Page 60 - WTP VOl. X #3

It was a misstep, a stumble on a pebble, or on one of the many imperfections in the sidewalk, but Jerome didn’t fall; it was the world that tumbled, somersault- ing over and over, while he floated motionless in
the empty middle. What the fuck is this, he thought sloppily, unable to secure the question in his mind long enough to contemplate an answer. The evening’s alcohol and lingering hostility left Jerome incapable of anything but lazy befuddlement, which seemed adequate until he realized that the ground was no longer spinning distantly, but suddenly rushing up
to meet his face. He experienced his body crashing into the Earth with a level of detachment, registering the impact as more of a fact, a mere data point, than
a true sensation. He sensed himself bounce off the ground, turn, the steady momentum transmute into
a barrel roll, his caterwauling body twisting over and over and over, until finally, it wasn’t. His head held on to the spin for a few moments after his body
became still.
He slowly came back to himself in a series of recogni- tions: face pressed hard into the dry, powdery ground; a tickle of sweat down his neck; the Mexican air a hot, itchy blanket wrapped around him tight;
his body tangled, arms, legs, torso twisted in knots. But there was no pain. That didn’t seem right. This a drunk dream, he wondered. Was he actually back in his room at the resort, face pressed against those lumpy pillows that the staff were incapable of prop- erly addressing regardless of how much he com- plained?
Jerome opened his eyes. It took a moment to focus. A lazy, orange hue allowed for an impression of bare dirt scattered with detritus and ringed by a
tall, lush grass that quickly disappeared into the night. The ghostly smell of water was accompa- nied by another aroma, one that made him think of plant slime. Jerome shifted, sensing a great difficulty in the machinery of his body. A steep embankment that rose upwards for perhaps thirty feet was to his back. The sidewalk was somewhere up there, now out of sight, along with the highway and it’s sodium light poles.
He had literally fallen into a ditch by the side of the road.
This wouldn’t have happened on a cruise. It was a shame his friends weren’t there so that he could point this out. Not that Felix would say anything
in response, but Jerome could imagine Priyanka’s reply—You left the club alone! You chose to walk back to the hotel shitfaced!—conveniently leaving out what had caused his sudden departure, but if
it came to that she would find a way to make that his fault as well. Her left eye would bulge as it did when she got upset, and she’d throw up her hands with every point being made. Arguing with her was predictable, and yet it always brought him to the same frenzied place.
He managed to sit up, but the effort left him gasping and the warm threat of acid crept into his throat. Swal- lowing to keep it down, Jerome tasted the sour tingle of metal and a sudden panic erupted at the thought of a shattered row of teeth, gums pockmarked with dark crimson holes oozing blood. Thankfully his fingers found only sturdy, shapely teeth, but relief was gone before it could fully settle in.
“Shit.”
He leaned back against the slope, drenched in sweat. The numbness was starting to fade, being replaced by other sensations. Jerome’s head felt heavy but without a drunken cushion. He was starting to feel less and less drunk as a tightness crept into his chest. Is this serious? Am I really messed up? He wanted air conditioning, along with water to wash his mouth out. And a taxi to the fucking airport. Not that there was much waiting back in Chicago, but he had been ready to end this vacation for a few days now and this sealed the deal.
He brought his mind back to the ditch. It wanted to
53
Unto Thee
nick j. PeRez