1.
“My name is Simon Said.” I make sure to say that to myself in the mirror every morning. Nobody talks to me anymore.
That's more of a side effect of a larger problem. Everyone in my town has been hiding from me for the last month.
It started on a morning pretty much the same as this one. An afternoon. An afternoon pretty much like this morning.
My mother wanted me to go back to school. My father wanted me to get a job. They both wanted me to get out of their basement. Even down there, the walls were thin enough for me to hear their “renewal” for one another.
My parents were both Iranian, but my mother was born here. My father came over when he was twenty and had completely abandoned the old ways. He'd learned English from episodes of the original People's Court and Jerry Springer.
My younger sister was already married and pregnant with her first. She was the hardest on me.
“What kind of uncle are you?” she'd said to me one night. She'd taken on some sort of Persian accent like she hadn't been born in Michigan just like me. Neither of us spoke whatever Persian language they spoke over there. Well, maybe she spoke some. Her husband was from Karaj. She even wore a hijab. I seriously doubted it was for any reason other than she wanted to, although I tossed that grenade when I was otherwise defenseless.
I was getting close to pulling the pin then.
“I'm not an uncle yet,” I said.
She said something Persian and tossed her hand over her head.
“Jesus, speak English already.” I was being a jerk and I knew it. But it kept her from focusing on me being a loser. She narrowed her eyes at me.
I really wanted to smoke a bowl in that moment, but retreating to the one corner in the backyard where I could reasonably get away with it felt like a check mark for her argument against me. I could wait a little longer.
My mom smoked with me sometimes. I didn't have a lot of money and hated sharing. Not that I hated sharing with my mom. I'd smoke with her every day if I had a million dollars. But I didn't have a job and the only money I really had was the couple dollars or so my dad gave me for gas when I was out “job hunting.”
That first afternoon had seemed normal. I had set up a rough bathroom in the basement and I brushed my teeth right after using the toilet. I've always done those two things. I think my dad might have been jealous of my regularity.
I took my time before going upstairs even though my dad had left for work hours ago. My mom worked from home. Something with permits, I didn't understand it. But it was related to what my dad did; he was a licensed plumber.
I tried sneaking up the stairs, but they groaned loudly enough to tell on me. I entered the kitchen, ready to hear my mother call my name. Even if I did make it all the way up here quietly, she still knew when I emerged from my cave.
But this day was different. No mom chastising me for getting up late. No mom asking if I'd been to the yard yet.
I was relieved.
I had a habit of shoving my hands down my pockets when I was nervous and it occurred to me as I did it in that moment that when I came out of the basement for the first time was peak anxiety for me. Either I was coming out like now when the day was already “half over,” with no job or I was “looking for breakfast,” with no job. It was appreciably worse if my sister was here. Sometimes, Noor went in so deep on me, my parents didn't need to say anything.
I took my hands out of my pockets and came up with an edible. It was hard as rock candy but I didn't care. I popped it in my mouth and sucked on it like a mint while I raided the fridge.
I could cook okay but decided to have a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Both my parents were raised Muslim but they didn't keep a halal kitchen. Some bacon would have gone nice with the sweet but I didn't feel like cooking any. And I especially didn't want my mom on my back about not cleaning the pan.
I finished a second bowl and dropped it in the sink with the spoon. I should have taken a shower and driven to Chicken King to beg the manager for the job my dad wanted me to get, but I decided to go for a walk. My edible would start hitting in ten minutes or so and I wanted some fresh air.
Usually, I ran into my neighbor, Phyllis, doing something in her yard. She wasn't there, but that might've meant that she'd already finished for the day or maybe she was having lunch. She was always good for an ego boost because she usually said something flirty. It was harmless, at least I hoped so. She was older than my mom.
I kept walking, turning left instead of right at the end of the block, headed toward our little downtown. It was also in the direction of where I got my weed from the Venga brothers.
Venga wasn't their last name. It was just what I called them in my head. They were always saying “venga” this and “venga” that. I could have looked up the word, but every time it crossed my mind I never had my phone with me and I forgot a moment later.
That was alright because my edible was starting up. It was like relaxing my shoulders when I hadn't even been aware how tense I had been a moment before. I became intensely focused on the dividing lines of the sidewalk. The lack of joggers, dog-walkers, or construction workers wasn't anything I noticed consciously.
