Brinkhurst.com

I wake up to find myself lying in a deck chair, sun tanning, in my back yard. This is weird. I don’t sit around and sun tan. I have a pair of shorts on, and nothing else, no shoes, no socks, and no shirt. My skin even feels a bit greasy to the touch. I’m wearing bloody sunscreen. This was obviously intentional. Who am I when I have these black outs. Where do I go? What do I become? Am I the kind of guy who sun tans, drives around in a big SUV, slaps a woman on the ass at her place of work (expecting her to giggle), drinks tons of beer, watches sports on TV, feels the need to talk to others about sports, picks fights at a bar, drinks and drives, but never ever smokes pot (cause that would somehow be wrong)? Am I that guy when I have a black out?

“Matt, you’re still here.”

He would know. He would know who I have become during the black outs.

“You brought me home. Remember, you said that we would figure things out together.”

I wonder, “how did we get home? Was it on a train again?”

“Yes.”

I don’t remember anything. “What happened on the way home? Did I fall asleep? Was I acting strange?”

“You did not sleep. We just rode home, overnight on the train, and now here we are, nothing strange.”

This kid isn’t all that useful. He never seems to know anything, so I just end the conversation by saying: “thanks.”

He looks a bit upset, as though he wants to help. He squeaks out a couple of words: “call Ann.”

“Why?”

“She must have given you Maria’s address in the first place. Call her. That way you can find out what you are like when you are not remembering.”

I am ready to pass the kid off again, but I can’t this time, it’s brilliant. “Kid, you’re brilliant.”

I grab a phone and the piece of paper with Ann’s phone number on it. I press buttons on the lovely contraption until it beings to ring.

“Hello”

“Ann, Sam here.”

“Sam.”

That’s all she says, just Sam, just my name, then silence.

“Ann, I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I went to see Maria. Thank you for telling me how to get there.”

“It’s no problem. How long did you stay?”

“Only a minute.”

“You went all the way out there? You went all the way to see this woman, a woman you might love, and you only stayed a minute?”

“Ann, I need to see you. I need to talk to you. Will you come see me?”

“I’ll come see you, whenever you need me. I’ll be there for you.”

“Ann, you don’t know how much this means. Please come as soon as you can.”

Click

“You found me,” a voice says out of nowhere.

I look around to see “Maria.”

My breath is taken away, and my heart is still pounding. I repeat, “Maria.”

“Hi Sam.”

“Hello.”

“You found me.”

“I don’t know. I was just riding a train. I got off, and here you are.”

Maria giggles, a sweet little giggle, and I almost feel that it helps me catch my breath. I touch her face gently, and she closes her eyes.

“Come inside. Stay with me, as long as you want . . . forever.”

I reach my neck forward to kiss her. Our lips are touching, but I ruin the moment by saying: “I have to go back.”

“You travelled all this way. Now, you’re going back? How did you even find me?”

Maria placed her hand gently on my chest, at first rubbing gently then she just pushed me away.

“I don’t know.”

“Ann. She must have told you.”

That must be part of the lost time. I’m losing time now when I’m with people. It’s getting worse, much worse.

“Maria, my father died recently, and I haven’t slept . . . I actually don’t know when I last slept, but it’s days, at the very least. It may be a full week by now. My subconscious is controlling a lot of my actions, and I’ve been hallucinating and losing time.”

“You’re going crazy?”

“No. I just need to sleep.”

“Please. Just come inside. Sleep with me. We can hold each other forever.”

“Maria, I want that so much. I just need to take care of one thing first.”

I was afraid to tell Maria that I have had a psychotic break, and that I kidnapped a kid, so I try to casually find out about our whereabouts by asking: “where are we specifically?”

“Washington.”

I pretend like I already knew that. “Oh, no, I know that, but I meant what part of the city is this?”

“State.”

“What?”

“We’re in Seattle.”

“What?”

“Seattle, Washington.”

Oh god! Washington, D.C. is only hundreds of miles from home. Seattle, that’s quite a bit further.

