A Pact For Life

by Elliot, Graham

  And you know, this included a family. Okay, to say he owned a family sounds like something from the sexually repressed, male dominated 1950's, but for lack of a better term, that's what it was.

  The lights were out in the Victorian town-home that belonged to Nick and Brian, but that didn't stop Cale from trying to bang the door down.

  “Brian! Nick! Let me in!”

  There was no answer which was odd because Brian and Nick should've been home from the bar. There was no reason for two people who shunned social situations as much as Nick and Brian to still be out, so Cale repeated the knock and shouts two more times to no avail.

  Their absence was just another defeat which had been a theme for Cale's night. Giving up, he left their house, and continued the stumble to nowhere. The wine had finally overtaken the gin that was in his system, and it brought with it the crazed wine drunk.

  Music was flowing, blood was pumping, and anger was boiling. He was angry at Brian and Nick, Diana and whatever his name was, but most of all, he was angry at the architect of it all, God.

  “Seriously, why are you doing this to me!? What have I done!?”

  Silence.

  “If you are gonna give Diana everything she wants, why can't you plant one or two pieces in my mind?”

  Silence.

  “Give me back my sculptures you son of a bitch!”

  Finally, Cale was able to take out all of his anger on someone, even if that someone may not exist. Sure, it could've been considered blasphemy, but that's only if God was listening and actually cared.

  “Fuck you!!!!”

  The Cale Dawkins' Death Watch

  Death Clock: 11:59

  Injuries Sustained: The miscellaneous cuts and bruises that come with heavy drinking

  Current Substances: Several martinis and a bottle of wine.

  Number Of Women In Past Seventy-Two Hours: One

  CALE DAWKINS VS. THE DIVINE

  Depression is an odd thing...

  Actually, it's a sad thing...

  Well, let's just say it's both.

  It's odd if you've never experienced it. Like there's this great mystery as to how one person can be so stricken that they can't leave their house, bed, or even their own mind.

  Now, as far as the sad part goes, depression is...

  And that's it. In a world of periods, questions, and exclamations, depression is nothing more than an ellipsis. It's a half-thought where if a person just steps back and takes a deep breath, they might be able to finish the sentence.

  In his bed for the fifth day straight, Cale was holding his breath with all his might.

  No inspiration.

  No Diana.

  Nothing at all but the constant reminder of his failure, inability, and loneliness.

  Cale needed anti-depressants49.

  If he had anti-depressants, he would've picked up his phone during one of the eight calls from Nick and Brian. Or he would've answered his door the first time they knocked. Or the second. But he didn't, which was why he freaked out as his window slid open and Brian came in.

  “What the fuck!?” They both said. Brian, surprised that Cale was actually home. Cale, surprised at his friend's breaking and entering.

  “Why didn't you answer the door?” Brian harshly asked. “We've been knocking on it all day.”

  “I didn't feel like it.” Cale answered with the #1 reply for people going through depression. In case you're wondering, the #2 response is, 'Meh'.

  “That's a shitty answer.” Brian said as he went over to the door and let Nick in.

  Upon entering the studio warehouse apartment, Nick had the exact same words Cale and Brian had at the initial breaking and entering. “What the fuck!?”

  “He didn't feel like answering,” Brian sarcastically said. “Nick, go ahead and cheer up his day. Give him the stuff.”

  Nick dug into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing several white stalked, brown capped flowers of manure. In other words, mushrooms.

  Brian announced, “Ta-da!”

  Cale rose a little higher in bed and asked, “I thought you said no one sells them anymore?”

  Brian answered, “They don't. We picked these yesterday from some pastures down south near the Springs. Nick deserves all the credit though, it was his idea. I just went along for the picking.”

  Nick added, “I've been doing a lot of reading on them, and I'm pretty sure these are psyclobe cubensis. The stalk, cap, gills, and spores all seem legit. I hope I'm right at least. From what I read, death from mushroom poisoning is not a good way to go.”

