Howard dreamed he became conscious only to find
himself on an operating table. Doctors and
nurses rushed around in a frenetic fashion.
One of the nurses lunged towards his face and
stabbed an anaesthetic injection to his left
cheek. He knew he wouldn't feel any pain -
he was dying. His consciousness seeped blissfully
away. It was languishingly exciting to know
he would never wake up again. Ever. His last
thought, as the medical staff swarmed, was to
say something profound. '
Goodbye world!'
he found himself faintly breathing as awareness
sweetly abandoned him.
He awoke. It was dark.
'Hello world,' he muttered.
In the darkness he suddenly smiled and kicked
his legs under the duvet. He revelled in the
sensation of being
alive. In his dreams
he experienced emotions he never experienced
so vividly when awake. Once, in a dream, he
was catching a train. It didn't seem to be
a sexual dream, yet boarding the train made
him so happy he shot his load. He turned and
fell back into a slumber.
His next dream, more poignant yet than his dream
about dying, was about Gallie. But when he awoke
could only remember it distantly. It distressed
him that, no matter how he concentrated, the
details of his dream were faint. He felt as
if he had been robbed of a memory of heaven.
He remembered that in his dream he was in a
hall-like room full of people. He singly noticed
Gallie. They were preparing for a magical,
wonderful quest. Gallie called out to him.
He was euphoric. He thought she wanted to be
with him. He thought she was going to embark
on the sublime adventure with him. But she
was not interested in him after all. She told
him that she wanted to sleep. She asked him
to complete the quest and only then could she
sleep.
Now wholly awake he blinked as cruel daylight
stabbed his retinas. He donned his flannel
bathrobe and plodded downstairs to the bathroom.
The place was crawling with bottles of myriad
forms and sizes and beer glasses. He himself
used one bottle - shampoo. Why women littered
every available square inch of surface with
assorted bathroom products was one of life's
meaningless conundrums. He felt like he was
in a pharmacy. Above the sink was a small cupboard
with sliding, mirrored doors. He narrowed his
eyes at his reflection and made a gun with his
hands. He pointed this mimed firearm, arms
stretched, at his mirrored face. He pulled
the trigger. Hand recoiling, he enacted the
impacted victim flying backwards in slow motion.
He squeezed toothpaste onto his ageing toothbrush
and shoved it across his fillings-riddled teeth.
It was half-past two. The smell of a joint
roasting in the oven filled the house. Now
dressed, he shuffled into the living room.
The omnibus edition of a soap was bickering
away on the television. From his bleak expression
and sagginess of his features it was obvious
that Greg too had not long been up. His receding
hair head stuck up at haphazard angles. He
greeted Howard and knocked back some pills.
At one end of the sofa Karen sat on Steve's
knee and stroked his short hair beneath the
back of his baseball cap. At the other end
Gallie was intermittently chatting to them whilst
keeping an attentive eye on the television.
Howard snatched glances at Gallie with all the
sneaky discretion he could muster.
'Actually, she always awards higher marks to
the males' essays, its absolutely, like, criminal!'
bewailed Karen.
'It's obvious that's because
bloke's
essays are better - no girly bullshit!' boomed
Greg.
'Greg, man,' Steve oiled, 'you're dead wrong,
right? You're out of order! Chicks are like
knocked down, man, in all walks of life: housewives,
secretaries, prostitutes. It's time we stood
up and said, "
Babe you're my equal"!
It's time we bunged 'em a few extra quid, right?
Sorted!'
'Yeah, you tell him, Steve!' shrilled Karen.
Greg listened to this piece of worthy rhetoric
with the interested ear of the vaguely outraged.
Howard suspected it didn't matter
what
Steve said, for Greg would debate any avowal
of Steve's with the deference a military dictator
holds for a voter.
'Listen,
man,' rumbled Greg sarcastically,
'this
new man crap doesn't wash with
me! You
new man droids are worse the
rest of us. What it boils down to is that you
tell chicks what they want to hear because you
know they'll drop their knickers faster than
a speeding bleeding bullet. So put a sock in
it - spouting that
new man toss, like
you mean it! Yeah right! Sodom and Gomorrah!'
'Coffee anyone?' said Gallie, her voice trembling
slightly.
Karen's face reddened and her mouth tightened.
She glowered, with eyes narrowing - at Steve!
'Is that, like,
true, Steven? Do you
really mean all those nice things you say, or
do you just say them just because you think
I will dr... like...
erm...'
Karen's mouth opened and closed in silent vexation.
''Course not!' Steve interjected belatedly.
His voice brimmed with indignation. 'Hey Babe,
chill! Jeez, woman, you winding me up or what?'
Dominic arrived. The atmosphere warmed. Sunday
Dinner was served up by Gallie and feasted upon
by all.
'Absolutely marvellous!' whispered Dominic,
touching his thumb and forefinger. 'I don't
mind telling you, that was splendidly delicious
- precious - I had a
yum-gasm!'
Gallie giggled coyly and positively glowed her
appreciation of Dominic's playfully spoken words.
Howard enviously suspected that she was drawn
to his cheeky - yet innocent - features and
mannerisms. Such an owlish face could make
the most cringe-worthy chat-up lines hit the
mark.
'If food be the music of love then fuck me with
a
sausage!' cried Karen.
Greg's laughter bordered on the hysterical.
Karen rolled back her head and screamed. Steve
lasered a frigid stare at her.
The room fell silent aside from the hubbub radiating
from the tinny speaker of the television.
