“Would this include the subconscious?” Charlie asked.
“Well, yeah. Why do you care about that?’
“Just a hunch I have. I see people traumatized, PTSD of sorts. I want to know what’s happening in the subconscious. Maybe that has something to do with how they’re functioning overtly.”
“Smart,” Brad said as he pulled up another set of functions.
“And you use this room here?” Charlie said as he pointed to a glass enclosure. It was a ten by ten foot room. The walls were glass. On the outer wall, closest to where Brad and Charlie were standing, the controls Brad was accessing could be repeated on the face of the glass. These could be accessed from both inside and outside the enclosure.
“Yeah. But that thing won’t help you when you’re out on shift,” Brad said.
“No, I know. I just want to get a feel for what’s available. Maybe then, I can provide some insight on the spot, and be more accurate with my referrals.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Can I get inside?
“Charlie. You the man, but—”
“It’s for the patients,” Charlie said.
Brad hesitated again before making an inviting gesture, which Charlie jumped at, positioning himself inside the space before Brad had finished.
“Can you put the controls here on the inside?”
“You know how to work this?”
“Yeah man. For a while there I was a bit of an engineer. Spent three years at Cal.”
“Really? Didn’t like it?”
“Nah, I did but got bored. We were designing a lot of equipment, which was cool. Most of it similar to this,” Charlie said, pointing to the main console. “But, I wanted to do the doing, you know? I know these gadgets make things happen but I could never shake it. It was a simple transition since I had to work with medics and doctors while I was in college.”
“That’s why you like the paramedic gig, huh? You could probably make a bit more money in here,” Brad said as he motioned to the neuroscience department.
“You’re right. But, it never clicked.” As soon as the controls popped up, Charlie started sliding the settings and adjusting what was being measured.
“Charlie, with those levels you’re going to be picking up a lot of interference that isn’t necessarily associated with you or the subject,” Brad said as he watched Charlie work.
“Just getting my bearings, Brad. I won’t break it.”
“All right man. Doctors come on shift in half an hour. I gotta check on my rounds. You good?”
Charlie gave a thumbs up as he flipped down a jelly mold over the top of his head. On the front of his face, the substance covered from the tip of his nose up and in the back, it reached down to the base of his skull. Charlie flexed his face a bit, letting the jelly conform to his features. He finally opened his eyes, allowing the material to slowly fill in so that it was resting against his eyes. Initially, the sensation was disconcerting to Charlie. The clear jelly allowed Charlie the ability to see the activity within the substance, while also view the controls on the glass wall.
He began to intensify the sensitivity on the instruments, aiming to identify his brain activity at the subconscious level. He hoped Brad had bought his reasoning about PTSD and the links to the subconscious. It appeared he had. In reality, Charlie hadn’t done much research into PTSD, and his current project had nothing to do with anything medical. Something with the world was off, and he had never quite bought the hype behind The World Government’s methods of governance. An all-powerful entity overseen by a corporation had never sat right with Charlie. He didn’t like that, and he didn’t like how the world had become.
He tried to concentrate on both the dial and the activity within the jelly. He ended up racing back and forth, bringing into view snippets of activity that lingered for a second, before disappearing again. Eventually, he was able to dial in the fluctuations, gradually zeroing in on his brain waves. He focused on the scenes and activity that unfolded within the mold, until he was able to narrow in on the streams that were being pulled. He could see as his stream of consciousness fed up into nothing. It ended up disappearing out of sight.
Charlie adjusted the settings ever so slightly, expanding the relative field of view of the device. As he did so, the travel of his streams of consciousness elongated. They no longer disappeared into nothing. Rather, they were traveling up to something. Charlie continued to fine-tune the device until…
There. There it is. The stream ended at the intersection with another and another. There. Multiple streams were combining together.
Charlie continued to adjust the instruments until displaying thousands upon thousands, possibly millions, of streams combining, ultimately forming into one. That single one then disappeared into nothing. Charlie tried to capture the path of the final single stream. He slowly adjusted the field of view, gradually expanding. Nothing. It’s gone.
