Before the Cult

  She sighed. “It’s okay. Just gets tricky for me at times. How’s it going for you?”

  “It’s going great. I’m kinda enjoying it I guess.”

  “What other subjects are you taking?”

  “Philosophy, English and Classics.”

  She lightened. “Oh, wow. I’m also taking English. Wanted to take Classics but it clashed with Law which is like my major.”

  “Law? You like Law?”

  She laughed at my scowl of disbelief. “Yeah, why is it so hard to believe?”

  I snorted, gathering my thoughts. “It’s… it just seems impersonal. I like things that appeal more to my human nature, stir my emotions and passions up. Then it does not feel like studying when I study anymore, it’s just pure bliss. Law just feels like… a slow boring way of killing time.”

  She burst laughing. Then brushed my arm with her hand. “Hey, what study method are you using for Psych?”

  “Um…wow. It’s hard to describe now. It’s just something I will have to show you. I got it from a book I read a while ago. It’s really helpful.”

  “Okay. Look I gotta split now. I’m almost home. Give me your number and I will call you over to show me sometime. I really need a study method for Psych. Are you keen?”

  I had always hated the idea of studying with other people but for her...

  “Yeah, it’s cool. I don’t mind.” I shrugged, stifling the protester in me.

  ***

  The atmosphere blushed; we could sense it as our skins crawled. We breathed as if we did not want to, all part of flirting and teasing with the air. I could feel my heart pounding on the back of my throat.

  She looked down. “Hey, how are you?” Her tone was packed with genuine interest. This was not a mere courtesy. This was the first thing she said after letting me in through the main door, through a maze of decorated (female residences always had colour and elegance, they felt homey) corridors and stairs to her room.

  I glanced at her to find that her gaze was one of concern.

  Having read my face, she added, "Haven't seen you in class these days and you have been very quiet. Walkin’ with your face down.”

  She cares about me. She seems to be able to see through me somehow. Good God. She noticed me. No one ever does.

  Although reluctant I could feel my defences start to thaw. My jaws jerked and I could feel my heart become dull. I was scared, felt like I was being gagged. The room shrank in size.

  “Are you just asking that for the sake of asking it or you really want to know?” I had a streak of impoliteness in my voice. I could not stand to look her in the face, anxious that she would see me. I was sore with the idea I am naked in front of her. My soul started cowering to unknown corners as I stalled her. I wore darkness on my face; I felt its weight on it – a numbing force that conceals readable expressions.

  “I really wanna know," I heard the suit of sincerity her voice wore, but I couldn't see through that. It was mollifying.

  Maybe I can trust her. Yet how do I explain? How do I tell her? People are never this forthcoming or any bit caring. Not in this kinda world. She is like someone who has just walked out of my fantasy. Do I tell her?

  With my lips pressed I smiled. "Is this some kind of joke?" I laughed dryly. Afterwards, I thought of how rude those words might have sounded. She did not seem bothered, like she understood I was being blunt with no intention of offending her. Were these ‘the jitters' I was experiencing? Maybe that is what she thought.

  She laughed lightly, only to accommodate mine. “No, it’s not a joke.”

  Kindness rippled from that voice, dislodging my restraints.

  I could feel the door to my heart creaking as it ope]/ned, left slightly ajar. Where it was just right. Gently and lovingly.

  This can’t be real. This can’t be right. This is wrong.

  I sighed. “Aren’t we here to study, I mean what if we get caught up in conversation and we never really start?” I muttered, the words were a shy away from moaning.

  “I have all the time. The night is long. We can always study another day,” She gladly told me. “If something is bothering you we can’t just ignore that or we won’t be that productive.”

  I nodded. “How’re you?”

  “Um… I’m well. Everything is fine.” She quickly replied.

  She gave me an eager glance. "How are you doing academically, socially and personally? I want some details. ‘Fine’ is very generic.” I stalled. Trying to prepare how I was going explain to her what is going on with me. Mind mapping. I was not going to let that stop me from hearing what she was going to say.

  “Academically is going pretty, well. I am enjoying what I am studying and everything. Except the reason why you are here. Which is psych?" She glanced up, her forefinger to her chin. "Socially things are pretty awesome. After the whole serenades experience, I have gotten to make a lot of friends, including here in my res. Things are very smooth and looking up you know. And look, here you are as well. This can also go somewhere. Personally… I kinda miss home. The family environment and my siblings and all. They call me every day so it’s kinda chilled. I feel like they are here in spirit with me. I have been looking forward to this whole ‘varisty experience so I’m kinda excited. I am stepping in this new phase and they also kinda excited about it, you know. It still feels like it is one of those things we are doing together as a family so it is not that bad at all. Not that lonely.”

  I nodded. “ You seem to be very close with your family.”

