My Mind's Betrayal

Haunting Perspective

What My Mind Hides

I’m alone in the harsh rain sulking as I saunter through the side walk on 49th and 7th now unwilling to go meet my publisher. I don’t feel like doing anything right now, or at all. My mouth is thirsty for anything I could find in a liquor store and I feel the hungry urge to smoke. More importantly I just want to lay in the dark and avoid the world entirely. I know my demons that  I used to fuel my writing has turned against me. Xanax and vodka can only numb the creeping insanity for so long until it overflows and floods the sense of morality.

I look in a display for a small Barns n Noble seeing my awful reflection. My hair is a mess, glasses are not straight, and I’m soaking wet holding a drenched sports coat. I feel worse than I look.  For some reason I hope I would see her looking at my appalling reflection, but I’m remain as I am. A self-alienated belligerent ass who writes overlooked novels.

“If you could hear me, I’m sorry!” I mutter at my reflection not caring if anyone misinterprets my actions. I carry on to the Sheraton Tower.

I enter the lobby dripping on the marble. A greeter hands me a hand towel from a table stocked with them in preparations for an idiot like me who didn’t even think to bring an umbrella.

“Enjoying the weather, sir?” The greeter asks sarcastically as I dry off.

“No, just taking the annual shower. I forgot my body soap at home.”  I reply. He chuckles and I hand him back the wet towel.  “I didn’t expect this weather in spring?” I say.

The bell boy suddenly looks confused and then shakes it off. “Checking in, sir?” He asks politely this time.

“I meeting someone at the café bar!”

He point at the end of the lobby where a fancy entrance to a overpriced doughnut and coffee shop.

I enter the café bar noticing that I’m out of place immediately. Everyone here is either wearing a high priced business suite or a lavish dress holding conversation via laptop, smart phones, and blue tooth headsets.  There’s one way to talk to yourself without looking crazy, but appearing as a loud aggressive jackass who talks too much about his business or sex life. Then I see the jackass on the blue wave at me to come over to the bar and notice that he is my publisher.

I walk apprehensively to him and a he holds out a hand.

“Chester! Nice- Whoa?! What the heck happened to you? You swim over hear?” He asks.

“No, but with this weather, I might have to swim back.”

Dan Barbucci has a many of years over me. I’m twenty-three and he’s 61 and the head editor at Travel Road Publishing. No book gets the green light without his say. I don’t remember why his suddenly chummy, but he checks in from time to time. The reason eludes me, my books aren’t very popular. Just some paperbacks with shitty covers that pander to the cliché of the genre.

“There’s that charming wit. I missed it since you buried it under your brooding personality.” He says with a faint Irish accent.

“I don’t brood! I sulk solemnly!”  He laughs and pats the stool next to him for me to sit.

I place my elbows on the counter leering at the wide variety of alcohol. If I was left behind the bar after hours, they would find my body in the morning with a grin and a bar with no wares. The memory of the purple pony pulling away the whisky bottle with magic and setting it in the wet bar at home. Now everything before now seems so surreal!

“Well! Your book, Under My Gun is going on the selves later this year and Forester is scheduled for next winter.”

“Wow, Two books that would be overlooked through the other one hundred and ninety  thousand new books that come out every year in the United States, Three hundred and thirty thousand worldwide.  Let me ask you something, Should I hire a guy to find out what is the statistic of the average American coming across my book, since the average American only buys two to three books a year.” I rant.

“I know the statistics, and I have to work to change them. I have five hundred unread novel to examine and three hundred hopeful authors that are going to be disappointed. And don’t forget a large amount of those books are self-help and some idiotic Stephanie Meyer wannabe and their bull shit novel that caters to insecure teenagers. I believe in your books! And If you have another one, that would help.”  Dan replies.

“I don’t have one at this moment.”

“Ahem!” I hear a familiar voice pretend to clear their throat from my side. I turn left and see Twilight sitting on the stool next to me wearing an angry frown and stern eyes.  I turn away and drop my head.