“I should head back.”

Choo . . . choo

“You’re sitting in a train, traveling across the country like a stupid bum, and you have a big black eye on your face. Do you really think you’ve been doing things the right way?”

“I do not know. I just cannot stand up to my dad.”

God damn, this kid is making me angry. I’m fuming when I say: “Are kidding? God! I don’t even know where to start with you.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

“Would you stop talking like that. Speak like a normal person. You sound so weird when you talk.”

The kid just gives me a blank deadpan stare. It’s probably a survival technique he has developed from being daddy’s punching bag. I take a few deep breaths before I say: “you’re a good kid. I’m sorry I yelled at you. We’ll figure this out together. Once this train stops, we’ll figure out where we are and make our way back home.”

“Can I tell you about my mom?”

I wonder if he ever had a chance to talk to anyone about his dead mother.

“Of course.”

“She was a good kind lady. She did not stop dad from giving me bare butt spankings with his belt. She did not stop dad from giving me black eyes. She did not stop dad from telling me that I was useless and unloved, but she loved us. She did not beat us. It hurts when the one parent you can count on dies, especially when the other parent is a bad person.”

“You’ve got some real wisdom for somebody your age. Hell, you’ve got some real wisdom for somebody any age. Now you just need to figure out that you have to stand up to your dad.”

“I know I have to, but I cannot.”

I shake my head a little, not able to grasp this, and all I can say is “right.”

I hear the train coming to a halt, and the kid jumps off as it’s still slowing down. Why is he not afraid of his personal safety, but he’s afraid of his dad? I wait for the train to stop before getting off. It’s daylight, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. I see some houses just over a fence. The kid is already climbing the fence.

“Get back here, you can’t get away from me.”

I look behind me, and someone is actually chasing after me. Is this hallucination or reality? Either way, he’s going fast. I don’t want to take the chance. I run as fast as I can, jump and climb the fence. My heart is pounding, I look back to see the man still there. He yells out: “come back, and you’ll be in jail.”

Obviously he’s very serious about illegally riding trains.

Choo . . . choo

I hear the sound of a train. I make believe that it actually makes that choo choo sound, even though it sounds like a deeper, louder, car horn. The train tracks aren’t too far my house, but it’s pretty rare that I hear a train go by. I look out to see that the whole world around me is moving. How is this possible? I’m not at home. I’m on the bloody train. I’ve lost more time. This time it’s significant. I’m actually travelling somewhere. I don’t appear to be on a passenger train. There are no seats and no windows. I look around the train car to see if I’m alone.

“Sam? Are you all right?”

“Matt. When did you get here?”

“I have been with you the whole time.”

“Where are we?”

“I do not know.”

I think I’ve kidnapped Matt. I brought him on a bloody train, and we could be going anywhere, anywhere. North America is a big bloody continent. With NAFTA, trains without passengers go freely all the way from Canada to Mexico. As much as I don’t like Matt’s father, I have to respect the fact that he is going to be terrified that Matt has just disappeared, which is why I tell him that “we have to get you home.”

Matt starts balling like a little baby that has just been shaken and yelled at. He takes quick breaths as if his crying is stopping him from being able to breathe, and he forces out a few meek words: “I . . . I . . . I can’t ever go back.”

“So, what now Matt?”

I look at him, trying to stop myself from yelling, but I’m angry, really angry. His dad is only bully. He can get through this. He just needs to stand up for himself, really stand up for himself. I can’t stop myself from yelling: “why the hell am I on a train?”

Matt is shaking, shaking. He can’t steady his hands, and his voice becomes so quiet, I can only guess at what he’s saying, when he seems to say: “you . . . see . . . Ann.”

“I came to see Ann. I wonder where we are. Listen, you have to be a man. Use a bat, a rock, a knife, whatever you have to. Let your dad know that if he hits you, there will be consequences. If he gives you a black eye to explain away, you give him a knife wound to the arm; see if he ever hurts you again.”