  The bag was thrown to Cale and he examined them through the wrapping. There were only four of them in there. How could such a small quantity change his life? It all seemed pointless, but he was desperate to get better, and you know what they say about desperate times.

  “We cleaned those off for you, too.” Brian said as Cale already had them in his mouth.

  Cale: “Why did you guys do this for me?”

  Nick: “I've never seen you this bad before. We needed to do something to help you out.”

  Brian: “C'mon, tell the truth, Nick. You loved to learn about mushrooms.”

  Nick: “Yeah, that's true. They're fascinating.”

  Brian: “Even if it means having to deal with farmers carrying shotguns with rock salt pellets, we want you to get over this funk.”

  It was still way too soon for the mushrooms to take effect, but Cale gave a genuine smile at his two friends, and said, “Thanks you two lovable jugs.”

  From there, he put on his standard gray shirt, jeans, and Nikes, but before he walked out the door, he looked back and tipped an imaginary hat back at his friends.

  And so began the greatest adventure of Cale Dawkin's life.

  Exactly 1.5 hours after swallowing the mushrooms...

  Cale was in Narnia and Hogwarts. Victorian England and the wild, wild west. His life at ten, twenty, thirty, and everything in between. Lives he never had and lives he thought he had. The proper scientific term for this state is 'tripping balls'.

  From giant waves of clouds to sunlight pouring through the swaying trees, the world was alive and vibrant. The grass in front of the homes lining the road was taking slow, deep breaths, and for the first time in several days, so was Cale.

  He was alive. Alive and happy. One with the world. He hadn't solved a single problem in his life, but then again, he didn't care. Problems could wait. He was alive.

  In a matter of minutes that felt like hours due to mushrooms' time distorting ability, Cale had crossed over from his neighborhood into Diana's old one. It wasn't something he planned, his legs had chosen the path and he was merely along for the ride.

  With her old street in view came with it the urge to venture down. It felt right to go back to the place where he spent so many nights - both good and bad. Several yards behind him however, an unlikely bystander knew it was time to intervene in his little adventure.

  Cale stood in front of Diana's old condo, closed his eyes, and raised the music's volume to a conceretic50 level. The music, mushrooms, and location fused together to bring Cale back to every happy he moment he ever had with Diana. To say he simply remembered the moments did not do it justice. Rather, he felt like he was actually there in the past. He felt Diana's lips. Saw her naked body. Heard her laughter. Her commandments, orders, and instructions.

  In the middle of a song, his music stopped playing, and through his earbuds a man's voice half-sang, half-said, “Diana, Diana, Diana, I would die for you.”

  With his breath held, Cale spun around to find a Man with bushy gray hair and raccoon-like eyes on an older smoker's face. He was wearing brown corduroy pants and a white shirt with two pink baseballs above the words Save Second Base.

  Despite his lungs suddenly losing all oxygen, Cale managed to huff out, “Who...Who are you? How do you know me?”

  With arms out wide, the Man said, “Come on, Cale. You don't recognize me? You've been talking to me almost your ent
ire life?”

  The Man's identity hit Cale like, well, a punch from that Man. “God?”

  “Ding ding ding. I knew it wouldn't take long for you to figure it out.” God said as he approached Cale. He pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and asked, “Want one?”

  Cale managed a shake of his head which actually came easy since his whole body was shaking. As big as it was to actually meet God, the mushrooms amplified everything by a million.

  “Very well,” God said as he pulled out a cigarette for himself and lit it with a flip top lighter. He leaned in, studied Cale's eyes, and said, “Jesus, you are high-i-i-i-i right now. Your pupils are so dilated, I can't even see any iris. Or would that be Iri?”

  All of Cale's mental capabilities were focused on breathing, so trying to figure out the plural form of iris was bit beyond his abilities at the moment.

  “I was just messing with you, Cale. The correct word is actually irises. I know, it was a shock to me too. Here, wanna see something cool?”

