Chapter #23Eli, At a Distance by: Seuzz   Well this is different, you think.
But you've discovered something new each time you've jumped into a new body.
Beth: Hey, I can switch bodies with other people!
Yourself: OMG, I'm a gooey blue body parasite!
Dana: Uh-oh, when I jump into a body I don't automatically get their memories!
Mars: I don't have to go in through the mouth!
And now Eli: So I guess I can just chill out inside him and let him take care of things for me.
It makes you nervous. But you won't learn except by doing, so you force yourself to stay hunkered in the dark, and wrap yourself tightly about Eli's stiff, impenetrable mind, doing your best to eavesdrop on his thoughts, and pushing back when you sense thoughts drifting in directions you don't want him to think.
* * * * *
Being blind and deaf, you have to pick up what cues you can from what trickles seep into your consciousness from Eli's.
Shit fuck me how did I get— This is the Wilderness how did get out in the fucking Wilderness Fuck me class is out and I missed the presentation Did I have a blackout I didn't take any medicine or shit this morning Oh shit that hit I took at lunch was there something in that Oh fuck Look just don't freak out just get back to town go home don't say anything maybe it was just one time Which fucking way is it back to the parking lot Oh Jesus what if my car's gone Oh I am so fucked!
But it's not like a commentary running full time. Eli gradually goes silent, and instead you feel rippling pressure waves, each with its own texture or color, that you come to sense are his emotions. A crackling, frizzling friction that is confusion. An acrid, burning-red haze that is anger. A puke-yellow sliminess that is anxiety. Mostly it's the latter that pulses off him, deepening occasionally into a quick, livid-white chill that is fear, or even a black, squeezing pressure that is dread. And with the latter come fragments of thoughts. That tab of acid. Too much weed. Fucking Benji.
Relief is a douche of cool blue atop which bobs the thought Oh thank God!, but it's wiped away soon after by kind of sharp snap, like a slap across the face.
And then, like you're eavesdropping on the actual words of a one-sided conversation, you hear Eli:
Yeah? Fuck you. Well, yeah, I know I wasn't there. Jesus! No, you tell me something first, asshole. What the fuck was in that joint you gave me at lunch? You fucking lace it with something? And I'm serious, 'cos all I know is I'm out at the fucking Wilderness, and I don't know how I got out here! You're not even listening. Did you hear what I just said? I'm out in the fucking Wilderness, and I don't even remember coming out here! You didn't just say that. Oh, fuck you! Who gives a shit about a goddamn presentation! I'm out here at the Wilderness, fuck you!, and my car's here, and I hope to fucking God I didn't drive myself 'cos then I don't know how the fuck I didn't crash into someone!
Mars. What the fuck was that with him?
No! How many times do I gotta say it? I'm out! At the fucking! Wilderness! And I don't! Remember! Driving here! Finally, are you listening to me, cocksucker? That's what I'm saying! So did you fucking lace that weed with something? 'Cos I don't know how else—!
Well, I don't know! I don't see anyone else around, you wanna come out here and hold my cock while I go looking? Why are you asking me that when I don't know the answer? I don't know, man! Last thing I remember I was out on the bleachers by the practice fields, and—Mars! The fuck?—and then I'm out in the middle of bug-fuck nowhere!
Okay, at least now you're starting to see things my way.
Well, sure. I don't wanna drive anyway, 'cos I'm scared to. I mean, I'll have to, unless there's someone else here.
Okay, thanks. And look, don't tell anyone about this, okay? I don't— My mom. If she finds I am so screwed. Yeah, thanks, see you in a bit.
* * * * *
From glimpses and glimmers you glean that that was Benji Morales that Eli was talking to, and that he is on his way out to the Wilderness. Sinking, pressing dread becomes the dominant emotion throbbing off of Eli as he waits, punctuated by a sharp desire for a smoke.
Talk with Benji, after he arrives, is more as before, with Eli protesting that he doesn't know how he got out to the Wilderness, and Benji pressing him closely. You can't hear Benji directly, but you get the impression that he is skeptical and that Eli is defensive. The conversation must have ended badly, because Benji seems to abruptly vanish, and Eli's emotions turn dank and sweaty. His running commentary returns, and it is full of exhortations to be careful and drive slow and keep his concentration on the road.
