Surreal Ecstasy (9 page)

Dess looked over her shoulder at
the brilliantly-lit hallway outside my door. "There's no time," she
repeated. "You are meant to help me and others like me."

"You think I can help you? I'm
not part of the God Generation," I told her defensively, yet why exactly I
was defensive, I didn't know. I continued speaking, my last conversation with
Friend starting to come back to me. "And that whole thing with my angel…
well, that's just… I don't know, creepy. He literally just told me a few hours
ago in a dream that he isn't my imaginary friend but an angel, and then said a
few more crazy things, something about the God Generation and how I'm supposed
to be…an Architect, I think it was?"

"What?" She looked like
she couldn't breathe.

"Friend—uh, my angel—said I
was called a human helper, an architect, because I construct…" How did he
term it again? "…mind rooms. I make mind rooms."

She leapt up. Her frantic state of
mind was so amusing that if I wasn't so annoyed from all the confusion, I would
have laughed.

"You make mind rooms! Of
course! That's how you're going to help me."

"Dess…" I began to say
impatiently. "I still don't understand this. Please." Idly, I moved
my feet about and was pleased with how quickly and easily they did so. Maybe I'd
be able to escape her yet.

"I know, I know," she
said, miming a 'calm-down' motion with her hands. She looked over her shoulder
again. "I'll explain some more later. Just let me get through this because
we don't have a lot of time."

I looked at the clock on the
right-side wall. "There's still half an hour left of visiting hours. I'm
sure that's enough to explain everything you want to talk about."

"That's not what I mean.
People are coming for us."

Okay, so Dess got some points for
scaring me shitless. Lucky thing for Erica; she won't have to break out the
bedpan for a while.

"What does
that
mean?
What the heck, Dess? Why would they come for me? You're not making any sense."
I sighed and reached over for my plastic cup, taking a sip of lukewarm water.

Dess also sighed, louder than me. "Okay,
maybe they're not coming for
you
, but I think I might have enemies I don't
know about, and whatever issue I had when I was a god is continuing into my
mortal life. I'm telling you, I know you can help me." She was like a blur
now, practically making laps in my little hospital room. I wondered if the
floor would wear down where she had walked. And if it did, I wondered if Erica
or Dr. Hearse would trip as they walked across it. Oh, the hilarity that would
ensue.

"At work, a little more than a
week ago, I was reorganizing the yarn aisle and you passed behind me to show a
customer where something was, and I could totally
feel
your aura… or
something… I don't know exactly… but I could feel it. Your energy. It was good
energy. And inside my head, someone said to me, '
She could help you'
…
But I waited. I waited a few days to approach you because I wanted to be sure.
I couldn't eat or sleep very well those couple of days, but I became more and
more confident that I was right about it. Then you didn't come to work, and I
heard Anny telling some people that you were in the hospital. So I came here."
She stopped to take another breath.

I took advantage of the pause in
conversation. "How do you know you were a god in a past life?"

"I've had dreams since I was a
little girl, dreams I could never understand. We'll talk about those dreams
another time." She stopped and leaned against the wall, pondering. "I
forgot about those dreams for a while, but shortly after my 25
^th
birthday and moving here to Lynnwood, the dreams started up again. But they're
different from before. They're
real
. They're
memories
. It's like
I can breathe and think as the god that I used to be. And on top of that,"
she continued, pacing around the room again, "I can feel that there are
others like me, that there are some in the area and maybe that's why I got
attracted to Lynnwood when I could have moved to Seattle instead. It's hard to
explain, the change in the energy around me, the feeling like I'm on the verge
of discovering something very, very important."

"This is really weird, Dess,"
I complained, massaging my temples. "If this is your idea of therapy, I'll
take Dr. Hearse over you any day."

An offended look crossed her face. "You
don't believe me, right? I understand. I admit it
sounds crazy at first. But your angel's warning completes the puzzle for me.
You were meant to help me. We were meant to be friends."

"I do, I do believe you,"
I said quickly, chuckling. "Just give me a minute to process it all."