  A small bit of advice: If you ever get the chance to meet God and he asks if you want to see something cool, say yes. Odds are you won't be disappointed.

  “Since you're still looking for words, let me help you out.” In a mockingly girlish voice, God squealed, “Yes God, please give me a demonstration of your awesome powers.”

  God laughed to himself and said, “Since you asked so nicely, here you go.”

  There was a slight breeze, and suddenly the world began to speed up. Cars and people passed by like blurs. Cale looked up and saw the clouds passing at a non-cloudlike pace. The sky shifted from an ocean blue to an orange, red, and finally black. In twenty seconds, Cale had lost the afternoon.

  “Pretty cool, eh? The night is way better with dilated eyes.” God said as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Now c'mon, let's walk.”

  They turned away from Diana's old condo and neighborhood, and into a part of Denver Cale didn't recognize. Within two blocks, the sidewalk ceased to exist, followed soon by the houses disappearing, until finally they were in a forest trail. Above, the moon was planet-sized and so bright that there was no need for flashlights to lead the way.

  “I'm sorry, Cale, but I had to interrupt your nostalgia trip. You were getting sad, and usually what follows sadness is walking into traffic. I like your art too much to see you make such a stupid mistake.”

  Cale's voice finally found its home. “Can I get a cigarette?”

  God smiled and gave Cale what he asked. Cale took a puff and started to hack up a lung.

  “These things will knock you on your ass.” God chuckled, and examined his cigarette. “Yessir, one classy way to commit suicide.”

  “So you just stopped me from killing myself?”

  “I don't know for sure, but my intuition says yes. Besides, I wanted to talk with you about some stuff.”

  “Wait, you don't know for sure? What the hell, you're God. You're supposed to know everything.”

  “Why do people always assume that? Just because I'm all-powerful, that doesn't mean I'm omniscient.”

  The obvious paradox struck Cale immediately. “If you're all-powerful, why don't you grant yourself knowledge?”

  “Because life as you know it would cease to exist. I'm here to experience all your creations. If I knew everything, then there would be no need for you people. Life teaches me new things.” God took a drag from his cigarette and admitted, “Actually, if you really think about it, not knowing is the smartest thing I can do.”

  “That sounds like Nick's Wikipedia philosophy.”

  “Yes and no. I'd have to say the existentialists are the closest to being right. You know, that whole 'meaning of life is whatever you want to make it' philosophy makes the most sense. For Nick, it's knowing as much as possible. For you, it's your art. For Diana, it's something different. Myself personally, I love the music, stories, ideas, art, innovation, and everything else that's created by you people. Hell, I own Dark Side of the Moon in like every format.”

  “Hah, I never thought God would be a Pink Floyd fan.”

  “Really? I'd think it'd be more surprising to hear that I don't like Pink Floyd?”

  Cale nodded in amusement as they continued through the forest. This was Him. The real deal. The God he'd talked to all his life. No longer was he nervous, this was his closest friend made flesh. Now, finally, after all these years of conversations, prayer, pleads, and toasts, the Man was finally able to answer Cale's call for help.

  “Can you give me my art back?”

  God took another drag before he spoke, “Sorry, that's a no can do. I'm afraid you're on your own when it comes to your creativity.”

  “What?”

  “If I were to give you creativity, then they would no longer be your sculptures, but mine. It's not right for me to interfere with things like that. By the way, that's not a black and white policy. I mean, I'll save a life here and there. The thing you gotta understand is your art will have a multi-century impact. I shouldn't have a hand in that.”

  “You'll save a life here and there?” God smiled and nodded as Cale's face grew terse. His voice rose as he said, “Then why didn't you save my mom? Do you have any idea what it was like to watch her die?!”

