Surreal Ecstasy

by Moon, Chrissy

  "You could. But who would fill dem bitchy shoes? Who can we possibly get that can simultaneously file her nails, gossip about her employees, and play Farmville all day? That takes talent and skill, you know. She had months of extensive training of sitting on her fat ass and cackling like a witch."

  I laughed—my first genuine laugh since I'd been hospitalized. I saw Erica outside in the hallway, headed towards my door. She wasn't easy to miss with that damned perfect blonde hair. She poked her head in the doorway, smiling. "Ah! I see you have a visitor," she chirped cheerfully. I groaned with mild embarrassment. Oblivious (or seemingly so), Erica closed the door again and continued down the hall.

  Dess bit her lip as she tore her eyes away from the hallway. "I'm the only visitor you've had, aren't I?"

  "Is it that obvious?" I sighed quietly.

  She said nothing but sort of smiled and bit down on her lip again. I was starting to see that it was her go-to move when she needed to pause or think. Then she took a breath, leaned forward and said, "It's none of my business, but I could tell."

  "Huh? What are you talking about?" I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what she was getting at. Without thinking, I shoved my right arm underneath the paper blanket. Part of me wanted this conversation to end right here, right now. But a small voice in my head told me that if I ever wanted to have a friend—a real friend—I would have to deal with the ugliness of my life situations.

  She blinked slowly and sighed quietly. Then she looked directly in my eyes and said, "What that fucker does to you. Has been doing to you."

  I looked down toward the bed rail on my right. I took a breath through my nose so deep, my shoulders rose and fell.

  "You don't have to say anything," Dess continued gently, placing a timid hand on my bed's edge. "I know the signs." She stopped and scoffed. "I know them too well." A hard look graced her face for a moment, which confused me. Her husband certainly didn't look the violent type. In the next instant, she was focused on me again, the serious expression gone. She offered me a small smile and pulled forward a chair that was next to the door, settling down in it. "I just hope you left him," she added softly yet clearly.

  I nodded before I began speaking. "I'm trying," I said noncommittally. "It's a long story."

  "I'm sure it is," she agreed. "Just—you know—Don't feel alone. Okay? I know it's easy to think you are, but…"

  "Well… thanks, Dess. That's really nice of you. It's just… we don't really know each other too well."

  "Best part about it. Who cares what a ruffian such as myself thinks about you?" She folded her arms casually at the foot of my bed, smiling fully now, flashing a brilliant set of teeth.

  "Roofie-ann? What the hell is that?"

  "A badass. A gangta. Someone like me, you know."

  "Um… I'm looking at you now and… sorry, Dess, although you don't look like everyone else, you certainly don't look like a badass, gangta, or a roughie-ann."

  She threw her head back and laughed. "Ruffian," she corrected. "And you're right. My ass isn't really that bad at all. It's a good ass," she added, winking. I laughed as she continued. "People think that about me, though, so I'm used to it. Kinda adopted the persona just to shut up the onlookers, you know?"

  "That doesn't make sense. You just said you weren't really a ruffle-man or whatever the hell it is. So how could you adopt the persona?"

  "Ruffian," she corrected again, then considered and nodded. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that when people think horrid things about me, I stand there and let them. You can tell when they do it, too—they look at me like I stepped out of a B movie gone horribly wrong."

  "Don't you get pissed?" I asked her before taking a sip of water from my plastic cup.

  "I used to. I used to give them dirty looks, especially the kids. Then one day I realized that there will always be someone who would have a problem with what I look like, or how I act. Conservative people think I'm an alien. Teenagers think I'm an uptight prude. No matter how I decide to carry myself, there will be someone on this Earth who will have a problem with me. Basically, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.

  "So what would be the point, then? In caring about how they look at me? In worrying about offending someone if I wear a particular piece of clothing? By being overly-conscientious about all this, I was creating my own prison—a prison up here." She tapped her temple.

  She leaned forward and rested her arms on her knees, clasping her hands together. "I figure, if people are going to talk about me, I might as well be free to do what I really want with my life." She paused and looked off in the distance.

