Floating Foam

Still plugging away at the book! I *was* two chapters away from completion, but it appears I’ve found two other chapters that need to be written. I’m not sure where they were hiding!

I’m up to 88,000 words, which is 8,000 more than my minimum. Even though I don’t want this to be a long book, I’m okay with going so wildly past my minimum. I’m certain there’s a lot to be cut during the editing phase.

Here’s a scene from Chapter 17. In it, Charlie recalls a conversation that happened in his adolescent bedroom between him and his friend. In it, he describes a vision he had to his friend. Of course, the entire episode is actually a vision of a memory of a vision. Right, and so…

I lay on my old bed, watching Jeff flip through my meager collection of cassette tapes, many of them purchased on his recommendations.

“Where’s that Slayer tape? The one Barney lent me? I’m sure I left it here.”

“Dunno. Check the deck.”

He opened the player and pulled out the transparent plastic cassette.

“Aha!” He rejoiced. “Now, where’s the fuckin’ case?”

“It’s not on top of the deck?”

“Don’t see it.”

“Hmm…” I rolled off of my bed and started pawing around under my bed. I pulled out a sock.

“Oh, man,” he said. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s just a sock.”

“Uh-huh.”

I reached under the bed again and pulled out the tape cover.

“Here!” I proudly announced.

“Cool. Give it over.”

I handed him the cover, and he opened it up, pulling out the liner notes and examining the microscopic print.

“Jeff?”

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Can I tell you about one?”

“Sure.”

“You were smoking a joint.”

“That was ten minutes ago, Charlie. You’re slipping.”

“No. We’re a lot older. You’re smoking a joint at my work, I think. But it’s just us, and we’re in the showroom.”

“So far, I’m failing to see the excitement.”

“You’re you, right at this moment. Same age, clothes, hair. But I’m not. I’m older, stronger, and I think my skin is different.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I’m looking at you, but you’re not really there.”

“Although you confuse me every day, Charlie, I always seem ask what the hell you mean.”

“I’m older, but you’re not. You’re smoking and I’m not. We’re at my work, but I’m pretty sure I’m not on the clock. And we’re just sitting there, not talking or moving or anything. But I can’t stop watching you, even though everything seems strange. It’s like you’re not really there, and neither am I.”

“Technically, neither of us is there.”

“I guess,” I acknowledge, playing with the frayed denim on my jeans.

He stopped examining the tape cover and pivoted his body so he faced me.

“We’re not really here, either,” he whispered. “If I die tonight, I’ll leave no evidence of my life. So it’s like I was never here, right?”

“Huh?”

“Think about it, Chuck. We’ve left no mark, probably never will. Not because I don’t want to, it’s just the reality of life.”

“You’ll leave a mark.”

“Maybe, maybe not. My point is that I haven’t, so technically, I’m not really here.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“See what has been and what the future sees,” he hissed, menacingly, and then burst into laughter.

“What does that mean?”

“The poetry of Slayer is a multi-layered beast, Charlie. To explain deeper meanings requires more cheeba.”

I collected my pipe and baggie from the nightstand and handed them to Jeff. He unscrewed the lid from the bowl and poked around in the ash.

“Another hit, maybe two,” he surveyed.

He fished Thorn from his pocket, rolled the striking wheel and held the flame carefully next to the bowl so that just the tip of the fire would be dragged over the lip and around the remaining nugget. The dark ball glowed orange as he inhaled.

He handed me the pipe, nodding for me to take my hit before the bowl died.

“Hurry,” he muttered through clenched lips.

I held the pipe to my lips but did not smoke. My mind fixed on the smoldering embers, and the room seemed to fill immediately with amber, trapping us in the resin. I could look around the room but no longer move. Jeff’s eyes darted around, yet he, too, remained completely still. We were glued into position, frozen for all eternity in this meaningless moment.

I shouted at him with my mind, yelled out my desire to break free, to move and never stop, but I could not say if Jeff heard me. His eyes stopped moving and seemed to relax, as if he’d resigned himself to this new, unfathomable fate.