“You again?!” I mutter. I pick my head up and notice the young male bartender behind the bar hurt at what I just said. An awkward moment if there ever was one.

“I was really hurt at what you said!” Twilight tells me. “Well, aren’t you going to say something! Like an apology!” I try not to look at her.

“I’m sorry!” I say looking at the bartender.

“Was that for me?” She question.

“I’m going to need a triple of jack on the rocks!” I tell the bartender.

“Wow a triple this early?” Dan asks.

“AARGGGHHHH! Why aren’t you answering me?!” Twilight shouts.

I look down at the counter. “Look, I’m sorry that I can come off as a complete and total ass.” I announced hoping that Twilight would understand that was for her. The bartender places the drink with a small straw in front of me as I try to see the lavender pony in the corner of my eye. She looks utterly befuddled.

“Was that directed me or the counter?”  No dice.

I feel a hand pat on my shoulder. I turn to Dan seeing a smile on his face.

“You are an ass, but a friend! Now if you could tell me why is it that you kill all your main characters in every novel! Granted that they die poetically, and beautifully bitter.” He asks.

“Now he has ruined every ending of your book for me!” Twilight exasperates laying her chin on the counter.

“I get into the character and feel like I should just do away with them in the end. I’m not a happy ending kind of guy!” I respond.

Dan chuckles. “Is that why you are so fucked up?” He says laughing and turning red. I just smile at the concept.

“That would be my assumption!”  I hear Twilight comment.

“I’m not fucked up because I write! I write because I’m fucked up!” I reply and Dan starts coughing through his laughter.

I lift my drink to my lips noticing at there is no liquor inside, just ice cubes. I turn to Twilight looking sickly and green as the straw hangs from her lips.

“Are you serious?!” I whisper and she bangs her head on the counter.

“I didn’t want you to drink again so had to think fast, but I thought wrong! Horribly, horribly  wrong.” She says and begins to gag.

“You can really put those away!” Says Dan.

I turn to him and nervously nod trying to think on how to deal with a drunken pony… I’m- I’m drawing a blank.

“Hey! What did you do to Twilight!” A light female voice questions and I’m scared to look who it is, but against my fears, I do.

A pink pony with sky blue eyes fiercely glaring into mine as she stands on the counter; her mane has certain buoyancy to it. Not another fucking pony!

“Uh, bartender, I need another drink!” I announce.

The pink pony continues to eye me making abstract angry facial expressions or she is currently having a stroke?

“I said, what did you do to my friend!” The pony shouts and Twilight’s stool tips over with her falling to the floor motionless. I assume she is fine because she is groaning in pain. The pink pony jumps off the counter quickly to aid Twilight and the bartender hand me another drink that I swiftly down.

“I hope you are not driving home!” Dan asks.

“Someone stole my Impala!” I answer staring at the bar shelf wondering how many bottles I could drink before someone stops me. All I know is that I’d go straight for the brandy first to drown out the voices that seemed to multiply.

“The Impala?! You never got it replaced?” He cocks his head back in shock.

I hear the pink pony asking Twilight “Where does it hurt?” and a continuously ask “Is it here, or here, or here?! How about here?”

“Replaced?” I ask. Things start to blur and the background sounds muffles.

“Look at me!” He leans over and I meet his gaze. “Follow my finger!” He moves a finger horizontally. I try to follow but my eyes can focus on the simple movement.  He puts his finger down and sighs. “Please tell me you remember the wreck?” He asks. I bat an eye.

“What?” I say feeling a ball in my throat.

“The wreck six months ago! What’s the date?” Dan questions.

“Uh…” I stammer trying to find the simple answer. “April 5th, 2012.” That’s the last time I remember.

Dan pulls out his phone displaying the date.  My heart sinks to the ground and a pit takes home in my gut.

