 |
Detroit Trip - a working novel |
 |
Menu
STORE
Detroit Trip is a working novel about a young engineer who moves to the Motor City and becomes involved in crash tests.
The Trip – part 4
“I’m done with this game, man. I can’t play another second. My eyes don’t work.”
“Look at that!” Monica runs to the window. “It’s just starting to get light out.”
“Holy shit! What time is it?”
“Five forty-five.” Dick has a watch.
I have to go to work.
“I have to go to work,” I say.
“Shit,” I say, “I have to be there in fifteen minutes.”
I’m not sure if anyone else said anything. I’m standing in the shower. I check my hands. I’m still tripping pretty heavy. They’re not right. They appear too glossy, and not completely under my control. “I’m not even sure if this shit has peaked yet.” I turn to the back of the tub and tell it, “This shit is wicked.” The water is hitting me. It’s incessant. I bat at it. My hand goes right through the spray. I look at it again. “I don’t even feel wet.”
The floor of the bathroom is soaked and I’m standing in a towel. “Wait! All right. I’m okay. Here are some clothes.”
Yes, these clothes on the rug will be just fine. I should towel off. I do. Then I’m dressed and … okay … that’s interesting. The toothbrush is a little much for me right now, a little too much action. I put it down. “Who knew it had so many bristles?” I joke with the guy in the mirror. He smiles.
“You need to shave,” he says.
“Ha!” I look him right in the eyes. And risk scraping my face off? I think not. I’ve seen The Wall. "I don’t want to lose a nipple or something."
Besides, the light shadow draws some of the darkness away from the bags under my eyes.
“What about the hair then?”
“Shit. You’re right. I almost forgot.”
I lean over the counter and begin picking at the two-tone curls with my thumbs and forefingers. I press mud in it. It looks like flames.
“Zack, you have to go.” Monica is standing beside me in the bathroom, shielding her face from the mirror, lest she become trapped, too. “You look like an orangutan cleaning itself.”
“Shit! What time is it?”
“It’s about six twenty. I’ve been looking at you forever.”
“Oh.” I’m twenty minutes late and still at home. “It’s going to be tough to get there on time now. Maybe no one will notice.” She hands me my suitcase.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you to pack last night.” She flings her arms around my shoulders. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too.”
We kiss and that’s that. She goes to bed and I meet Tesh at the front door. He slipped away at some point and slept for a couple hours, though not easily with four people on acid roaming the basement. I flip him my keys in the driveway and we blow away from the house.
I give him directions. He knows the place, or at least the area.
“How am I possibly going to function at work on hallucinogenics?”
Tesh stares at the road, slumped to the center, pimp-daddy style due to the broken driver’s seat
“I can probably still do my job as long as nobody talks to me.” I look out the window with a smile. “Someone’s bound to talk to me. Aren’t they?” Shit. I turn to him. My eyes are huge, begging. “They are, aren’t they?”
He turns to me and shrugs.
“It’s fine. Yeah. No. It’s no problem. These people think I’m a big drinker. I’m sure they’ll think I just got hammered last night, and I’m still drunk.”
“Except your pupils are like softballs, dude.”
“Ah!” I smack myself on the head. “Good point.”
I stare out the window. Maybe I can convince them that I got a full eight hours of sleep last night and it has horrible side effects on me. I’ve never even been to work high before. There were a few Fridays I was a little tipsy after lunch when I was in college, out drinking with Truth before he left early. But this isn’t good. What was I thinking?
I turn to Tesh and open my mouth.
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t take any.”
“Did you just read my mind?”
He grins, still half asleep. "You haven't stopped talking."
“Ah." I point ahead. "Doesn’t matter. Here’s where I work.”
The parking lot is full. Everyone is inside, working. I get out and say goodbye. The suitcase bangs on the door and breaks off a piece of plastic trim. It looks like it goes over the bottom of the seat belt. I pick it off the parking lot and throw it over the passenger seat into the back, then I close the door and start my walk. Tesh drives away with The Beastie Boys blaring out of my truck -- Paul’s Boutique. On my way to the door I notice the lawn is being brushed like velvet by a giant, invisible hand. I grab the handle for the door. It has the hardness of aluminum foil, but it somehow opens the door. I’m in for something special here.