  “ We are. They were all I had while growing up. They are like both my best friends and family.” She raised her shoulders seeming to find it difficult to elaborate. Like she was giving up on explaining it, but profound things like these – as much as you do not have the words to truly describe them – you feel driven into talking until you have said enough or ran yourself into a senseless corner where you cannot really say anymore. “ They are the best thing ever. God, I wish we could all live together in one big house even after I am done studying. Spend as much time as we can together. I dread the day I will have to move out and make a living for myself. They are everything to me. My biggest fear is losing my parents. I do not know how I would handle that or deal with it. I pray to God that He keeps them until I am ready.” She paused staring into the air. “A boy who comes along and convinces me to move in with him or stay with him will have to be worth it. He will have to be smoking good, freaking magical that is. I swear to God. Haven’t you ever loved something like that? Am I making sense?”

  I was quite struck. “I think I get you. There are such things in life where not even a compromise is worth considering. I think I know what you mean,” I assured her. I started thinking of home (the crop) and Macfearson’s unshakable commitment to sampling (his was an addiction interwoven with love, and after all to love is to be addicted).

  She fidgeted a bit and leaned forward, brushing the hair behind her ears.“How about you? Are you close to your family?”

  I swallowed. I could feel I was making some sombre face, slightly looking down and my thoughts already hazy with…

  “Um…I don’t really miss them,” I spoke, evading the question. Nonetheless that was crystal truth.

  Her face showed she misread my facial expression for contempt. “Is this part of the issue you facing?”

  “No. I just never really saw my family that way. I’m neutral on the whole issue. They are more like companions or people I just happen to be with until some other ish happens. I’m numb towards them. I have no ill feelings towards them or anything very affectionate. It is cool that way. Lifts off a lot of the emotional baggage. I do believe they love me and to some feeble extent I do too. I really don’t care if that makes me a bad person, or not a person at all.”

  The whole conversation was now begging to give something off. These things make me get lost and nostalgic about things or a place that really does not exist. The delusion that it does exist is just tantalizi
ngly suicidal.

  “Sandy, I can see you’re stalling. Why?”

  I let her question resound in my head, slowly devouring the contents required.

  “Are you afraid? “ she kept on.

  You mean of you?

  “No,” demurely I began.“ It is overwhelming. I don’t know where to begin or how to put it. I would like to have a chance to think it over.”

  “In silence?”

  I considered. "Perhaps that would be best. It would be awkward, though. This is your room I can't really dictate anything. No matter how troubled I am I don't have that right."

  “It’s okay.” She appeased.

  Too kind. You are way too kind. This is just like in those soapy movies. Fuck!

  "How did you know?" I asked, my eyebrows creased with intrigue.

  “Know what?” she asked.

  "That there are things going on me with me. I know you spoke of not seeing me in class, but that could have meant anything from being lazy and smoking weed to just plain careless."

  She nodded. Exhaled. "Um, It's just there in your face. You look like you are going through shit. Half the time it seems like you are not here. You have the face of a guy who thinks a lot… no, I mean brooding. You don't think, you brood. You look awfully tired like the rest of your life-force and enthusiasm has been sucked out of you. It might just be you had a bad day, but from the look of your body language and posture you just seem like you have been carrying this boulder for too long."

  Very observant, I made a mental note.

  She drew a box of cigarettes from her blouse and a lighter. “Mind if I light one?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Thanks, " she pulled her first puff, squinting as the smoke blurred her view. She wanted to have a look at me as if to make some judgment, but it was only because she had more to say and she needed a prop. "I find I have the best ideas when I smoke," she said, as a side note.

  I stayed quiet, waiting.

  She continued. “You don’t finish your words when you speak. They kinda die out in the end. Very low voice. I know too well that it is not a sign of laziness but a discouraged spirit, Sandz.” She paused for a puff. Knelt back towards the window to ash. She shook her head, “Can I call you that?”

  "People call me Sandman, but Sandz is also fine. Carry on."

  “Can I offer you wine or juice? Anything? You look very thirsty.”

  I started to realize my mouth had gone quite dry, probably from being struck by all this. I would have asked how she noticed, but it seemed best to say as many few words as possible and not disturb her thought process.

  "Water," I replied.

  She got up and sauntered to the bookshelf and picked up a white mug. Stuck the cigarette between her lips and bent at the purifier and poured me a glass. In the same confident manner, she delicately put it down at the table in front of me.

  She jumped on the bed again and resumed her posture. “You have the look of someone who has not slept for days.”

  The words stung so much I grappled for that numb feeling.

  "Anybody can have all these characteristics and not have the problems you are having. So in the end is more of my intuition. And I have learned to listen to the damn thing very well. I have learned my lesson. Your soul screams for help from a shadowed dark corner of an abandoned location-less, meaningless, horrid room. It's a terrible scream, Sandz. Deafening ."

  Puzzled. I just stared at her like the meaning of all she just said was completely insane.

  She spread her arms wide. “Can’t you feel the vibe in this room, Sandz?”

  What is it, though? It's been here all this time.

  My heart thumped and sweat broke from my brow, drips from under my armpits began. And there, she saw all of it happening like a predator standing over poisoned prey. I took a sip of quaking water from a shuddering rim as I could not steady myself.

  “Yeah,” I managed.

  “You see I am not insane. You feel it too. Intuition is perhaps a closer word. We are sharing some kind of field me and you.” She said. Then later added,“I don’t go around inviting random guys to my place, Sandz. I had a feeling about you. I knew your essence somehow. I see a fish wriggling on dry ground. I’m here to help. You can trust me.”

