit them so bad.”
Dodge sighed. “Look, I don’t like the red states
either—”
“This isn’t about red states,” she said,
wiping sweat from her forehead. Sensing a headache settling in,
she tilted her seat back. “That’s overly simplistic
since virtually every red state city is blue anyway. This is
having the guts to make an unpopular statement. But I’d
like it if you continued with me. You want me to move a little
quicker? Okay, fine.”
Dodge glanced at her, showing her his ‘smirk.’ He
had some rough edges. And he wasn’t the brightest bulb
in the pack, but he did have redeeming qualities. Nina moved
her hand to his thigh.
“Enough talking,” said Nina, closing her eyes.
And they said little for the next couple nights, until they
happened across the truck filled with furs. Inside, coughing
on paint fumes, working in the unsteady beam of Dodge’s
flashlight, Nina watched the safety orange bruise deepen then
spread over the one hundred percent genuine mink fur coat. Satisfied,
she moved to the next cardboard wardrobe box, slashed it with
a matte knife, then repeated the process. Dead of night, yet
the remains of the day’s heat tangible inside the eighteen
wheeler container.
Outside, stenciled across the truck: Kalaris Delivery Systems.
Would have never known there were furs inside, if it weren’t
for the driver saying so to the roadside diner’s waitress,
standing one booth over. The knowledge had set Nina into motion
immediately. Glancing at the driver’s full plate of steak
and eggs, she had casually exited the diner, willing to go solo
on this one, but Dodge had followed. Thankfully, inside her full
trunk of mischief she had bolt cutters and spray paint.
“Enough,” whispered Dodge, looking over his shoulder, “done
enough.”
“No,” she said, cutting open the next box, working
back towards the mouth of the container. “All of it.” She
made quick work of what remained, but leaving even a single fur
untouched was not an option. Once she started a task, there was
no stopping.... Again, just one of her ticks.
Out. Closing the truck. Back to the car. And gone. Into the
night. Nina, high on paint fumes, giddy beyond belief, and Dodge,
simply relieved. Tennessee border, dead ahead.
nother hotel. In the shower, mentally navigating the bizarre
landscape two hits of acid had constructed. Her head under
the water, she stared at the tub’s
drain, its dark orifice, circular and black, inviting her to contemplate
a hole in all, an absence and profound emptiness just...beyond.
She brought her head up and turned, feeling the water beat
on her back. Mulling over the night’s fur-filled victory
through acid’s ever brightening glare revealed an abnormally
acute rift between pre-trip Nina and tripping Nina. She thought
self-analysis while in the grips of psychedelics was to endure
a duality of sorts. A split ego brought on by what she described
as the Big Mirror. One glance would point to a wealth of details—imperfections,
usually—unbiased and untainted. She couldn’t lie to herself
while at the Big Mirror. But today’s schism was particularly
profound. She hadn’t tripped on acid in a long time. Not
since well before she had quit taking the antidepressants, which,
now that she thought about it, had her mood swings returned since
exchanging Paxil for pot?
Facing the Big Mirror right now was far too much to handle.
The needle on her Happy/Sad meter was threateningly close to
Sad so she advised herself to change the venue.
Stepping out into the steam, drying off, then pulling on a
skirt. Forgoing her bra, she pulled on a white tank top. Leaving
the bathroom for Dodge, shirtless, downing a bottle of cough
syrup, a can of beer held at his side.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, truly
disgusted.
Dodge dropped the small bottle in the trash and shivered. “DXM,
Nin. Just a low dose. Should try it.” He chugged the beer
in one gulp then belched.
“Nice,” she said, already wanting another venue
change, but finding none.
“Your face is still orange,” he said, laughing
at her. Nina checked a mirror and saw a tangerine-colored version
of herself. She turned away.
“Whatever,” she said, really, only getting less
happy by the second. “You know, I’ve got a knapsack
full of hardcore designers. Why would you waste your brain on
that shit?”
Dodge pulled another beer from the ice bucket. Following his
arm, at least a dozen other arms trailed behind. The din of the
ice, the bottle cap coming off, then Dodge slurping back more
beer formed a kind of irritating music.
