Rusty

This drug races through my veins like an atom bomb exploding under water. Everything from the depths blows toward the surface and my innards are now exposed to the world.

The dark circles under my eyes seem to intensify as I stumble toward my wall of vinyl and pull out Movin' With Nancy by Nancy Sinatra. The needle drops, while another one is picked up. "Things," her duet with Dean Martin skips to a start and crackles enough to scare me out of my next binge.

Around my ankle is a red bandanna, wrapped tightly around the heel of my high waisted skinny jeans I've had since 1987. Miraculously there aren't too many holes, but the once beautiful blue wash has faded to a marbled gray.

The potency kicks in and suddenly I'm in a wave pool surrounded by overweight Midwesterners bobbing and screaming on their circular inner tubes. One woman calmly lies on top, not a splash on her suit. I can't help but wonder how she got in, since we're both trapped in the middle of the Olympic size watering hole.

In an instance I'm back in my apartment. The last thing I remember was walking toward the kitchen. Now I'm seated in my living room with a half eaten sandwich on my lap watching "Goonies." My attention of the film fades in and out until Sloth screams on camera and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest. Like a bad accident I can't look away, but the more I watch the more I slip into the film.

I close my eyes. When they're open I feel myself peddling furiously down a road on a mini-bike. I am Josh Brolin's character, chasing after my little brother. A convertible pulls up and the driver screams out my name but has no face. The female co-stars faces are upside down and their smile is like a runny water color. The driver grabs onto my arm and revs his engine. I am now peddling for my life as the car speeds up, dragging me along. I lift my feet and the bike collapses underneath me. I am now floating in mid air until the arm lets go and I awake in my bed.

Cold sweat drips down my back. Next to me is a naked body, but I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. On the nightstand is an empty condom packet and a cloudy mirror. A few drops of blood have crusted onto it. I slowly stand until my knees give out and I realize the drug is slowly coming to an end.

No longer do I feel invincible, but breakable. Any minute my lungs will collapse and the burning in my gut will make itself known.

I hear sirens, but could care less because this is the moment I was hoping for.

Complete and utter silence.