  I studied Dess momentarily, amazed at her strength and fervor.

  She noticed my distraction and smiled. "What?"

  I shook my head nonchalantly. "Nothing… nothing." I was too embarrassed to say, You're amazing. I wish I could be like you.

  She gave me what must have been a knowing look. "You sure?"

  "Yeah, ruffle-man. I'm sure."

  She threw her head back and laughed. "Sure. I'm ruffle-man, and you're Morgue. Hmm. I like that. Morgue. It fits, somehow."

  I threw out another giggle. "I'm not sure it's appropriate. I'm not dead, you know."

  Still leaning forward, she looked up at me, her eyes registering surprise and pensiveness at the same time. Then, in a grave tone, she said, "Morgan…"

  "What?"

  Her almond-shaped eyes darted around the room as her mouth stood open and silent. Finally finding her voice, she said, "I have something to tell you."

  A knock on my closed door made us both jump. Before I could react, Dr. Hearse was in my room, head hunched over the clipboard that he was carrying. "Hi, Morgan, I'm just here to see how you're feel—" He stopped short when he picked his head up and saw a cute girl sitting in one of the chairs. His eyes grew big as he focused on her. "Oh. I apologize. I didn't realize you had comp-"

  "My name is Dess," she interrupted, facing the psychiatrist but otherwise not moving. "Before you jump to all kinds of conclusions, yes, I'm a lesbian, but no, I'm not her girlfriend. I am her only means of moral support, but that's all I'm going to say on the subject because that's Morgan's personal business."

  What? Dess was gay?

  My mind whirled with that information. Not because it mattered what she did in her private life, but because…of him.

  So…the man who used to pick her up was…what, an old friend maybe? Were their similar last names a coincidence? Rios wasn't exactly a unique last name, not around here, anyway.

  My heart pounded and my spirits lifted a little, thinking of the possibility that the beautiful man I'd been so obsessed with lately could be…available.

  How could I ask her about him so that I would know for sure?

  What would be the point, though? Do I dare dream? I tuned back in to what was happening around me.

  Dr. Hearse looked as if he were bitch-slapped several times in a row. He appeared taken aback, but seemed to recover quickly, his eyes still watching Dess, a look of admiration on his face. "Well, hello there, Dess," he said politely, extending out his hand to her.

  She took it without hesitation, giving him an 'I-approve-of-you-being-here-but-don't-push-your-luck' look as they shook hands. Then she dropped his hand and went back to clasping her hands together across her knees, focusing her attention back on me.

  "I'm Dr. Hirsch," he added without flair, talking to the back of Dess' head.

  She turned to face him again long enough to tell him, "How do you do, Dr. Hearse?"

  I burst out laughing. The doc even smiled a bit. Before Dess could ask, I revealed how I call him that very same name.

  She merely shrugged in response. "Hearse is better."

  "That's what I said!" I shouted happily.

  "I'm a psychiatrist at this hospital," Dr. Hearse went on. Wow. He was really trying to impress her, or something.

  "I guessed that," Dess replied in a tone that was not only pretty rude but suggested that any moron would have b
een aware of that.

  Another second of silence. Dr. Hearse cleared his throat quickly, turning to me and saying, "Well, Morgan, I was stopping by to see if you wanted to have that chat with me. It's pretty important, you know, for your—"

  "No!" Dess murmured in that same rude tone, putting her flattened palm out to him in a universal 'stop' symbol. "She's not going to do that now. Visitor's hours are almost over and I don't think you should take up any of my time doing whatever the hell you gotta do."

  Clearing his throat again, looking back and forth from Dess to me—clearly embarrassed—he nodded quickly and left my room, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible.

  "Wow. You do not like that man," I told her.

  She visibly relaxed, her shoulders sagging in. "I don't like guys like that," she said obscurely. "They evaluate you and say that if you don't think exactly the way they do, you suffer from some sort of delusional distress and must take daily medication to assimilate to the masses."

  I replayed what she said in my head, nodding in agreement after it all sunk in. "How did you know he was a psychiatrist?"