Dodge, right in front of her. She had completely missed the
transition of his approach. His hands ran up and down her arms.
He smelled like Robotussin.
“You’re gonna get sick,” she said, briefly
mistaking his medicine purple lips for that of a clown. “Bet
that stuff will make you puke.”
“Nah,” he said, moving down past her skirt. He
ran his fingers up her thigh. “Got a history with it.”
“Stupid,” she said, pushing him off. He fell backwards
on the bed. The definition in his naked chest, the line down
past his belly button, disappearing beneath the denim. She was
pretty sure he already had a hard on.
He ‘smirked’ and gestured towards her. “Come
here.”
“I don’t know,” said Nina, hallucinating
so severely she had to continuously refresh her gaze to maintain
a sense of space.
“Fuck me,” she heard him say. At least she thought
that’s what he said. Must have said, because, here she
was, suddenly, straddling him.
“Nin,” said Dodge, laughing, “whoa, hold
on! Geez what a boner. Slow down!” She tied his wrists
with the sheet.
“Thought you wanted to get fucked.” But it was
too late, anyway. There was a body beneath her and she had a
list of actions to engage with it. She couldn’t turn back.
One of her ticks.
Time fractured into still images. Staccato hits—glimpses—snapped
past. Dodge. Fighting. Moaning. Her nails, in his chest. Dodge,
screaming. Riding.... Hard.
“OW!” he cried, nearly throwing her off. “EASY!!!”
She thrust both hands to his throat. Squeezed. And continued
to ride him. Harder. His face reddening. Then purple. He pushed
his arms into her chest, but she overpowered him. The thrill
drawing deep her adrenaline. And welling up inside, a profound,
soul-ripping orgasm. Her skirt, bunching up between their thighs.
Dodge’s complexion going white, his grasp fading.
And...coming. Euphoria punctuated by a neighbor pounding on
the far side of the wall. Nina collapsed, falling beside Dodge,
his eyes like slits, unconscious, or worse. She pulled her knees
to her chest and came again.
As the time passed she could not sleep. Would not sleep. Not
until morning when Dodge would awake bruised and furious.
can’t fucking piss!” she heard him say, from beyond the
mound of blankets she lay beneath. Daylight beaming in through the third story
window like a razor on her brain. “You hear me?”
Nina kept her eyes closed, half-listening to Dodge’s
urinary complaints while she attempted to sort and appropriately
suppress the events which had transpired. To say she was unhappy
with herself didn’t begin to describe the cavernous self-loathing
she currently endured. And it really didn’t have anything
to do with her treatment of Dodge, which, at this initial realization,
soured her self-respect further.
“I think...” said Dodge, between grunts. “I
think you fucked somethin’ up.”
The controlling majority of LSD had recently departed her bloodstream,
leaving her shell-shocked and staring at the Big Mirror. It greeted
her wherever she turned. She squinted her eyes and rolled into
the fold of the comforter. And the Mirror met her there, showing
her the widening cracks in her interior walls. Tears gathered
and she prepared for a despairing, self-absorbed cry but the
emotional tide reversed, leaving her empty and spent. Exhaled
trapped heat moistened her face. On her chin, the dull pang of
a forming pimple. And, between her legs, a soreness only now
made itself known.
“Major,” said Dodge, still referring to his condition. “Somethin’ major.” Finally
she heard the strained moans of urination and the toilet flushing.
And his words echoing in her head. Something major.
n the light
of a full moon, she stood atop the slope of a business park outside
Greensboro, North Carolina. Next to her, a topless,
stripped down jeep they
had “acquired” from a nearby mall parking lot. Dodge had hotwired
it and she had driven it here.
And downwind, the low, mirrored mass of Revel corporate, the
company behind Revel Resorts for couples, Revel Cruises for families,
and Revel all-inclusive getaways for empty nesters. With Revel,
Nina didn’t know where to begin to justify her actions.
