The Mushroom Diaries

a fear of the unknown, the fear of all things random and unexpected.

  We reach the escalator, it stretches into the distance, the rockstar couple are still in front of us, they still hold their bags tightly, still give us sideways glances, uncomfortable in our presence. We reach the top and follow the crowds to the barriers. Push the ticket in the machine. Barrier opens, walk through. Bang, I walk into the barrier. Confused I look at Sam on the other side. He’s managed to escape so why can’t I? I did put the ticket through right? Search my pockets, they’re empty. What if I’d dropped it somewhere and had just gone through the motions and simply pushed air into the slot. What if I’m trapped.

  'Is there a problem sir?’ A voice, I don’t know who’s voice. Refocus my attention and see an attendant standing there.

  ‘Yeah, I put my ticket in and nothing happened. It didn’t return it either.’

  ‘What ticket type did you buy?’

  ‘Travel card.’

  ‘Okay, let me check.’ The rattle of keys and the machine is opened, my ticket returned to my hand. He swipes his card against a sensor and the barriers open. Freedom. ‘Sorry about that sir,’ he says. ‘Hope you have a good night.’

  I smile my thanks and run to join Sam. We have one aim and that’s to get home. Step into the night air. No turning back, no detours, ignore everyone. The momentary feelings of happiness aren’t real, they’re a smoke screen. We look happy but we’re crying inside. The eyes communicate more than words.

  VI

  Turn a corner and there it is, home, sanctuary. Under a minute to the door, a few steps up and there we are. There’s a quickness in the steps we take, but something feels wrong. The way it’s lit, the feel in the air, it’s been experienced, we’ve done this all before. Déjà vu. As we stand by the door, Sam rummaging for his keys, my mind tries to pinpoint where this has all been experienced. Then, in Sam’s frustration, it clicks. The night before we left to visit my mum, returning from the hospital after seeing his grandad, Sam panicking in case his Nan was ill, a panic rushing through him at this moment.

  A kick against the door, Sam’s anger. I rub my hands across my face, have the last two weeks been a dream? An experience lived out in my mind and now destined to be relieved in reality now. To experience everything again without being able to change a thing. Surely that would be torture, to endure all this in a constant loop, repeated throughout the rest of eternity, never moving forward. The past, present and future merging, reoccurring, unchangeable. Name me a torture worse than that.

  Light floods over me, the door is opened. Sam marches to his room, a few passing mumbles all he offers to his grandparents. Both there watching, blissfully different.

  ‘I’m sorry’ I explain. ‘He panicked thinking that something had happened.’ With a friendly smile I follow Sam’s life path. I enter his room.

  He's rushing around the room looking for something. I close the door behind me and watch. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m looking.’

  ‘Looking for what?’

  ‘Anything that will get me off this trip.’ He stops and looks at me. He rushes forwards, gripping me in a hug. We sit on the bed, trying to focus. ‘Orange juice,’ he says, leaping to his feet, rushing to a corner and returning with tropical juice. ‘Well.’ He smiles. ‘It’s similar.’

  We drink, knowing it won’t achieve anything. From upstairs the clatter of plates echoes through to us. Food. Food should help, replace the mushrooms with something else, get healthy nutrients into the system. Sam disappears, he reappears. ‘You want food right?’

  ‘Yeah, I just said I did.’ I’m sure I said I did.

  ‘Sammy,’ his Nan calls from upstairs.

  ‘Okay.’ He disappears, he reappears. ‘You want food right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ What the fuck?

  ‘Sammy,’ his Nan calls again.

  ‘Okay.’ He disappears, he reappears. I know what he’s going to ask. ‘You want food right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His Nan’s going to call.

  ‘Sammy.’ His Nan.

  ‘Sam, it’s repeating.’ My head feels like it’s going to tear, my brain furiously looking for the scratch that is making the record skip.

  ‘Okay.’ He disappears, he reappears.

  ‘Don’t say it, don’t even ask it. Just get the fucking food.’

  ‘Sammy.’ His Nan.

  I continue, ‘Go get the food, I guarantee it will be bolognese.’ Sam frowns and leaves, I finally hear him walking up the stairs. Muffled conversation.

  She’s there, I can sense her. I don’t know who she is but I know she’s standing in the doorway watching. I can see her out of the corner of my eye, long brown hair, about five foot nine. She’s watching, surveying the scene. Sit, face forward, don’t look. She doesn’t want me to look, just to know she’s there, watching over someone, watching over Sam.