Afterward, you feel his mind wrapped in a dark, brooding fog, one that is unrelieved even by flashes of excitement that you eventually recognize as reactions to a console game that he's trying to distract himself with. Much later the running commentary returns as he is doing homework.
Only once do you actively intervene. As Eli is working his running thoughts about the colonial period in American history are interrupted by a sharp, angry burst of thoughts about Mars. Yeah, I should talk to the fucker about this afternoon out at the bleachers. You feel the intention forming to call him and confront him, and you push and squeeze hard against the thought, until it falters and withdraws. From thence on, you rub and massage away every stray thought that bends toward Mars, or the weirdness of the afternoon.
Don't worry about it, Eli, you assure him from the depths of his subconscious. Tomorrow you'll understand and you won't have any more worries. In fact, you'll be glad it all happened!
* * * * *
The afternoon and evening dragged on for a lot longer than you would have liked. Unlike last night, which seemed to pass instantly while you lurked under Mars's bed, you are aware of each passing second and minute, for you are aware of Eli's thoughts and moods, and he is conscious of each tick of time. And it is tedious, like being stuck watching a movie where uninteresting characters say and do uninteresting things. But you have to pay attention anyway.
At last you feel forming in Eli the intention to get ready for bed. This is almost worse, as you anticipate the end of your vigil. It seems to take forever, because he procrastinates between his intentions and his decisions. He also takes a long time in the bathroom, and you sense him giving his reflection a very close once-over as he searches for signs related to the afternoon trauma.
Finally, you feel his thoughts actually turning toward bed, and though you are not conscious of the moment that he takes off his clothes or puts off the lights or climbs under the sheets, you are soon confident that he is actually in bed and no longer just thinking about it, because his thoughts and his emotions lighten and become more rhythmic. You stir yourself to help, coaxing and massaging him from the inside with exhortations to Sleep ... sleep ... sleep.
And suddenly, as you are massaging him in this way, the barrier between you and him melts and dissolves, and you fall inside and feel yourself merging with him.
All is warm and soft, and briefly you open your eyes and feel a body. And then you are asleep again and conscious of nothing.
* * * * *
The alarm shatters your sleep, and you wake with a growled oath. You paw under your pillow for the phone, and push your face into the pillow. Five more minutes, you think.
Then you pry your eyes open again, and lay very still, letting the feel of flesh and blood and limbs and skin steal over you. You missed it, and you feel wonderful.
Slowly you roll over, and your morning wood tents the sheets. You throw them and sit up stiffly, dropping your feet to the floor. You lean on your knees and blink stupidly down at them. They are bony and knobby and smooth.
Your mind drifts back to yesterday.
God, what a fucking comedy. Shoving yourself into Eli; driving out the Wilderness; waking up in confusion and not knowing how you got there. Yelling at Benji when he came out, and hiding in your room when you got home. Panicking that something had gone wrong with your brain, that some of the drugs you've been dabbling with have broken it. Dreading another attack like you had fearing that next time you might drive off a road or accidentally kill yourself. Swearing that you will never touch anything stronger than caffeine again.
You rise to your feet and stretch and examine your hands again. Same long fingers as before, same skinny forearms. Skinny all over, in fact. Eli dresses in baggy clothes and doesn't even like short-sleeve shirts because he's conscious of how skeletal he can appear. Even his boxers are baggy, and they droop off your ass as you shuffle out of the room for the bathroom.
You turn on the water, but turn for the mirror for an actual Eli's-eye view of yourself, now that you're finally all here.
Yeah, shallow chest with faintly visible ribs under the shallow chest. A stomach so flat that even without exercise the abdominal ridges are clear. Bony shoulders and skinny legs.
At least the package is fat.
And you'll grow into it Eli tells himself. And it's better than the alternate.
All in all, you smirk to yourself from under hooded lids, even after yesterday's near disaster, and the tedium of waiting to be here now:
Ain't doin' bad. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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