Virgil sucked in a huge gulp of air. “Okay, fine, that’s fine.”
“Fine? You understand something I’ve pondered for eternity?”
“No, not in the least bit,” Virgil said, steeling himself. “Just…I just accept it for what it is.”
“I suppose that will do. Do you have any other questions?”
“Um, and pardon me if this is off topic...you were getting pretty existential there, but I have to go back to this: why are you dressed as a rapper? And why do you have a flute?” Virgil eyed the man, and the aura vibrating off his body with suspicion.
“I am dressed as such because it is the image your brain has given to me. The brain is the most powerful asset used, wasted and abused by humankind. As for the flute, I have been a fan of the instrument for over four thousand earth years now. The sound is wonderful, and it is a good example of the message I am relating to you, namely that all is vibration.”
“Are you God?” Virgil asked meekly.
“He is I and I am him. You are me and I am you. The percentages who do not understand are higher than the percentage that do. Check yourself, what percentage are you?”
Virgil sat for a moment, thinking the riddle over and playing with his shoelaces.
He looked at Arjuna, who was purring quietly in front of him and slapping his tail against the soil. The hallucinatory cat’s purring produced visible translucent waves in the air, merging into all objects they encountered.
“So, am I supposed to go on this journey?” Virgil asked, looking up at the glowing entity. “I mean I could get in a lot of trouble…I just want to stay here with Hope, seems easier.”
Krishna looked down at his swinging chain. Finally, after watching it swing for a moment, he spoke again: “It is your destiny to make this journey, whether you come out alive or whether you comprehend what the journey is truly about – these things are simply up to you. But, if you must have a hint, the most important discovery James and you will make during this journey must be coupled with a progressive journey within yourselves. To accomplish such a feat will require the annihilation of personal barriers. Whether either of you can carry out this achievement is up to choice and chance.
“Remember, though, all things have their consequences and the decisions we make will vibrate within us for the rest of our lives, just like music. Therefore, you must leave to further your journey immediately. You will encounter Hope again in the future, but as for now, there is someone else you must meet.”
“Can I ask you one more question then?” The entity in front of Virgil nodded slightly. “You mentioned that you couldn’t show me your true self, and I know in the story that Arjuna asked you the same thing. Arjuna the human wanted you to show yourself to him, and you did. If you really are who you say you are,” Virgil gulped, “can you show your true form to me?”
“I had a feeling you would ask me this. But first I must warn you, you won’t be able to stare at me for very long and what you see will quickly vanish from your memory. Such is the nature of my true image.”
“I think…” Virgil bit his lip. “I think I can handle it.”
The illuminated man pulled the flute to his lips. His eyes flickered and his pupils spun like a million wheels of fortune. A circus of powerful hues and timeless illuminations swiveled like kaleidoscopes from his eyes towards Virgil’s forehead.
As Krishna played one single note, everything around him, including the trees and Arjuna, began slowly splitting as if someone was pulling down a zipper of reality.
Gravity ceased to exist as ethereal landscapes full of cities, self-modulating geometric twirls, bustling waves, infinitely vast bubbles, violent glitter bombs, shimmery galaxies and bacterial universes spiraled forth from the open void.
Big bangs and big crunches exploded like pop rocks from beneath Virgil’s knees.
The strange being’s body swirled backwards, rotating like a black hole, becoming part of everything in its wake. As the zipper of reality continued to unravel, an infinite number of images and figures spilled forward, consuming the entire world and galaxy within it.
A strange being, naked and shielded in a pallid light, floated towards Virgil as the young man passed out.
The being waved goodbye as his mouth curved into a grim smile.
Chapter 12: Nathaniel the Blind Elvis Impersonator
“The fucking espresso machine is broken!”
James looked up from his newspaper and saw Bill, the McStarbucks store manager, waving his hands in the air. Bill was frustrated, ready to go home after a long and especially annoying day.
James glanced out the window and noticed the skyline above the parking lot.
It wasn’t much to look at, but at least it was better than staring out at a highway, like he used to at his old job in Huntsville. He turned back to his paper, the Austin-American Statesman, just about the only thing he’d touch newspaper-wise in the McStarbucks.
Bang! Clang!
Bill slammed his hand across the top of the espresso machine. Every time the lifelong McStarbuck’s store manager hit his fist against the machine, a puff of smoke seeped into the lobby.
What the hell is going on here? James thought as Bill continued to pound the machine.
Bill must have changed the layout, James thought, as he glanced around the lobby and noticed a few hookahs lying lazily on the floor.
Hookahs?
Each hookah was surrounded by a cloud of soft satin pillows drenched in scarlet with sapphire fringes.
This place was actually starting to look up, he reasoned, as he walked towards one of the hookahs and sat down. A bit too eastern for his taste, but at least it was something new.
James had to blink twice when Virgil appeared before him, blowing smoke rings and laughing as the rings filtered into rainbow glazed images.
“Virgil?”
“Have a puff, dude, it isn’t weed or anything.”
James took the velvet rope from Virgil and placed his lips on the tip of the hose. He inhaled deeply and blew a perfectly shaped smoke ring.