  ‘There you go.’ A plate in my face. Sam’s returned. ‘It’s bolognese.’

  ‘Told you.’ You can’t help but be smug, I knew it was coming.

  So here we sit on Sam’s bed attempting to eat. The mouth constantly chewing, no taste, when to swallow? It burns as it goes down, the muscles in the throat determined that we don’t eat, preventing us from adding to our bellies. It’s no use even if we kept on trying, it’s like chewing air, a never-ending movement of the mouth. My jaw aches, I can’t do it. I put my fork on the plate and put that in turn on the floor. Sam does the same.

  What to do? We sit facing each other, hand in hand, Sam’s thumb grating, scratching at my middle finger, mine doing the same to his. Sit like this, look at the one you love and hope the comedown is soon. The room is quiet, a silent thud in my ears. Sam’s eyes locked onto mine. We know the end isn’t in sight, know it’s nowhere near. Both of us praying the same prayer.

  ‘A bath,’ Sam says in the silence. ‘A bath should sort us out.’

  ‘A bath?’

  ‘Yeah, a bath always makes you feel better.’ He jumps from the bed and leaves the room.

  Alone. It’s horrible being alone. Your sense of time is fucked when on mushrooms, a second seems like an hour, dragging on. I can hear the running water. How long has he been gone? It feels like ages but it could only be seconds. Images in my head, flashing before my eyes as if I’m watching television. Images. Sam laying in the water, clear liquid engulfing his face. Drowned. Lifeless eyes looking up into nothing. Everything I love about him gone, vanished, all that is left is his beauty. I can hear the running water. How long has he been gone? It feels like an hour, but it could only be minutes. Images. I’m not leaving anything to chance.

  Jump from the bed and enter the bathroom. He’s stood, staring into the mirror. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘When I look in the mirror I see only myself.’

  ‘Who else would you see?’

  ‘I’m beautiful. I’m perfect.’

  ‘I know you are.’ I keep my eyes away from the mirror, scared of what I might see. ‘Come back to the bedroom Sam.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I leave, hear him following me. I enter his room and turn, there’s no one behind me. I’m alone. What the fuck? I return to the bathroom.

  Sam’s stood there looking into the mirror. ‘I’m beautiful. I’m perfect.’

  ‘Sam, come back to the bedroom.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I leave, hearing him following me. I enter the room and turn, there’s no one behind me. I’m alone. What the hell is going on here? I return to the bathroom.

  Sam’s stood looking into a different mirror. ‘I’m beautiful. I’m perfect.’

  ‘Sam, I don’t think a bath is a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’ He looks at me.

  ‘I’ve just got a bad feeling about it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He stops the running water and pulls out the plug, the bath isn’t even a quarter full.

 
‘Can we go back to the bedroom?’

  ‘Okay.’

  I start to move but stop myself. ‘After you then.’ He leaves, I follow. We enter his room. Hug. It’s all fucking up and there’s no escape. Sit on the bed. Silence. I can’t speak, my vocal cords locked, the mouth moves but no sound comes. What the fuck?

  Then nothing. Everything appears normal. I can stand, walk around. Everything back to normal. I’m off. Then my eyes hit the mirror. Black pupils stare back, all colour banished. Still on. Fuck.

  I pick up my journal. Pick up a pen. My voice won’t work but I know this will. I write. Fuck, I want to be off this trip.

  Sam watches. I show him the page­, he nods.

  I really want to be off.

  Another nod.

  The words flow quicker. I want off this trip. Get me off this trip. The words larger. Get me OFF. GET ME OFF THIS TRIP. SAM GET ME OFF THIS FUCKING TRIP.

  An arm on mine. Sam’s face looking at me. No words cut across the silence. His eyes say it all. Panic, his lip being chewed quickly.

  Sam, please.

  Sam puts his hand on the paper and points to his eyes. Read the message locked in there.

  Pen on paper. Sam, I’m trying to get off my trip. It’s bad. I can see in your eyes it’s the same for you.

  Sam nods and hugs me. We sit there, silence. I look at the clock and the pen hits paper. It’s 8:06. It seems like 10 minutes to every one.

  Sam’s eyes flick to the clock. He shakes his head in the negative.

  I frown. Sam, are you off?

  ‘Yes.’ His voice seems loud in the silence. It sounds normal, a voice from the reality cutting across into the bright world