“September 9th 2012! Your wreck happened in March!” He declares then puts the phone back in his vest pocket. “I called you yesterday to make this meeting. What’s the last thing you remember?”

The last thing I remember was looking up Twilight on the internet, before that…

“Wallowing and drinking in my apartment trying to find a book Idea.” I try to remember, but only imagine smeared blurs through foggy glasses.

I look at the ponies seeing Twilight on her back with her eye closed, hooves loosely up and that straw still in her mouth. The pink one pokes her with a hoof making Twilight twitch. I return my attention to Dan seeing his lips move, but no sound comes out. He just continues talking with no words. Then noise begins to slowly returns to the world around me hearing everyone talk at once, dishes clattering, stomping footsteps.

“Your attending physician was Dr. McHale at the Methodist hospital. He was the responding doctor in the ER that treated you. There was some head trauma after the accident but nothing serious, though now I would beg to differ.”

“How could I not notice six months or remember a wreck?” I ask rubbing my eyes in frustration.

Dan shrugs his shoulders. “I wish I could tell you. We talked about the wreck a month ago. I think you need to see your doctor. Something is really wrong.” You’re telling me. I’m seeing talking ponies from a cartoon! “I have to ask you something here, and I need you to answer.” He takes a breath and shakes his head.  “Do you remember cutting yourself two months ago?” Dan asks as I grew cold and irritable.

“Back to this?” I drink what’s left in my glass. “Don’t remember why I did it, but I know I did it!”

“I know why. You were dealing with the wreck." He states.

"The wreck that I don't remember?"

" The doctor said that you had three different anti-depressants, aspirin when they had to pump you stomach and a razors an inch deep in both your arms. Not to mention a blood alcohol level over three times the legal limit. If your neighbor didn’t find the door opened.” Another helping hand.

“Look Dan, You are not my friend, you’re my publisher. You make money off me and I make money off you. That’s it and nothing more! If I wanted help, I’ll just pick up one of those self-help books that are published by the shit load. And this wreck bullshit you’re trying to sell, I’m not buying!”

I get up from the stool with my sports coat resting over my arm then I glance at the ponies again. This time the pink one is trying to drag Twilight on the floor by her tail in the pink pony’s mouth mumbles vowels through the hair. I walk by and grab the pink pony’s tail lifting her off the ground with the unconscious Twilight being dragged behind and Dan shouting my name. I leave without turning as my scars burning. I don’t remember leaving the door opened.

I reenter the lobby and being greeted by the bell boy!

The pink pony spits out Twilight’s tail “Hey, sir?!” She says trying to grab the attention of the bell boy. “I’M BEING KIDDNAPED! GET HELP!” The pink pony cries.

“Have a nice day sir.” The bell boy tells me.  I nod at him trying to ignore the new figment’s screams for help. She clinches onto one of Twilight’s hind legs with her hooves dragging her as I carry the pink pony by her tail.

“HE’S GOING TO KILL US! WHY AREN’T YOU DOING ANYTHING?!” The pony yells as we leave the building.

The showers grew stronger and more violent as I’m barraged by silver dollar rain drops. I let go of the pink pony’s tail and she jumps back taking a stance like a rabid dog ready to attack. She starts to growl like one. I look at Twilight weakly pushing herself up then spitting out the straw.

“Calm down Pinky! He’s a friend.” She tells the other pony.  She wobbles while looking ill.

“What? Him?” The pink pony points at me with a hoof. “ But he’s! He’s!”

“Unpleasant, unsavory, angry, crude, vulgar, volatile, verbally vicious,  a vindictive vile villain?” I add.

Twilight turns and nods at the pink pony. “That seems to sum it up nicely!” She comments.

“I’m getting a cab!” I tell them walking to the curb raising my hand. A taxi parks by the curb.

“Where are we going?” Twilight asks shaking in the cold rain and the other pony keeps her distance from me with livid eyes.

“I’m going to the hospital.  I need some answers!”