'You know,' said Greg, 'I bumped into that Marlon
this morning. I asked him if he was taking
a break from programming his machines. Do you
know what he said?' When quoting Marlon, Greg
affected a monotonous drone. '"
No,
I am
not taking a
break from programming.
I am programming
now. I am doing it
in my
head. You don't have to be operating
a
computer in order to
program."
He was grilling bleeding burgers for Sodom's
sake!'
'If only you could have
sex like that,'
said Howard. 'If I could have sex without a
woman being there, I would be a happy guy.'
'Erm, didn't your mother teach you how?' said
Greg. 'You must be the only bloke I've ever
met who doesn't know how to fly his chopper
solo.'
Everyone looked at Howard, who felt himself
blushing - and that physiological betrayal of
his unease further compounded his embarrassment,
until he felt his face almost burn. It didn't
help that Karen began giggling.
He glanced at Gallie. She too was blushing
in an obvious effort to stifle her laughter.
'Erm, anyway, what were you saying about Marlon?'
gasped Howard desperately.
'Ah yes,' said Greg, mercifully, 'Marlon told
me that his brain is finding out about itself
by programming itself into his computer.'
'Frankly, that's
fabulous!' said Karen.
'You mean he's got his whole, like,
brain
in his computer?'
'Don't be ridiculous. He told me he's only
programming a
few dozen brain cells -
but they are a mini brain.'
'Wow!' said Howard. 'That's incredibly interesting.
I must have a chat with him sometime about this.
What's he look like?'
'You've not met him have you? I suppose he doesn't
get off on humans,' said Karen. 'Besides, Marlon
and his brains and his computers are all very
well as far as it goes: the only problem, actually,
is that, as far as I can tell, that's
all
he's interested in, right? Actually, I bet
he's never even
heard of Jackson Pollock.'
'
I have,' said Greg. 'I'm a great
admirer.'
'Crikey!
Are you?' gushed Karen. 'I
definitely take back what I said about you being
an useless, ugly, fat, philistine, male slob.
Which of his works, like, resonates most with
you?'
'His second album, before the drugs fried his
brain.'
'You totally lousy scumbag
males! Actually,
sans exception, you're all utterly
ignorant
and loathsome! Apart from
you, Steve
dear.'
'Hey, cool! Check me out, Baby! I ain't like
them!' bragged Steve. He adopted a posture even
more puffed-up than usual.
'But, anyway, it's
fascinating,' persevered
Howard, 'Marlon programming his brain in his
computer like that. I wonder if it can think?
I doubt it if the program only contains a few
neurons.'
'Actually, you may as well ask totally the same
thing about Greg's brain,' said Karen.
Steve chuckled. Karen looked at him, snapped
her head back and guffawed heartily. Greg mimed
an irreverent imitation of their laughs but
the effect was to further spur them on to paroxysms
of mirth.
'Greg's
brain! Check it out! Gotta microscope
to see it man? Hahahaha!' gasped Steve, slapping
his leg and doubling up.
For a fleeting moment Greg looked fazed. Then
a wrathful fire lit up his eyes. He launched
into a tirade against Steve and Karen.
Outwardly oblivious to the conversation Dominic
was reading one of the glossy women' magazines.
'Crikey, according to this periodical some poor
girl ingested twelve crocus flowers and dropped
dead. Half a flower, it says here, contains
enough deuced toxin to kill an elephant.'
Howard noticed how Dominic had effortlessly
diffused the confrontation between Greg, Steve,
and Karen. His friend obviously had a Gallie-like
knack for social tact.
Greg tossed a pack of cigarettes to Gallie.
He retrieved a box of matches from the floor.
Gallie leaned over, cigarette in mouth. Greg
held a match between his index finger and thumb,
with the matchbox held in his other three fingers.
With a snapping action the match flipped against
the box and was ignited. Dominic delightedly
declared his admiration at this trick. At Dominic's
pleading, Greg showed him the technique using
dead matches.
'Behold!' cried Greg. 'And now Dom will demonstrate
the real thing! With no less than a one-hundred
percent live match!'
Greg set it up the match and matchbox in Dominic's
hand with exaggerated care, being sure to crank
up the suspense like a true showman. Everyone
in the room leaned forward and scrutinised the
proceedings with hushed zeal.
'Ladies and Gentlemen! Your attention please!
The incredible, fantastical match trick!' proclaimed
Dominic, joining the spirit of the occasion.
With gravitas, Dominic flicked his index finger.
The match ignited. The flaming stalk failed
to finish up in its correct, upright orientation.
Instead the flaming end lodged on the underside
of the web of skin between his thumb and index
finger. Dominic acknowledged this blunder by
screaming in agony. He desperately sucked his
injured hand then shook it, and sucked it again.
'Shit!' he cried, 'The Devil wouldn't credit
it! A little thing like a match could be so
bloody excruciatingly painful. It really
hurts!
Shit!'
Everyone else in the room made no effort to
disguise their appreciation of the funny side
of this tragicomedy.
'Grasshopper!' said Greg in a pseudo-Oriental
accent. 'Wise man know big pain often come in
small package. Look at Gallie!'
On perceiving Dominic's sustained pained countenance,
Gallie began to look concerned. She fussed
and hurried Dominic out to the kitchen to pour
cold water on his hand. The sound of water splashing
into the sink could be heard.
When Dominic and Gallie returned to the living
room some minutes later, Dominic face was redder
than ever. He looked even more flustered and
his hair looked bushier than before.
'
Wow poor bastard: he really suffered!'
thought Howard, empathetically imagining the
sensation of searing flame against bare flesh.
 | | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2001-09-11 19:44:49 |
| | | | |
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