  "I know people. That's all." Dess scoffed and shook her head.

  "So, you had something you wanted to tell me?" I prompted, choosing to ignore her sexuality declaration just moments ago. I so wanted to ask her about the guy—her possible brother—but something told me I needed to pay attention to what she was going to say instead.

  "Yes," she agreed in a relieved tone. "Morgan," she said, standing up and walking closer to my railed bedside, "I'm from the God Generation, and I need your help."

  Chapter 6

  That's not something you hear everyday. Especially since I had no idea what it meant.

  But Friend had said that phrase to me in one of my dreams. Hadn't he? What did he say about it? I tried to remember, but as I looked at Dess, I realized she was waiting for my response.

  I nodded and smiled slowly, giving her an 'I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about-but-I-respect-you-enough-to-not-make-fun-of-you' look.

  Dess gave a brief, sincere chuckle, sitting back down on her chair but not before pulling it closer to where she had been standing. "Look," she began, her voice sounding friendlier than the words she chose, "I don't have a lot of time to explain. I'm telling you because I need your help. I can't figure this out alone."

  "Well, what does it mean? What's a God Generation? Is that like one of those people who feel they can do whatever they want?"

  "No, that's a god complex. A little different. I'm pretty sure you've never heard of the God Generation before."

  I paused. "No, Dess, I…"

  She had been looking down at the floor, but her head snapped up to look at me. "You know something. Tell me what it is." Her eyes shone with excitement.

  "No. I don't know anything, really." I laughed in spite of myself, and looked into space, trying to remember what Friend told me. "It's just… I… he… someone told me something possibly relevant not too long ago. It was a dream, and I didn't understand it…"

  "Ohmigod! It was your angel. Your guardian angel warned you, right? She told you I was coming, didn't she? Tell me everything!"

  "How—? But it wasn't a 'she.' It was a 'he.'"

  "Okay, well, what did he say? It doesn't sound as crazy as you think it does, Morgue. You've gotta believe me."

  I pulled out whatever meager memories from that dream I could. It was mentally straining. "He said you were odd, but a… jewel?"

  She threw her head back and laughed. "Odd," she said, clearly amused. "He doesn't even know me."

  I was getting impatient with not understanding, not being able to put the pieces together. "Dess… can you explain this all to me, please?"

  She smiled again, studying the palms of her hands as if they would give her a clue about how to finish this conversation with me. "We're low on time so I'll give you the cliff-notes version, and you can try to commit me later. I first heard of the God Generation from my family and other people from L.A. I was a god in a past life and don't know anything much about it. I think there are others like me out there, and that there are people that can help us—people like you."

  A god. In a past life. Sure. Cuckoo-Land, here we come. Right after we stop in Dr. Hearse's office. Briefly, I wondered how I'd be able to slip him a note without Dess seeing me, one that said I'm being held hostage by a muttering crazy chick. Please help, and get out a strait jacket!

  "What? What are you talking about, Dess? I mean, first of all, how do you even know you were a god in a past life? What god could you possibly have been? Secondly, why me? How do you think I can help you?"

  Dess looked over her shoulder at the brilliantly-lit hallway outside my door. "There's no time," she repeated. "You are meant to help me and others like me."

  "You think I can help you? I'm not part of the God Generation," I told her defensively, yet why exactly I was defensive, I didn't know. I continued speaking, my last conversation with Friend starting to come back to me. "And that whole thing with my angel… well, that's just… I don't know, creepy. He literally just told me a few hours ago in a dream that he isn't my imaginary friend but an angel, and then said a few more crazy things, something about the God Generation and how I'm supposed to be…an Architect, I think it was?"

  "What?" She looked like she couldn't breathe.

  "Friend—uh, my angel—said I was called a human helper, an architect, because I construct…" How did he term it again? "…mind rooms. I make mind rooms."

  She leapt up. Her frantic state of mind was so amusing that if I wasn't so annoyed from all the confusion, I would have laughed.

  "You make mind rooms! Of course! That's how you're going to help me."