An image appeared within the smoke ring.
“Zane?” James whispered, his heart overcome with joy.
His son laughed near a Christmas tree, the sparkles from the tree casting specs of light across the room. Zane grinned joyfully as he unwrapped a small rectangular package.
The smoke ring fizzled out and James shook his head.
Deciding he needed a breather, he moved away from Virgil and stepped outside the coffee shop.
“What the fuck?”
The store had changed locations from a busy shopping center to an empty field, a light wind whipping through the tops of the wheat stalks.
He looked to the top of the hill and saw a dark silhouette, its robe fluttering in the wispy breeze.
“Hey!” he called out as he walked closer towards the robed youth.
A boy no older than the age of fifteen stood pendulously before him, with waist-length hair and a pair of tattered pajama pants that stretched well past the ends of his feet.
The barefoot youth laughed as James grew closer, lifted the ends of his robe and batted them as if he were a bird.
A terrible feeling came over James as he watched the boy tumble down the hill towards a small pond.
It’s a dream, fuck you it’s a dream.
His eyes clenched shut, James turned back to the coffee shop, only to be pulled towards the pond by an invisible force.
He didn’t have to blink to know Eve was there.
“Please,” he started to sob, clenching his eyes shut with all his might. The skin on his forehead tugged back, forcing his eyes open.
Standing before him now was the emaciated Eve.
Next to her was a large horse with bloody eye sockets, rotting gashes on its loin, hooves that had rotted into a mustardy green color, and a dirty, tangled mane.
The horse turned towards James,and his lips curled as he spoke. “Come and see.”
Panic surging through hi
m, James took off towards the coffee shop.
“No!” he shouted as his feet were lassoed from beneath him. “No! Fuck!”
He clawed at the dirt as he was pulled backwards towards the small pond.
Overcome with terror, he glanced up at the horse and saw that the strange, robed child was sitting in its saddle, his right hand on the horse’s nape.
The boy brandished a sword from the other side of the saddle and pointed it towards James just as the woman started writhing in pain.
She fell to the ground, her body overcome with otherworldly seizures.
The sword that the boy held enlarged and slowly split into seven sharp ends, each end twisting like a snake towards James’ legs. He watched in horror as the swords wrapped around his skin and pulled him violently to the ground.
The robed horseman steered the horse around and started dragging James into the small pond.
***
It was nine in the morning when James finally woke his ass up from his drunken slumber. He found himself curled up on the hood of Virgil’s jeep, his mouth dry and heartburn giving him hell.
He sat up, rubbed his cheeks, and briefly wondered how the fuck he ended up where he ended up. He burped, groaned, and as he sat up, his eyes fell to the driveway directly before Virgil’s jeep.
A broken wine bottle, his katana, a puddle of what looked to be dried blood.
He looked down at his dangling leg and noticed a huge gash mark near his calf. The gash extended from nearly his knee to his ankle. The blood was dry in a few places, wet and glittery in others.
A streak of dry blood accented the hood of the white jeep like a shot in the dark.
“What in the actual fuck?” James lay back onto the Jeep’s window and reached for a cigarette, which he found, and much to his surprise and delight, the cigarette was in good enough condition, even though he’d slept on the hood
After he lit the cancer stick, he placed his hands beneath his head, elbows out, and began wondering what had happened last night and why his leg was bleeding. He recalled coming and getting the sword from the jeep because Amita had challenged him to a duel.
As for the duel itself, he couldn’t quite recall what had happened.
A joke came to him as he gazed at his wound, you should have seen the other guy.
His phone buzzed, and he took it out of his pocket to see he was almost out of battery. His inbox had a few new messages, one from Tucker Jones telling him about an exclusive story from behind the scenes of a Black Lives Matter rally in Berkeley.
Another message from Rush Hannity was filled with enough exclamation points in the subject line to cause an epileptic seizure.
Naturally, James opened this one.
Stop, whatever you are doing right now, STOP! Good, I have your attention. The liberal left wing mainstream media, and believe me, folks, they are so lefty they’re fascist, wants you to believe that the Russians carried out the attack on the city of Austin (the LIBERAL capital of Texas - don’t forget that).
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of these snowflakes placing the blame on Russia when it is CLEAR RUSSIA HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ATTACK.
Ignore the fact that a Russian general confessed to ordering it! More importantly, did he fake confess as part of a deal made with the Clinton Foundation? You’ve got to join me tonight, people, or on my radio show from 3pm to 6pm EST to catch the exclusive scoop I have. Boy is this one exclusive, folks! BreitFox journalists are hard at work calling the news as we see it, and the way we see it, THERE IS NO EVIDENCE IT WAS THE RUSSIANS.
Could it have been paramilitary Zapatistas from Mexico City working with BLM, MS-CNN, the fake news MSM, elite academics? Tune in and find out!
James swiped the message away and started to read one from the NRA, asking him for a donation. He’d donated once, a year or so ago, and fuck had they been hitting him up for funds ever since.
He took a large, final drag from the cigarette and tossed it to the ground.