“I cannot do that. I cannot stand up to my dad.”

She’s looking at me like she wants me to respond, to say something back to her, but I completely missed everything she just said, and now she begins rubbing my knee and says: “what do you think?”

“I think . . . uh . . . I think”

I think I’m not thinking. What’s his name comes into the room, with only one bottle of beer in hand, and looks right at the woman’s hand. She sees his glare and takes that opportunity to move her hand a little further up my leg. He just laughs a little and sits on the arm of the couch, right next to me, while moving the beer slowly back and forth, like a pendulum on a clock.

She sees that he has it gripped tightly in his hand, so she reaches for it, grabs it in her hand, and they start playing a gentle game of tug of war, while they giggle and laugh to one another. I just sit still, watching the two of them play with it, as her robe continues to slip further and further open. I’m not sure that it should be shaken that much, but they continue, until she finally makes a gentle twisting motion at the top, and it explodes all over his bare chest then all over her bare chest.

“Best beer ever,” I say, as I get up and walk outside.

“You can’t get away from me,” a voice says out of nowhere.

I run, fast, as fast I can. My heart is pumping. The voice gets quieter, barely whispering: “stop running.” I run at top speed, and the voice is now completely inaudible. I stop, giving myself time to think. Increasing my heart rate stops the hallucination. This is important information, at least until I can get some sleep. I feel calm now, relaxed. I’ve run a long distance in what seems to be a very short time. Everything looks familiar, but I’m not sure where I am. I see a community pool.

“I told you, you can’t get away from me.”

We go inside, and I can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of me. I definitely missed my opportunity to ask too. I’m hoping to see the woman he lives with, whose name I also can’t recall. She’s probably getting close to 40, even though he can’t be much more than 30. They have a great mutual relationship. He’s better looking than a male model, but he doesn’t like to work 8 hour days. She makes a fair bit of money. She’s not in great shape, but she wants to have sex with a young beautiful man. I have to admit though, even though she has a fairly average face and so so breasts, I’m very attracted to her. The truth is that she has a big ass. Every time I see her around and she bends over, it sparks something in me, exciting. I’ve never had sex with a big ass woman before. The truth is that I’m not very attracted to overweight women, and it’s rare to see a woman who is thin everywhere except her ass, yet she has been living next to me all this time. Now I’m in her house. I’m in the house of a woman with thin arms, thin legs, a slender face, a concave belly, average or maybe even small sized boobs, and a big, round, juicy, fat ass, magical.

What’s his name gestures for me to go sit on the three person couch, while he wanders off to the kitchen. I sit closest to an arm, as custom dictates. The woman comes out with wet hair, wearing nothing but a robe. She feigns embarrassment by saying: “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here. I’m so sorry.”

“No need for apologies.”

After I say this, she sits down next to me, right in the middle seat. This is definitely not customary. There is a free seat next to the other arm, and she is wearing a very revealing robe. Why would she do this? With such a big ass on her, how am I supposed to be able to control myself? The woman starts talking to me, but her robe is riding very high up her legs and very low down her chest.

“It’s nice that you came over. I see you around all the time, but neighbours never really spend time together, do they? Not like things used to be?”

Out of nowhere, a voice says to me: “go outside.”

Auditory hallucinations. I’m hearing things. It’s likely from the lack of sleep. I’ve never heard things before. Having an auditory hallucination is all right anyway. The key is to never obey the hallucination; don’t recognize it; don’t talk to it.

“Go outside.”

Go away, go away, go away. I say these words to myself, in my head. I can barely breathe, and I feel like I’ve just had 20 cups of coffee. Why am I so awake?

“Go outside. You will breathe.”

I walk to the door, only to prove to myself that it won’t make a difference. The closer I get to the door, the more I feel my chest opening up, loosening. I put my hand on the knob, turning it. I can almost breathe. I open the door and walk through it, taking a huge gasp of air. I can breathe.

“I can breathe!” I yell out at the top of my lungs.