Before she could respond, the door
opened, and Erica stuck her blonde head in again. "Visiting hours are
almost over, ladies," she sang.

"Uh, thanks, Erica. Just a
couple more minutes," I said before Dess could be her rude self again.

She gave me a winning smile and
left, closing the door behind her.

"Do you think she was a
cheerleader in high school?" I asked Dess.

She ignored that. "I really
and truly believe you're
able to help me
."

"I never even believed in any
of this hocus-pocus crap, you know."

"This isn't a run-of-the-mill
crystal ball operation," Dess argued. "We're talking about ex-gods,
angels, hell's creatures, human helpers like you, and god knows what else. This
is real whacky, intense shit."

"Are former gods allowed to
curse?"

"I'm visiting as a human,
remember?" she replied, smiling again. She got up and slid her chair back
to its place by the door.

"I don't know, Dess. My head
hurts." I massaged my temples for emphasis. "Okay. I admit
it was intensely crazy when my imaginary
friend told me about the God Generation not too long before you come in and
drop this bomb on me. I admit that in some strange, twisted way, it makes sense
.
I just need a little while to let it sink in and make sense of it."

She nodded slowly, as if seriously
considering every word I said.

"One other thing really
bothers me, though."

"What?" she asked, her
light brown skin getting paler by the second.

"There is no way you can be
twenty-five years old."

Dess burst out laughing, her body
visibly relaxing. "Thanks. I guess it runs in the family. My mom's from Mexico and my dad's from the Philippines, and nobody was ever able to guess their age."

I thought about
him
again,
the beautiful man whom she called Rios. He certainly seemed like he had a
combination of Mexican and Filipino features. They just had to be related.

Only one way to find out.

"Dess…?"

She looked at me, her almond-shaped
eyes suddenly round in question.

"Who is that guy who used to
pick you up from work? Is he… uh, your brother, or…?" I let my sentence
trail off.

She understood instantly, and it
showed in her smile. "
That
pain-in-the-ass? Yeah, he's my little
brother. Everyone else calls him Ree." She paused, looking me over. "He's
available."

My cheeks felt warm. "That's
not why I was asking. I kinda thought you guys were married," I confessed,
scooching down on my bed, wishing I could disappear.

She smiled and laughed
good-naturedly, giving me a quick hug. "Well, time to go."

That made me feel a little sad. "Thanks
for the flowers."

"No problem."

Silence.

"Are you coming back tomorrow?"
I asked hopefully.

"Of course. Right after work.
So… maybe about 5:15. You can time me."

"I will, actually."

"Well… have a great night. Get
some sleep."

"I will, thanks. You too."
A minute ago we were talking about heaven and hell, and suddenly we were back
to our small talk.
So, how about those Mariners? Some crazy weather we're
having, huh?

Another moment of silence, then
Dess leaned in to give me a quick hug. I surprised myself with how tightly I
hugged her back. It had been such a long time since I've felt a real connection
with anybody.

"See ya," she said,
taking up her little black backpack purse.

"Bye," I called after her
as she went out the door.

When she was gone, I leaned my head
back and laughed to myself.

I can't even go to the hospital
without some type of drama following me.

Erica came by later to bring me
dinner, take me walking around the hospital, and to take my half-empty (or
half-full, depending on how you look at it) dinner plate away, all in that
order.

The spinach fettuccine with grilled
chicken wasn't bad at all. I certainly didn't want to finish it, but I ate half
at least. It was by far the best hospital food I'd eaten yet, but that wasn't
saying much. It was akin to eating the yummiest food out of any given dumpster.

She took me walking—with my IV and
everything—down the hall and back. It felt good to be using my muscles again,
but the feeling was so surreal. Was it less than a week ago that I was at home
by myself, in full 1980's slut costume, horny and lonely?

I also noticed that she had thrown
on an ugly scrub jacket and was making less eye contact with me. I half
wondered if she now thought I was a lesbian because of Dess' visit, and if she
now hoped to look less attractive so as not to bring the unwanted attention of
an obviously deranged pervert such as myself.