  "Dess…" I began to say impatiently. "I still don't understand this. Please." Idly, I moved my feet about and was pleased with how quickly and easily they did so. Maybe I'd be able to escape her yet.

  "I know, I know," she said, miming a 'calm-down' motion with her hands. She looked over her shoulder again. "I'll explain some more later. Just let me get through this because we don't have a lot of time."

  I looked at the clock on the right-side wall. "There's still half an hour left of visiting hours. I'm sure that's enough to explain everything you want to talk about."

  "That's not what I mean. People are coming for us."

  Okay, so Dess got some points for scaring me shitless. Lucky thing for Erica; she won't have to break out the bedpan for a while.

  "What does that mean? What the heck, Dess? Why would they come for me? You're not making any sense." I sighed and reached over for my plastic cup, taking a sip of lukewarm water.

  Dess also sighed, louder than me. "Okay, maybe they're not coming for you, but I think I might have enemies I don't know about, and whatever issue I had when I was a god is continuing into my mortal life. I'm telling you, I know you can help me." She was like a blur now, practically making laps in my little hospital room. I wondered if the floor would wear down where she had walked. And if it did, I wondered if Erica or Dr. Hearse would trip as they walked across it. Oh, the hilarity that would ensue.

  "At work, a little more than a week ago, I was reorganizing the yarn aisle and you passed behind me to show a customer where something was, and I could totally feel your aura… or something… I don't know exactly… but I could feel it. Your energy. It was good energy. And inside my head, someone said to me, 'She could help you'… But I waited. I waited a few days to approach you because I wanted to be sure. I couldn't eat or sleep very well those couple of days, but I became more and more confident that I was right about it. Then you didn't come to work, and I heard Anny telling some people that you were in the hospital. So I came here." She stopped to take another breath.

  I took advantage of the pause in conversation. "How do you know you were a god in a past life?"

  "I've had dreams since I was a little girl, dreams I could never understand. We'll talk about those dreams another time." She stopped and leaned against the wal
l, pondering. "I forgot about those dreams for a while, but shortly after my 25th birthday and moving here to Lynnwood, the dreams started up again. But they're different from before. They're real. They're memories. It's like I can breathe and think as the god that I used to be. And on top of that," she continued, pacing around the room again, "I can feel that there are others like me, that there are some in the area and maybe that's why I got attracted to Lynnwood when I could have moved to Seattle instead. It's hard to explain, the change in the energy around me, the feeling like I'm on the verge of discovering something very, very important."

  "This is really weird, Dess," I complained, massaging my temples. "If this is your idea of therapy, I'll take Dr. Hearse over you any day."

  An offended look crossed her face. "You don't believe me, right? I understand. I admit it sounds crazy at first. But your angel's warning completes the puzzle for me. You were meant to help me. We were meant to be friends."

  "I do, I do believe you," I said quickly, chuckling. "Just give me a minute to process it all."

  Before she could respond, the door opened, and Erica stuck her blonde head in again. "Visiting hours are almost over, ladies," she sang.

  "Uh, thanks, Erica. Just a couple more minutes," I said before Dess could be her rude self again.

  She gave me a winning smile and left, closing the door behind her.

  "Do you think she was a cheerleader in high school?" I asked Dess.

  She ignored that. "I really and truly believe you're able to help me."

  "I never even believed in any of this hocus-pocus crap, you know."

  "This isn't a run-of-the-mill crystal ball operation," Dess argued. "We're talking about ex-gods, angels, hell's creatures, human helpers like you, and god knows what else. This is real whacky, intense shit."

  "Are former gods allowed to curse?"

  "I'm visiting as a human, remember?" she replied, smiling again. She got up and slid her chair back to its place by the door.

  "I don't know, Dess. My head hurts." I massaged my temples for emphasis. "Okay. I admit it was intensely crazy when my imaginary friend told me about the God Generation not too long before you come in and drop this bomb on me. I admit that in some strange, twisted way, it makes sense. I just need a little while to let it sink in and make sense of it."