Fantasy: A Drug of the Mind

“You can’t just walk away,” Frank said. “You need time to think and make the right decision.”

I sat there with my shoulders slumped and my lower stomach sinking into my lower back. I have to think about it. I have to think. About it. I looked at the papers on Frank’s desk. I wonder where they will be 200 years from now. I wonder who will know this conversation ever happened. Or if anyone will ever wonder that it did happen.

“So?” Frank said. “Will you rethink this over the weekend and come back Monday with a thought-out answer?”

Say no. Say no.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take some time.”

“Good.”

I nodded as if we came to an agreement. The only agreement that came out of this was he got to breathe on Saturday and Sunday and I got to destroy myself with thoughts.

It was 6pm on a Friday in New York. I was taking the A train down to 14th street to connect to the L. Tonight would end like most nights. I’d hop off the Graham Ave. stop and see a light blue sky. I would walk fast for no apparent reason and go home.

I should read a play tonight. I should. But I don’t want to. I should. Maybe a cig to calm the 80 pound gorilla in my head. I should do that. Sit on the stoop and breathe the air that just sits and waits to be pulled into a nostril.

“Did you do it?” my sister said.

“I said I would think it over.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know,” I said.

The conversation wasn’t anything special so let’s move on. It was a cassette tape. I finished one cigarette, which is my daily allowance unless I’m very drunk. Nothing is better than a drunk cig.

The conversation between Frank and I replayed in my head, each time developing into a fictional story that ended with me yelling at him like Joe Pesci in the Casino desert scene and standing up for myself. Fantasies are the worst drug.

“Wake up pussy!”

It was Jason. He called me at the same time every Friday night to see what was good.

“There’s this new techno club in Brooklyn and I want to check it out,” Jason said. “Let’s go”

“Ight, wanna come here first?”

“I’m already here,” he said.

Knock. Knock.

Whenever I saw Jason I knew we were getting trashed. He dressed like Venice Beach but you would think he were from Staten Island by the way he walks and orders a bagel. He could succeed in either place because he just knew. He knew himself to a T. I envied that. How incredible would it be to know yourself? To be able to tell someone like Frank that you wouldn’t think about it for one more second.

“I was able to get some blow from Chris,” Jason said. “It’s more than enough for both of us. I also got 2C.”

Jesus Christ I’m gonna die. I can’t say no to my grandma or drugs. He handed me my ticket and a pill that looked like Mr. Flintstone.

“I’m not taking this,” I said. “Not if I’m doing blow and 2C.”

“Fine let’s just take the flugel,” Jason said as if that was the plan from the start. “We’ll save the blow for brunch.”

The warehouse smelled like sweat and desperation. Fishnets, cigs, wet floors with god knows what and constant booming sounds gave me goosebumps. I love this shit.

“He goes on in 30 minutes,” Jason yelled. “We should take these.”

We bought a seven-dollar water from the bartender and took a few sips to get Mr. Flintstone to captain our next five hours. Over the next 30 minutes Jason and I looked at each other to see if we felt anything. The heat started in my hands first, then my temples started sweating. I chewed my gum harder. Mr. Flintstone had taken control of the ship.

All the lasers and strobe lights and people were in ultra high resolution. Is this what paying attention feels like? Jason was already grinding with a rando. Their necks rubbed against each other as they rolled their heads in circles. I danced and smoked until my pack was empty.

“Can I just crash at your place tonight?”

“I gotta be up early,” I told Jason. It was a complete lie. I had planned to read Othello at a café, but every personality in my head knew that was a lie.

“No you don’t,” he said. No I don’t.

The next morning I had two missed calls from my parents. I couldn’t even complete a sentence in my head. I texted them instead: “Reading at the café…call later.”

Jason and I went to brunch with a girl he met on Hinge and her friend. We did key bumps in the empty subway station. Only the rats saw us.

“What does my girl look like?” I said as we walked toward Waverly Diner. “You never showed me her IG.”

He pulled out his phone like it was a gun and spun it around in his hand so it was right-side-up. She was good looking enough for me to be worried about the fact that I looked like shit. I made no effort to look any other way until we met them at the small booth table. Smile!

I was too focused on not throwing up in front of Gabby and Erica, who also happened to go to the same concert last night. Their eyes were on Jason the whole time. At one point, Gabby licked her lips slowly as if to let Jason know she wanted to turn Waverly Diner into her bedroom.

“Are you gonna chill with them again?” I said as we walked out into street.

“Probably not,” he said. “They were boring.”

I went back home and read Othello in my bed.

The next day I caught up with my parents and told them I was going to leave the real estate firm. Now that I told them, I gotta do it right? I told everyone at this point. Even Frank. I spent the whole day in my thoughts. What happens if this? If that? Where will I go?

On Monday morning I walked into Frank’s office. He pretended like he was busy and was doing me a favor by motioning me into his office.

“What’s up?” He said.

“I thought about it over the weekend,” I said.

“Good. Very good,” he leaned back in his chair. “And?”

“I ain’t coming back,” I said in a New York accent.

“Ain’t? Excuse me?” He was caught off guard.

“I quit,” I said. “I will not be returning after this conversation.”

“So you are not giving two weeks notice?” Frank said, still confused by my behavior.

“No notice. Now notice,” I said. I realized I never even sat down.

“What is this coming from? Are you angry?”

“Very.”

Overthinking blurred the line between fantasy and reality and the two ended up together in Frank’s office. Extremes.

Now what? I sat on a bench in Washington Square and sat. It was empty-ish. A guy was selling peanuts. An old man slept with his chin on his chest and his two hands gripping the top of his cane. Kids were playing in the fountain as their mothers watched. A rat ran under the benches with white powder on its nose. Erica came and sat next to me and started kissing my neck. I got a call from Frank asking me to come back. People came up to me to ask for pictures. I was famous.

I suddenly felt a tickle in my right ear. I poked around with my pinkie and felt what I thought to be a hard piece of earwax. It was a string. I pulled and out came my mind. Like a cloud hung by a string. I left it under the bench for the rats to eat.

I got up and walked. My mind was clean. The smells were sharp. My sight was clear. Reset. Reset. Reset. Let’s not do this again.