However, it was all very confusing
to me. What attributed to the sudden change of demeanor on Erica's part? She
had poked in her head a couple times when Dess was sitting right there, and
Erica seemed perky and chipper, as usual. What changed since then?

My hospital slippers slapped slowly
and pitifully as we walked quietly down the hall. Erica suddenly seemed
interested in talking about one of the hospital benefactor's rags-to-riches
story. Don't get me wrong; I would have loved to listen to it back in my room
as I tried to fall asleep. It was way cheaper than a sleeping pill, and had
less side effects, unless you counted homicidal thoughts.

It occurred to me that Erica wasn't
the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, and therefore probably didn't even
know Dess was gay just by looking at her (I hadn't known either, but then, I
really didn't care one way or another). Curiously, I turned my head and looked
at Erica, tuning her out all the while. A name suddenly popped in my head:  Dr.
Hearse. Dess had declared her sexuality right in front of him. Maybe Erica and
Dr. Hearse ran into each other in the hall or something, and he'd revealed all.
But aren't doctors required to keep their traps shut? Then again, Dess wasn't
his patient, so maybe that confidentiality what-you-call didn't apply here.

As another possibility, maybe they
met up in the janitor's closet for a quickie, and he happened to mention Dess
to Erica before he pulled down her ugly paper pants and tore her panties off.
Judging from the way Dr. Hearse had looked at Dess—lesbian or no lesbian—I
truly thought he was going to burst out of his pants. Not that I was checking
out his crotch area, mind you. His pesky, nosy demeanor made him a lot less cute
in my eyes.

But none of that really mattered to
me. So I had a gay visitor. So what? Erica probably got hit on every hour of
every day. What did it matter if she thought Dess might have hit on her? It was
a ridiculous idea anyhow, because Dess was probably a lot more interested in
the wall socket than she was in Erica.

Why did people have to be so
homophobic?

I wanted to come right out and tell
Erica that lesbians were no different from her and me. Erica and I both liked
men, but we didn't like
every
man that came along (well, maybe
she
did; I didn't really know her all that well). Dess liked women, but I seriously
doubted that she liked every woman she met. She wasn't a pervert. I would
almost go so far as to say she was normal, but, I thought, smiling to myself,
that didn't seem to describe her at all either.

We returned to my room and she took
my dinner tray away, commenting on how even though I did a 'good job' with the
pasta, she sure wished I had cleaned my plate more. I made no comment but wondered
what Dess would have said if she were there. Maybe something along the lines of
I'm sure Morgue would love to clean a plate with actual food on it. Are
there any?

Erica said good night to the wall
and left. She couldn't leave fast enough. I wished I could call Dess and have
her bring an issue of
Playboy
or something for me to ominously leave
lying somewhere. I could even pretend to get all flustered when Erica saw it.

How I wished I had Dess' number.

It was almost 9 o'clock by that time. I felt much more stable in my mind, heart, and body after having had good
company, eaten some halfway decent food, and had a little exercise. Settling
down in my infamous cardboard bed after peeing all by myself in my adjoining
restroom—quite an accomplishment, I'd say—I turned on my room TV for the first
time.

Some lame sitcom with predictable
sexual innuendos was on. I rolled my eyes but watched it anyway as it starred a
yummy-looking hunk. I put the remote down and watched reluctantly, my arms
crossing over my chest as I leaned my head back.

I shook my head as if trying to
dislodge the memory of all that had happened, and the significance of it all.
First, Friend tells me he's an angel and gives me crazy advice that I never
asked for. Then, Dess, who I don't know really well, comes to visit me and tell
me that she is a member of the God Generation.

Now it appeared that I was to help
her. But help her do what? Organize or construct her mind room? How would
that
help her? And how would I even do it in the first place? If she was an ex-god,
di
d that mean I was an aide to the righteous, a
good person deep down inside? What if she was an evil god?
For
some reason, I wanted to cry, but I didn't. Instead, I sighed and looked at the
ceiling, a strange, small feeling of peace threatening to take over my heart.