  I was utterly stunned, yet quite elated. A rush.

  They say some things come as easy as breathing – some things are as hard as taking a hard crap when constipated. I was neither of those things. Sometimes we refrain from telling people certain things because they know nothing, sometimes it is because they know too much and they are too abrupt. This situation is none of those things. It is too perfect. Too enthralling. Not even in the rarest possibility. Perhaps a tremendous a scam.

  I needed my henchmen with me. Scrolled through my contacts and found Macfearson. Sent a short coded message: Do rotto abba!

  I was becoming that which I should not become, I was becoming the thing. Seized by pure impulse and quick manic understanding.

  I have questions you have answers. This is not even a trade, my love. You owe me! I think I know what you are.

  “If I am a wriggling fish who is wielding the net?” I asked grimly.

  Foolishly and coyly she answered, " Tell me what is this net you caught in so I can help you find out. I want to help."

  She dryly chuckled and flicked her hair, a blazing smile slicing through my eyes.

  You beautiful monster.

  I played along with the overtones.

  I will give you what you want my love but don't think you are fooling me. I may be a fish, but I sting. I sting so badly Krissy that you have no idea what I am gonna do to you.

  I smiled, sweetened by my own sacred thoughts. “I will tell you,” I chuckled, unable to impede the brewing thing inside me.

  God help me, this is the last thing you will ever hear, okay dear?

  “I have this thing holding me down,” The calling you see. Not anything you would understand .“I don’t know what it is. It is not really a thing with me you see,” I sighed, took a swig of water. “I talk no one hears me. I am there nobody sees me. I just exist, passing by through the textures of this frail existence. I am alive yet I feel dead. I just am. I am among people yet I feel extremely lonely. Everything is just ash, everything is just stale and tasteless.”

  This world of yours is just ruined, an excuse for a world. When God created this one he was probably doped out of his mind or he hated you people so much he did not care one bit what kinda world he was building for you. You may marvel at how intricate and beautiful it seems, but this is child's play compared to what he is really capable of. You are God's practice project, something left to gather dust along with old records and relics. Clearly he wasn't trying. Of course, you would say I'm mad, crazy for thinking such things. Call me names. Call me a freak or weird. Not to my face but at least behind my back where I can't hear you. I hardly care. The truth is you are made so badly that the very crap your reality is composed of you can't smell. You call it adaptation I call it deception.

  And you will not believe me, your slaves of science and reason.

  I paused to take another swig, concealing my expression behind the mug.

  “I just know that I don’t belong here,” This place is shit. Your universe is shit,"I am just a burden, to myself and others. There is no love for me. I am unlovable. No peace, no hope. There is a constant ache within me. The agony I can't explain. I feel like sighing, grunting, screaming and slashing my throat. I wanna rip my heart out and squash it. I am angry because it's beating, keeping me alive therefore sustaining this torment that has befallen me. I am on a constant search for salvation yet I never find it. I neither wanna die or live. I am just asking not to exist in any sense if this is what life is," I lifted my head and gazed at the smudgy image of her rendered by my tears.

  I know what you gonna say, don’t say it, I shot my thoughts at her.

  “Wow.” She shook her head.

>   “You don’t know what to say?” I told her that, expecting her to be.

  A smile flickered from the corner of her mouth. “Sort of – I mean yeah.”

  "I believe that in situations like these people often know what they think, but they are struggling with appropriate things to say. It is not about saying something that sounds right it is about telling me what is going on through your head. More like what you are thinking. I am not a huge fan of being courteous." It makes my life easier, quite frankly I don’t have time for pretend. I need to know when or if I should sample you or whatever the fuck is that thing Macfearson hinted at, ‘the right sample’ ." In fact, I hate it. True experiences come from genuine encounters. For that reason, I have learned not be easily offended ." Will not to show that I am pissed off, that is until I am stabbing through your heart. “Feel free,” I told her.

  She displayed an incredulous glance.

  “Don’t think. Think aloud for once.” I was far from a saint. Who was I to judge anyway?

  “It is true what you say.” She grinned lifting her shoulders bashfully, pressed her breasts together in the process, an archaic trick of seduction. Nonetheless working. Chest arched forward, my love, was appetizing.

  ***

  Macxermillio and Macfearson sat in front the big flat screen at their house. The room dark except for the light emitting from the television screen. They slumped on the couch watching a Marilyn Manson Concert from their plugged in external hard drive. The television was connected to a home theater system via auxiliaries. The sound was coming off just fine, not too loud.

  Macfearson's phone beeped. He read the message: Do rotto abba!

  “Hey, Macx, have considered that right sample theory of mine?”

  Maxcermillio glanced at him. “Why do you ask?”

  The leather couch creaked as Macfearson turned to face him. “Would you explain to me why? The calling requires a deathling, changing the state of mind of people is not turning them into deathlings. I think there is a flaw there."

  “If that is true then what?” Macxermillio said. “All I know is that we can’t rush anything now. Let’s see what comes out of these therapy sessions first, alright?”

  Macfearson chuckled. “Sandy, sent me a message. He is craving.”