She could consider the devastating environmental contribution
to the world’s oceans by their ship’s untreated sewage
drops and oil spills. With the resorts, she could cite unchecked
beach erosion, coral reef destruction, and the genius move of
planting invasive, non-indigenous species. Or she could merely
ruminate the sociological impact of the cruise line’s rampant
rape cases, the unfair labor practices, or—her favorite—the
resort’s complete disinterest in their host country’s
imploding local economy. Revel Jamaica! was a posh fortress built
on the beach, surrounded by razor wire, which imported one hundred
percent of its food and liquor from off shore. Not even bananas—Jamaica’s
last remaining asset besides attack dogs—was sold to Revel
Jamaica!
“Easy, whoa!” said Dodge, coming to her side. Nina
had tried to pick up the five gallon container of fuel herself,
wanting to help, but, aside from planning and downloading a crude
recipe for this quasi-bomb, Dodge had to handle all the labor.
And he did so, she noted, in silence.
With a moan, he pushed the jug into the jeep, adding it to
the pile of containers filled with gas, gun powder, and fertilizer. “Crazy,” he
muttered.
“What?” asked Nina.
“You,” he said, reaching into her car and pulling
out a c-clamp. He began to affix it to the jeep’s steering
column.
“Are you still pissed at me?” she asked, imagining
he likely was.
Dodge laughed. “Gee, whadda you think?” He strained
as he tightened the clamp, flushing his already blotchy and bruised
neck.
“Look, I’m sorry,” said Nina. “I was
messed up in the head.”
“Girl, when are you not messed up in the head?” Dodge
wiped his hands on a rag then threw it into the jeep. “I
mean, what’s the deal with you, anyway?”
Anger surged within her. “The deal!? The deal!?” She
started the jeep, moved a brick over to the acceleration pedal,
then threw it into drive. “Hello! Are you serious?” She
pointed to the vehicle speeding down the hill, aiming directly
at the four story, glass-paneled building.
The jeep met Revel, dead on at the lobby entrance. With a crash
of glass, it disappeared into the building, then, with an argument
of metal, came a thunderous boom. The air seemed to rush away,
leading a glorious embrace of flames and heat. An alarm sounded,
blaring. A series of secondary explosions followed and the flames
raced to the next floor.
They both stared at the conflagration, jaws open wide.
“Okay,” Dodge finally said, mesmerized, “that
worked.” He turned, staring at her as if only at that moment
had he realized he had been traveling with Satan’s daughter.
“Dodge,” Nina said, “I don’t know what
makes me do these things. And I don’t care. But I’m
going to keep doing them. Because I believe I’ll make a
difference. Don’t ask me how. But don’t call crazy
either. Issues, yes. Crazy, no.” A single tear escaped
her eye and crept down her cheek.
Behind her, pops, crackles, then the security alarm ceased.
All that remained was the pleasant cacophony of Revel’s
demise. Then, in the distance, on the interstate, a parade of
emergency beacons approached. Dodge saw the lights and visibly
tensed.
“Don’t...” Dodge started, but had to glance
at the lights again. “Don’t hurt me...again...like
that.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“What about the money?” he asked. “What happens
when it runs out?”
She considered this, but ended up saying, “I don’t
know.” Truth was she didn’t think she would make
it that long. She knew she was unraveling at her core. And, maybe
that’s why she needed him more than any other reason.
“Stay with me,” she said, approximating a plead. “Please.”
Dodge, she was surprised to see, didn’t need time to
think. “Okay,” he said, opening her driver’s
side door, gesturing for her to get in. “Then can we go
now? I’m about to piss myself.” Nina smiled.
As she reversed the car she glanced at the fiery remains of
Revel. Roiling and tempestuous, the blaze indicated every material
in the building must have been dangerously flammable. The destruction
they had brought upon the building was borderline comedic. Total
overkill.
They turned onto the road and crested a hill a mere moment
before the first of the law enforcement convoy appeared.
“How about somethin’ different tonight?” asked
Dodge. “Let’s check into a high-rise. Get a pizza.
Maybe some wine. I kinda like wine. And how ‘bout I tie
you up this time?”
Nina laughed. “I’d like that.”
[END]
© 2005 Ted Sappington - Contributor's
Bio