The door to the main office opened a foot. Charlie heard two people discussing in the hallway. He looked at his watch. It had been forty-five minutes since Brad left him. Charlie disengaged the equipment, shutting down the controls. He then grabbed the jelly and slowly pulled at the mold. The jelly was sticking to the surface of his eyeballs. Charlie fought the urge to pull harder. The suction gradually elongated until coming unstuck from his eyes. Charlie opened his eyes wide, seeking his bearings. He tried to focus but only managed to stumble out of the glass enclosure. As he did so, he grabbed a chart and walked up to the propped open door.
“Can I help you?” Charlie said to the doctor.
The doctor stared at Charlie. “What are you doing?”
“Inventory,” Charlie said, looking straight at him. “Everything is good, sir.”
“Oh. Okay, good. Thank you.”
Charlie walked off down the hallway, making his way back to the emergency room where the other paramedics were.
“Where the hell have you been?” Jenny asked.
“What? Shifts over,” Charlie said. “I’ll see you again in a couple days. I’m heading up north of Stinson Beach tonight. Going to camp out.”
“Sounds pretty fun. Too bad I have to work tomorrow,” Jenny replied.
Charlie smiled as he gathered his things and headed for home.
As he walked to his apartment, the sun was cresting the horizon, creating a sunrise that sparked the grandest array of colors amid the San Francisco morning. There was a hint of fog, more a steady mist, which was unusual for San Francisco. Looking down upon the hilltops that rolled across the city landscape, the sun illuminated each corner of the street below. The dark reds and yellows of the sun created a warmth that wasn’t present nowadays. Rather these avenues remained stark, devoid of life and emotion. There was a lack of feeling among the streets. Charlie noticed how regimented life was now. Most people moved with the purpose of where they were going, rather than for the enjoyment of where they were. It was a trip from A to B to C. Nothing between.
Right now, in this moment, Charlie felt the blood of the streets. He imagined the old San Francisco with tramcars and people bustling about back and forth, people commonly spotted relaxing outside French cafes, enjoying a coffee and a newspaper, entertained by the conversations of their mates. It was fulfilling. The thoughts were calming. He stood looking down the steep hill imagining all the life that could be, out of view, obscured by the sun in his eyes. He imagined what the sounds and smells would be.
He stood and closed his eyes, picturing the pleasant scenes before opening them in time to find a jet-black swat truck shooting up the hill and destroying his fantasy. There were three occupants in a row, eyes caged to the road. Zero expression. Zero thought. It appeared as if they had just concluded an operation. The sirens were silent as they maneuvered from an unknown location the opposite direction of their headquarters. Charlie sighed and resumed the walk back to his apartment.
The slight fog had dissipated by the time he made it. Dan was already there, sitting on his bike. “Where you bee
n?” asked Dan.
“I’ve been at work. My shift ended forty-five minutes ago. Come on man,” Charlie responded.
“Dude, I’m playing. You going to make me breakfast before we go?”
“Now you’re talking,” answered Charlie.
Charlie made for the kitchen, his comfort zone and a place where he excelled above all else. He was good at two things in this life. The first being his job and the second using food to create true artwork. Dan knew this and always made it a point to visit Charlie’s for a meal when possible. His food was unmatched, even when compared with the posh restaurants in town.
Dan followed Charlie in and rested against the kitchen counter. “Don’t get me wrong Charlie, I love me some butter, but don’t be afraid to go easy on that stuff. Use the veggies,” he suggested.
Charlie stared up at Dan, unwrapped the fresh butter, and dropped the entire thing in the pan. He had planned on using half the stick, but Dan needed to realize that he had walked into Charlie’s domain. The kitchen was Charlie’s.
Dan smiled and nodded his head showing he understood only too well, eager to eat whatever Charlie was willing to whip up.