My neighbour is outside cutting his lawn. He wears a pair of running shoes and shorts, no shirt. I get lost staring at him, noticing everything about him. He’s been outside a thousand times cutting his lawn, but I’ve never really noticed him before. He runs his hand through his jet black hair, exposing a drop of sweat that slowly runs down his nose, past his large brown eyes, toward his large prominent chin. He doesn’t notice this drop when he looks back at me and asks: “everything ok?”

I’m having trouble concentrating, as I see that drop of sweat, wanting to leap off his chin, but I need to say something. It’s going to be weird if I don’t say anything. He leans his head back and runs his hand through his hair again, forcing the drop to fall onto his slender but perfectly cut chest. I’m so busy concentrating that all I can utter is: “everything’s ok.”

I know he’s looking at me, but I’m fixated on that drop of sweat. It slowly works its way all the way down his chest. All the way down. It goes just under the lip of his shorts, never to be seen from again. My eyes jump back to his eyes.

“I don’t see you out here much. Sam? Right?”

“Right.”

He looks very intently at me and says: “come inside for a beer?”

I’m in no position to say no to anything. Every time I’m by myself I lose time. I need to be around someone, so what else would I say, except “sure.”

Ring . . . ring . . . ring

The cuckoo clock shows 10, but at least it’s still light outside. I’ve lost a bit more time.

“Hello?”

“Sam, hey it’s Al, from work. We haven’t seen you in days. What’s going on, are you all right?”

“Hi Al. No. I’m . . . my dad’s dead. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

I am genuinely sorry. I just didn’t really think of it. I’ve been losing time, and work is about the last thing on my mind.

“You should have just called. Next time, just call.”

“There won’t be a next time. My dad will only ever die once.”

“Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. You sound awful. Take a week off, and just come in after that K?”

“K.”

“Listen, before I let you go – are you going to be all right?”

“No.”

“Uh . . . well, just think positively, and everything will get better. Take the week and do that.”

I can’t even respond to that. What am I supposed to be positive about? I can’t deal with the death of my dad because I hate him, and if I did like him, I would be even more upset about it. Think positively? What an idiot. Why am I even still on the phone with this guy?

Click

10:02, according to the cuckoo clock. It seems that I only lose time when I’m by myself. I need to be around people, stay with people.

I pick up the phone and dial Ann’s number.

“Hello.”

“Hi. It’s Sam.”

“I know.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I recognized your voice as soon as you said hi.”

“Ann, I miss you.”

A faint whisper comes back on the phone, “I miss you too. I found Maria. I told her that you were looking for her. That’s all I told her.”

“Right.”

“I’ll have her back and in your arms in no time.”

“Great.”

“I have to go Sam. Goodbye.”

“Ann. I . . .”

Click

A dial tone echoes in my ear. It echoes, and I start to hear voices coming from that echo; “please hang up, and grow a pair, please hang up now. This is your life. Please hang up, and go find Ann, please hang up now.”

My eyes close. It’s been days and days since I’ve had any sleep at all. The voice screams back at me, stopping me from falling asleep; “this is your life!”

I set the phone down and take a look out the window. I’m by myself. Why am I by myself? I should be with people. I’m a social animal. I need to be around other people, all people do. How do I meet people? How do I talk to them? How is it that I’m this stupid? My chest feels heavy like it’ll collapse. My lungs are barely moving. It’s a huge effort just to breathe. I feel numb all over, and my chest is getting tighter and tighter.

St. Maurice church. I see what used to be the church in the parking lot. It was now a charred shell of its former self.

“Hi,” a voice said to me out of nowhere.

“Hello Matt, what are you doing out? It’s still dark.”

“Sometimes I go for walks early in the morning, to get away.”

“What do you have to get away from?”

Matt doesn’t answer, but I knew the answer as soon as I finished asking the question. I should have asked myself what does a normal boy who lives in a middle class neighbourhood with no mother have to get away from, which prompts my question: “need some time away from Dad?”

“He sleeps in anyway. It is peaceful at this time of the day. Nobody is around.”

