To Love/Hate the Spotlight

A small headache thudded to rhythmic bumps and dips in the road. My intellect dimmed down to fleeting glances of highway signs. Nothing could catch my interest for more than a second or two. Rarely blinking as they whipped past. The trees, the sky, all a blur.

Another bad dream. I'm surprised I didn't wake Billie Joe up, thrashing until the covers were like a noose around my neck. He smelled of beer, so that explained a lot. I could have been screaming and none of the guys would stir from their chorus of snores. Not incredibly reassuring but at least I could come out to the table, turn the radio down low, and settles these rattlesnakes called, "Nerves."

Every night for the past six months I have to wake up in the middle of a panic attack. Something has to be done. I don't know what, though it's getting to the point where the thought of sleep is nauseating. It's not fair that I'm afraid of something I don't understand and, much less, remember. I racked my brains out until the radio hissed and gargled from rock oldies to fervent classical. The anxious violins wound me tighter as the back track of cello and french horn scrambled my thinking more than the gravel kicking up from the spin of tires hitting the siding. And this music is supposed to relax you? To ensure your child's intelligence, strap a pair of headphones onto your swollen belly? Maybe my mom did that to me, drove me insane inside the womb. I could only imagine my mom buying one of those god forsaken Dr. Spock child-rearing books and cranking up Ludwig Van into my maturing mind. It wasn't terrible music -I like it- it just spurred too many thoughts.

Deciding against acting ridiculous and sneaking around, I went straight to the bunk area and lugged Tre's bag to the center of public domain. Riffling through wadded clothes and assorted items I took great care not to touch any of it. I found exactly what I was looking for wrapped up in a pale bandanna.

When everything was set to the best of my knowledge, I clicked the lighter to life, tilting it just so the flame could spark and animate the allegro flakes packed into the misty black bowl. My thumb plugging the hole on the side; my lips pressed firmly to the end of the pipe; the flame hovering to create sunset embers; I tossed the lighter and filled my lungs with smoke, saving an extra margin of breath to inhale that last full blast of flavor and potency. It scorched my throat, soaking my eyes in saline for the need to cough but instead sealing my mouth into a hard line, forcing the pollution in my lungs to infect as much as possible. In one painful gasp, the white cloud floated frozen over the table, the morning light made it look more sickly. Swallowing spit for the sake of my throat, I cracked the sideway sliding window.

I hate this stuff. I rarely felt anything, so I took a few more hits.

Time lapsed. The sun climbed higher up in the sky, and I was up there with it. The wind smacking my face at 55. Its chill made my nose like ice, trying to swallow it in greedy breaths. I wasn't having giggle fits or fucked up theories about noodles being the enemy. Somewhere along the way the radio station sputtered to static, blessing me with dial tone thoughts.

... sinking. Slipping. Limp torso and limbs snailed with no energy behind them. All of me slinks into a knot. Pressure on my face or my back. I was floating. My head felt heavy; my eyes felt heavy; every muscle in me takes on another four hundred pounds. The steady vibrations beneath me amplified, shaking the murkiness slowing my lungs. Sleep craved to consume me. Tears pricked my eyes for nothing else I felt but my conscious resistance tasted and chewed into bits. Flowing with a gulp, I tumbled down its throat into darkness, knowing I would soon be spat out worse off than I had been.

No Ones POV:

"Goodbye! We'll certainly miss you!"

"Remember everything you learned!"

"See you next Thursday, 2:15!"

His steps were swift past the automatic doors. Urgent but not rushed. His heart sped to an anxiety high. The cab waiting for him was all his untrained eyes could determine as the sun tuned up the brightness and eliminated contrast. Impulsively, his legs were ready to retreat back into the shadows and perhaps the building if it were a year ago.

"... nothing's going to happen," he encouraged as his doctor would say. But just the notion of carrying on in the sun like a normal person made his pearly skin crawl with the formation of sweat. He could feel their eyes watching from behind the plated windows, criticizing his hesitation like tutting at a sixteen year-old with a pink mohawk. They would have to touch him to know he was trembling.

"I don't have all day, kid." He could barely make out the cabby, not that he cared to. It was merely a stranger his parents (if you could still come them that) phoned to fetch him instead of driving the forty miles themselves. For him it wasn't at all heartbreaking. Routine as it were.

With a nod to prove he wasn't deaf, he hurried to the cab -ignoring the fire and squinting so hard he only saw a distortion of yellow- throwing his bag in the backseat before getting in himself. The drastic shock into shadow and air conditioning was pleasurable and eye-opening. He laughed silently in his foolishness, resting his forehead against the cool, tinted window. For years he convinced himself that something just as natural as the moon would kill him, yet here he was 3.7 seconds later and still alive. Not a burn or flake of ash on him. A hot rawness from its unfamiliarity but otherwise less than life threatening.

"So where to?"

The day before, his parents left him ten grand and a simple "Good luck."

"... Home, I suppose."

"And where is 'Home' exactly?"

His heart fluttered in its cliche; wherever it was. All he had to do was find it.

"I... don't know yet."