With that, the adventures began. Thirty minutes later, Dan had a steaming pile of food. A frittata made in the South American style, a side of French toast with powdered sugar and fresh maple syrup, fruit, fresh hash browns, and a pot of French press to wash it all down. Dan didn’t hesitate as he dove in. Charlie did enjoy his food, but even more, he relished Dan’s enthusiasm as he scarfed everything down. Charlie knew he was a good cook and took pride in what he produced. He looked forward to the work it took to prepare the food, because in that moment, he was creating something new and original.
Dan and Charlie finished their meals, poured the leftover coffee in the thermos, grabbed the rest of the supplies, and headed out for an overnight, die-hard camping trip to get away from the city. Neither one of them enjoyed driving in the city, but hitchhiking was illegal and getting from the city over to Stinson Beach area was a little difficult. They were seeking refuge from the bustle of strangers so they decided to bike it pretty much the entire way. In a few places, they were able to jump on the high speed express, shortening the trip. Neither one was in a rush. Charlie especially, as trying to keep up with Dan was a pain in the ass. Every now and then, he would yell at Dan to slow down, seldom receiving a response. It took Dan realizing he hadn’t seen Charlie in a while for him to slow the pace. He would double back and sprint a few laps around Charlie before slowing next to his buddy, chatting about the weather, a chic they passed, or the breakfast they devoured. It didn’t take long before he zoomed off again, most likely chasing the girl up ahead, struggling for a better look before Charlie arrived.
Dan and Charlie traversed the little path that followed along the Golden Gate Bridge. A few high-speed locals on custom made racing bikes would yell at them to “respect the locals.” Charlie and Dan carried on. They passed through Sausalito into Marin County, picking up the Pacific Coast Highway from there, past Muir Beach into the camping areas. Neither wanted to stay at Stinson Beach proper because it was always crowded, and there were immense restrictions on where people could camp. Instead, they headed into Mt Tamalpais State Park to find an isolated spot to relax and cook some food.
Dan knew a few key areas, which Charlie hadn’t been to yet, so he was in the lead. Charlie had been up to the park a few times prior but was eager to experience something different. After riding two hundred yards off the main road, Dan veered off up the hill to find the “sweet spot” he had been talking about. Up hill, thought Charlie. Great… Charlie kept chugging along. The standing agreement was that whoever got lost would stay still while the other came and found them. Charlie could see the trail that Dan had taken and wasn’t concerned yet. Even so, any excuse to stop and rest would be a welcome break. He didn’t but instead, pressed on behind Dan, searching for the campsite that “would change his world,” according to Dan.
The scene before Charlie as he crested the final hill seemed to have been cut from a National Geographic special. Dan was sitting there, half on, half off his bike, beaming before the edge of a green meadow atop the waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing hundreds of feet below. The landscape was awe-inspiring. The meadow lay at the cross section of beautiful lush rolling hills and the mighty Pacific Ocean that relentlessly pounded the coastline below. Huge oak trees dotted the area, creating a wall of protection around the meadow to the north and east. To the south, was the sloping hill they’d just climbed and of course to the west, was the ocean.
“Brah, hella cool,” Charlie said using the local slang he usually reserved for moments when he was most excited. “How did you find this place? This is unbelievable! Why is there nothing built up here, prime real estate overlooking the ocean?”
“Protected site,” Dan responded. “Some of the last protected land that hasn’t made it to the courts as of right now. They’re snatching the protected status of all these national parks though. Some haven’t made it through the legal process yet. We’ve maybe got two or three years left to enjoy this beauty. Might as well take advantage while we can.”
And advantage they would take. Charlie and Dan opened the bags they’d brought. In them were the bare essentials. The bags contained only those items required for one epic camping adventure. They had cooking utensils. There’s something about the fresh air and the freedom of camping that takes mundane meals and turns them into culinary masterpieces. If you can begin with a piece of Charlie’s artwork and refine the colors with that taste of freedom, a transcendent banquet promises to inspire. They brought forth the food. All the essentials for two gentlemen of discerning taste were present. Sleeping bags were somewhere. Not important now. The shelter was, a light bevy that would serve to keep the rain off. It never protected them through the morning mist, but they would deal with that when the time came.