The kid is right. There are no cars, no buses, no planes. Nothing is making noise, and nobody is outside, except for me and Matt.

“I know your dad’s a lot bigger than you, but you need to stand up to him, be a man.”

“I am just a boy.”

We wandered down the street a bit, and one of the street lights lit up Matt’s face, revealing a black eye. I gasp a little, saying: “did your dad give you that black eye?”

“I was playing baseball and hurt myself.”

“How long have you been playing baseball?”

“Oh, years.”

“When do you play? I’ll come see you.”

“Oh, I do not play on a team or anything. I just play with friends.”

I face the kid, looking at him. I’m sure he’s lying. I reach into my pocket, pulling out my keys, and I say: “are you right handed or left handed?”

“Right handed.”

I toss the keys to Matt, almost directly at his left hand. His left hand doesn’t even move. He makes a sweeping motion with his right hand, reaching across his body to try to catch the keys; he drops them, which makes me say: “you don’t play baseball.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Baseball players catch with their opposite hands. I tossed my keys right at, what should be, your catching hand, and you didn’t even move your catching hand. Instead you tried to catch them with your throwing hand.”

“The black eye was from baseball,” he said, while tossing the keys back to me.

“Look, I’m not going to tell anyone, but you need to stand up to your dad. If he comes at you with his fists or a belt, you come at him with a baseball bat. Let him know that you won’t be bullied.”

“I do not know. I do not know if I can do it.”

“You have to,” I said, while walking away from him, without looking back. I walked for a bit, but I became increasingly impatient, so I started running, running all the way back home.

Breakfast was waiting for me when I got home. There was french toast, maple syrup, and orange juice all set out on the table. I sat down to see a note from Ann, which read:

Sam,

I had an amazing time last night. I’m going to find Maria, but if you need me for anything, anything at all, please call me.

202-762-1401

Love, Ann

Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo . . . Cuckoo

Cuckoo . . . cuckoo . . . cuckoo . . . cuckoo

My eyes open, 4:00, according to the clock, and it’s still dark outside. It’s 4:00am. I must have only had my eyes closed for a minute. Ann peacefully sleeps next to me on the couch, not making even the slightest movement. Seeing her naked body next to me makes me want to wake her up and start all over again. I feel wide awake, as though I have slept for days. I feel aware. I don’t want to wake Ann, but I feel bad leaving her lying naked on my couch. I lift her up, carrying her to my bedroom. I gently set her down on the bed, her head on my pillow. I pull a sheet and blanket over her, barely able to cover her body up without pouncing directly on top of her. I run my hands through her hair and give her a very loving kiss on the cheek, softly whispering to her, “goodnight.”

I need to walk, clear my head, figure out why I can’t sleep, why I’m losing time. I start to wander, aimlessly walking, without any real goal of where I want to go. I see a strange looking man who wants to get my attention, and he crosses the street to make sure that he can talk to me. I’m not the kind of person who fears others, but it’s not customary to cross the street to talk to a stranger at 4:00 in the morning. If it’s between midnight and five, it’s pretty much accepted that you just go about your business, unless you want trouble.

“Do you know when the last bus comes?”

What the hell? What is this guy thinking? I have to tell him that “I think the last bus has gone by already.”

“Oh. Do you have any change, just in case?”

I pull my wallet out and tell him that “if I do, you’re welcome to it.”

“I could sell you some cigarettes.”

He pulls out a pack and starts to pull out five cigarettes.

“Thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

He pushes the cigarettes back into his pack, saying: “is there something else I can do for you?”

I look through my wallet, showing him that I have no money and no change, saying: “If I had money, I would give it to you. I wouldn’t need anything in return.”

He offers his hand, and I reach out and shake it.

He smiles at me and says: “Thank you.”

“Well, there’s no need to thank me. I wasn’t able to help you out.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’re a good person. That’s what matters. Thank you.”

We began to walk away from each other, as I quietly whispered: “you’re welcome.”