  God got serious for a moment. “What you felt is the saddest feeling anyone who’s ever lived will experience. Yeah, that's right, sadness has a floor, and you and billions of other unlucky bastards throughout history have reached it. I remember watching you cry at her bedside while she told you everything will be alright, cry when she finally passed, cry every single day for the next week until you finally ran out of every tear you'll ever create in your lifetime. You might not realize it, Cale, but you haven't cried since then.”

  “Then why didn't you save her!? She didn't deserve to die!”

  “Oh, get off it. No one deserves to die. Well, except people who abuse animals, and rest assured, I get them eventually for some good, old testament smiting, but that's it. If I had saved your mom, do you have any idea what your life would be like now? You're art would be history.”

  “So that's it, you killed her because you like my art!?”

  “I already told you I didn't kill her. And I had no idea you would turn into this great sculptor. It was just a hunch.”

  “Shut up!” Cale shouted and stopped walking. “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck me?”

  With the moonlight as his guide, Cale took a swing at God. It passed right through Him.

  “Seriously Cale, you want to get into a fist fight with God? Don't let my age fool you, I have a mean right.” He laughed again and held up His arms in surrender. “I gotta say, I knew you'd be pissed, but I wasn't expecting the mom route. I figured the creativity denial would've done it, or to really stretch things, all the injuries I've let you incur over the past year. The alcohol poisoning especially.”

  Silently fuming, Cale started to walk again.

  Following behind him, God said, “So I'm sorry to philosophize... actually, no, I'm not sorry. Who wouldn't want to hear God philosophize? Anyway, I'll make this quick. It's about my meaning for life? It's true, I'm here to learn, but also I'm hoping one day life will evolve to my level.”

  Cale was only halfway listening.

  “Existing without a companion sucks.”

  Cale was now 75% listening.

  “Ah, Diana,” God said as he read Cale's mind. “Diana, Diana, Diana, I would die for you. What a great line that is. I'm sorry that you had to see her with Andrew. That probably felt worse than the alcohol poisoning.” God pulled out a folded slip of paper. “Here, I have a feeling this will help her when she really needs it.”

  Cale grabbed the paper and opened it up to reveal nothing but whiteness. “How's this going to help her?”

  “Oh, there's writing on it, I just don't want you to see it. Trust me, it's better this way.”

  “I wanna go back,” Cale said with agitation.

  “The sidewalks right there,” God replied and pointed down the trail. Th
e dirt, pine needles, and grass became concrete, and the lights from the houses could be seen in the distance.

  “Listen, I know you're upset, but I really cannot help you with Diana or your art. Just keep trying and things will work out in the end. All you need is faith.”

  Cale didn't stop walking until he hit the sidewalk. He had some final words for God, but wanted to make sure he was out of the forest first.

  “After all this... all you can say is that I need to have faith? How can you expect me to believe that? I've put my faith in you for thirty-three years, and what did it bring me? A few years of happiness followed by shit. If this is how you treat your faithful, then you can go fuck yourself!”

  Cale turned away from God and started down the sidewalk. He wanted to cry, but nothing came out.

  Later that night after the mushroom high had passed, Cale was at a packed dive bar trying to drink away his meeting with God. It didn't take long for the alcohol to do the trick. From the moment the bourbon51 went down his gullet, God was out of his mind.

  Although God was gone, Cale's anger remained. Even worse, it was anger at nothing particular. Abstract anger. Anger at the world in general. The type of anger where you are stuck with clenched teeth, balled up fists, a constant heat, and it's directed on every person and everything.

  It felt like the entire city was crammed into that bar. No room to walk. No room to breathe. The place was suffocating, and drowning in alcohol only made things worse.

  He lifted his glass for another pull, but before the bourbon reached his lips, an orange, ring-laden hand clasped around his wrist while another came around his neck.

  “Hey fagot,” A voice spit into Cale's ear. “Don't think I forgot about you. Gray shirt, brown hair...”

  “That really narrows it down.” Cale responded sarcastically without looking back.

  “You think I would forget your face? Kelly left me because of you, mother-fucker.”