here. and now.

fiction therapy by mel whitehead

'I dream in one night 1,000 sleepless nights and wake up exhausted. On the phone I visualize my fear piling up around me looking like little clay devils the color of weak tea. Even they look worried about me. I put a garnish of sliced onions and lettuce of Henrey's food and have to dump it all. I've opened too many cans anyway. A ghost leaves me a message on the microwave, unreadable. TV is on, TV is off. TV is off but I hear Bart Simpson. Is he the ghost? On top of my fridge there's a loaf of wheat bread. Dishes are piled in the sink. I just wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him. I think maybe I need a shower.

'In the bright blasted out May morning sunlight, things don't look much better. The sweet smell of the cool air makes me melancholy. It's here. It's now. I can't stop thinking about him. Surely this can't be what he wanted. Surely his intention was to get me to stop. But not knowing makes it worse. I feel like I rolled over in my sleep into the wrong universe. I want to call. I crave resolution. I need a clear-cut ending. If I can't get it from him I'll make it myself.

'I don't know about guns.'

"So write what you know."

'Thursday night on the way home from work I stop at the liquor store and buy something sweet in a big bottle. I refill my most toxic prescriptions. I make arrangements for an acquaintance to come on Saturday and feed the cats. I leave them enough food till then. Saturday in case it doesn't take this time or I chicken out, or it takes longer than expected. I feel bad for the cats. They've been nice to me. I wish he would interject now like the ex-girlfriend in David Foster Wallace's Here and There and say that I don't need to get hurt like this. He thinks this ending is better than what it should have been. I think he should have told me what was going on. Not that he owes me anything. But I didn't owe him anything either and I gave him everything he asked for. I made just one request, unfulfilled. I fill the tub. I get my cd player and put on Tristan und Isolde. I bring liquor pills and razors. I want him to stop me. But how could he? He doesn't know; he's so far away.

'I'm afraid. This way is harder than a bullet.'

"Then welcome."

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