“Ah hah,” yelled Dan in triumphant glee. He held in his hand the true secret to the best damn camping trip ever.
“You’re the man,” said Charlie. Dan had before him, elevated over his head, in all its glory, one plastic baggy of grade A mushrooms or in some circles, known as Simple Simon.
“Well Danny boy,” said Charlie with glee. “Eat first or a little Simon first?”
“Charlie. How do I say this? Your focus becomes somewhat blurred once these little babies make it into your mouth. Would you not agree?” asked Dan as he swung the bag back and forth.
Charlie nodded.
“Eat first for sure,” Dan continued. “Now, I know you were gracious enough to whip up that outstanding breakfast for me. It was amazing. I’m still feeling the French toast. I think the butter has actually lodged itself next to my heart. But I’m ready for more.”
“You’re right. We need to eat, and—” Charlie began as Dan tossed him a beer. The beer was from the Unique Mind Brewery, and it only came in cans. Some guys in Wisconsin produced it, domestically distributed to a handful of locations. It was popular with outdoor enthusiasts who appreciated good beer they could pack. Dan and Charlie opened each other’s and passed the ready cans to one another. The opening of the other person’s beer had become a tradition long ago and each had maintained it. With hearty cheers, each took a long draught.
“Oh yeah” said Charlie.
“Time to get to work,” said Dan.
“Copy that,” replied Charlie.
“I’m off to get the firewood. You have the fire starter, right?”
“Of course,” replied Charlie.
Dan hurried off to get the firewood. Charlie began preparing the utensils he required to concoct their meal overlooking the magic Pacific Ocean. The shelter was up, supported by three oak trees in the corner of the meadow. He lined his instruments up a few yards away. They had long outgrown the hot dog and hamburger phase. Camping had its rough moments, but food would not be one of the casualties. For tonight’s meal, Charlie was preparing a few favorite dishes. These included some stuffed onions with
gourmet macaroni and 5.55 types of cheese. There weren’t five and there weren’t six types. Charlie and Dan agreed upon this after a long discussion regarding classifications of cheeses.
Charlie also broke out a bottle of wine from the nearby winery in Napa, called Positano. Unfortunately, many of the wineries had gone out of business or been closed down by the government. This was due to a myriad of reasons, frequently related to the lack of certifications authorizing the production and selling of wine according to that winery’s specific technique. Positano benefited from an owner who was independently wealthy, a maker of wine who pursued such an endeavor for the sole reason of doing. It was a form of freedom of expression that his family cherished. They made a damn good Malbec too. Until recently, this was a variation exclusive to South America. As fusion and globalization continued in all things, the Malbec arrived in Napa.
To finish the meal with a bang, Charlie prepared his world famous campfire nachos. Imagine everything great in nachos, which are then smoked in a campfire and served under the stars. It was a winning combination that promised to have Dan stoked when he came back.
Dan arrived lugging the firewood across the meadow. Before long, they were sitting before a roaring fire, coals off to the side, and another brew to sip. Life was great and freedom was everywhere they gazed. They sat lounging in a couple of mini camp chairs overlooking the ocean and gazing up at the stars. It was magnificent and nothing could make this better.
“Shrooms!”
“Ready?” asked Charlie as he glanced over at Dan.
Dan was mid chew when he looked up.
“That’s a yes,” exclaimed Charlie. With that, Charlie devoured his portion of the bag.
Charlie and Dan relaxed in their chairs and watched the stars dance through the heavens. They were beautiful little beings caught within the night sky, dangled there by the gods for them to observe. The tiny little specs seemed to pulsate with the beating heart of the almighty beings. Each breath they made up in the heavens caused the stars to surge out from the heavens toward Earth, and then with the following breath in, the stars would immediately retreat back to their solar systems. This constant back and forth of the heavens pulled the outer edges of the earth away from Charlie and Dan as they sat staring up into the darkness.
City 55 Page 4