Slowly lowering to the pavement, he made his way over to the katana, found the sheathe and stuck it in. The sound of the blade entering the sheath gave James momentary relief. His blade sheathed, he turned to the front door of Hope’s mansion.
“Don’t you dare go in there!”
James swung around to see Amita approaching him from the guest house. She wore Spiderman pajamas and had a swollen black eye.
He gulped, instantly ashamed even though he didn’t quite know how she got the black eye.
“Crap…uh...what happened last night?”
“You don’t fucking remember?” Amita hissed as she started picking up pieces from the broken bottle. “You wanted to duel so bad that you pulled a fucking sword on me. A fucking sword, you hillbilly asshole! And like a drunken moron, you cut your own leg in the process. I tried to help you after you cut yourself and you accidently got me in the face with your elbow.”
James gulped, and figured now would be as good of time as any to change the subject. “Where’s Virgil?”
“Your psychedelic loser friend wandered off into the woods last night, remember? And as far as I know, his crazy ass is still out there! Hope has been looking for him for like the last three hours. I can’t figure out why she even likes that fucker!”
“Can’t help you there,” he said, cracking a grin, “I hardly like him.”
“What in the actual hell is wrong with you two anyways? Can’t you two just be normal? Pulling a sword, squirting LSD in your eye…whatever happened to normalcy? Is that why you can’t see your son?” she asked, her eyes narrowing on him. “Your drinking?”
“You shut your fucking mouth.” James’ fists clenched up. “Just, just leave me the hell alone, dammit, Amita. I’m serious. Leave me be!”
Amita threw her hands in the air and turned back towards the house.
His blood boiling, James popped the back of the jeep open. He placed the katana next to his duffle bag, zipped open the bag, and filled his flask, taking a sip for good measure. After a bitter sigh, he changed into another McStarbucks shirt he’d had for years and retrieved his cigarette lighter phone charger.
He heard laughter and looked up towards the forest.
Virgil and Hope emerged, holding hands and giggling. The usually drugged out barista had dirt marks on his knees and cheeks, his jacket was torn and his hair was a mess. He was smiling though, a shit-eating grin if James ever saw one.
“So…who do you think he was, Virgy?” Hope asked Virgil, as she tried to fix his hair.
“Like I said, I really don’t know, but he kind of looked like Jay-Z.”
“And you’re sure Beyoncé wasn’t there?”
Virgil laughed. “If she was, she didn’t say anything. He may have looked like Jay-Z, but said he was Krishna, but I can’t remember much else. Hey, James!” Virgil cringed when he saw his shirt. “You going back to work, dude?”
“What?” James looked down at his McStarbucks shirt as Hope rolled her eyes.
“You know what? Fuck both of you! I’m going to eat some biscotti; get some clothes or something or do whatever it is you plan to do, Virgil, we have to get on the road.”
“Chill, James, I was just messing with you. And seriously, dude, you won’t believe what happened to me last night. I think that I actually met…”
“I heard enough to say I’ve heard enough.”
“Ah, don’t be like that,” Virgil said, a genuine half-smile on his face.
“We need to get on the road,” James grumbled. “We will have plenty of time to talk on the way.”
***
It took another hour for Hope to finally let Virgil leave her family’s mansion, an hour which James spent reading news on his phone (until it died), eating biscotti, and occasionally taking a drink from Ol’ Faithful his flask.
Once his phone had died, he started the jeep and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. It wasn’t long after that that Virgil swung the door open, his hair ruffled from a goodbye fuck from
Hope, a toothy grin plastered across his face, and a small duffle bag of clothes and whatever from the psychonaut female.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jamese called through the jeep’s window.
“What about your leg, yo?” Virgil asked. “She gave me bandages.”
“That’s not all she gave you.”
Virgil cracked a grin. “I like her, really. We’re going to try to meet in Denver. I think. At least that’s the plan. I don’t really know what the plan is, but fuck it, that’s the way to live. Hopefully, we’ll meet up, though. Great vibes.”
“Whatever. And my leg will be fine. It’s just small cut. A small couple of cuts.” James could see Amita and Hope in the rearview mirror. Amita had her arms crossed over her chest.
After giving the two Austin girls the one finger salute – which Virgil didn’t see, otherwise he’d be pissed – James threw the jeep into drive and sailed towards the nearby gas station.
The gas station James eventually found was typical of most gas stations in the middle of nowhere. A dark blue, broken down Buick limousine sat adjacent to the entrance surrounded by empty crates and cracked pavement. Festering cactus spurted out from a variety of places, and an old cowboy in overalls and a wide brim hat sat in a 1990 Dodge dually. Predictably, the lone cowboy eyed James and Virgil suspiciously as they pulled up.
James got out of the vehicle, told Virgil that he was heading inside to bandage his leg, and instructed Virgil to pump the gas.
The merchandise in the gas station was older than time itself, everything inside from a bygone era. James noted this as he walked down the aisle to the bathroom, which gave new definition to the word shithole.
He gave himself one look in the gas station mirror, felt disgusted just seeing his sorry ass, and after a piss, he bandaged his leg up. He’d done a shit job of it, but it was better than before. He always healed quickly anyway.
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