That might have been the reason I wandered as long as I did, though. The combination of being high and in silence at first gave me a feeling of intense calm. I closed my eyes and lifted my face into a breeze and walked for a good two minutes. Even high I knew this wasn't a smart idea but it felt good. My brain felt like it was on a solo roller coaster ride around the perimeter of the inside of my skull and I had this up and down wave thing going on in my insides.
I stumbled off the curb because of course I couldn't color this feeling in a straight line. I went down and scraped my palm, but I didn't care. Even the pain felt nice.
I sat up and examined the heel of my palm. I held it about an inch or two from my face, my skin looked like tire treads as I watched the blood well up from the abrasions.
Eventually, I got up. Downtown was closer than home and my coffee shop probably had band-aids.
I passed by St. Rita Rectory and was still repeating the name and enjoying the mouth-feel when I got to the Bean and Leaf.
I'd been holding my hand up and noticed the blood trailing down to my elbow when I opened the door. Embarrassment cut through my high like asphalt through the skin on my hand. I didn't want to make a scene or for anybody to point and scream.
I flew like an arrow to the restroom. It didn't take long to clean up, but I did notice a couple spots on my shirt.
I wadded some TP into my hand and stepped out. I had my order already and went straight to the counter. Cindy, my café girlfriend, wasn't on the other side. We had a little thing going on. I just hadn't worked up the nerve to ask her out for real.
She wasn't there. I peered behind the counter and saw Gladys wasn't either. Gladys reminded me of both my parents rolled into one weed-smoking, judgmental package. I didn't understand how a sister-in-arms could hold me in such low regard. I mean, she'd never actually said anything, but I could tell from the eyes.
“Hello?” I said after a few seconds. Maybe they were in the back or something. After a quick glance around, I noticed there wasn't anyone else out here. So everyone was either in the women's room or the break room.
“Hello?” My high was starting to kick into another gear: paranoia. “Anybody here?”
I leaned over the counter to see if there was anyone hiding behind the cash register. The power wasn't off and it was the middle of the day. Maybe it was one in the morning instead of the afternoon. That would make sense if I could explain why the sun was out.
I stepped outside and shielded my eyes from the sun and looked skyward. I didn't know how to tell time from any constellation.
The one time I didn't bring my phone...
Chicken King was right next door and maybe that was a sign. I needed reassurance that something weird wasn't happening and stepped inside.
Instead, my paranoia ramped up. I didn't remember until I walked in that Chicken King typically had a line out the door during the lunch rush and there was nobody inside.
Lunch rush was the main reason I didn't want a job here. I didn't want to work that hard. Oops. I guess I just caught myself in a lie. The manager had asked how soon could I start. I was putting off returning his call.
Every table in here had food on trays. It was like everyone had been eating and just gotten up and left.
“Was it something I said?” I asked the room. The thought crossed my mind seriously a second later. Could it have been me?
That didn't make sense, though. What could I have possibly done to make everybody run away?
I was gradually floating back to earth from my paranoia when I heard someone shove open the back door near the restrooms.
“Hee-hee-hee.” The giggling part was weird. Like they were playing some kind of game.
“Like hide-and-seek,” I said aloud. “No, that's stupid.” I was high, but not high enough to believe that. I quick-walked to the rear door, intent on catching up to whoever that was.
“What the hell is going on?” I said. “Where is everybody?” I frequently practiced what I wanted to say when I had to talk to people. I didn't like speaking out loud when I wasn't suffused with THC and whatever was going on was killing my vibe.
I strolled out into the parking lot and looked around for a moving vehicle or at least a person behind the wheel. I spotted a Ford Tempo with exhaustion puttering from the tailpipe and jogged over.
Nobody was behind the wheel.
Something scraped across the pavement. It sounded like somebody dragging themselves from underneath a car.
I walked backward to the center of the lot. Whoever it was had to show face to get out of here.
A long thirty seconds passed before I saw someone's back as they ducked between a row of arbor vitae. My brain took a couple tries before my legs started. I pursued but it was too late.
I tripped over my feet and almost caught my balance before stumbling over the curb and really grinding my shin on it. The pain was all I cared about while I sat and rocked on my butt making a sound with my mouth that sounded like shuffling a deck of cards.
When I was finally able to stand, I realized I was still high but for the first time I didn't want to be. It felt like everyone was picking on me. The only thing left in my humiliation would have been people throwing trash at me from their hidey holes.
Wait. Was that it? Were people hiding from me? I'd thought it as a joke, but maybe that had been the right track.
I had to test it.