Clear your mind; invoke the senses. Focus. Pay homage to the sun, earth, water and air. Float. Float like a leaf on the wind. Lightly. Ever so lightly. You’re invisible. You’re all powerful. All knowing. Omnipotent. No longer a prisoner of your fleshy bonds and chains. You are an angelic sprite of a girl. Slipping…slipping higher. Ascending into the heavens.
Continually she repeated this montage to herself. Continually it failed to accomplish any sort of empowerment or transcendence. It wasn’t as if she were truly gliding against any atmosphere. No. Not really. She was high on some new “fix” her weekend warrior buddies had passed on to her. “Try this,” one glassy eyed doll had said. ” It’ll overheat your processor chickadee.” Then the manic pixie had laughed before vomiting on her designer shoes.
It wasn’t as if Mindy ever indulged like this. She was the practical one. Sensible. Her head square; her jaw set in a thin line of “I-told-you-so” logic. Sure, she’d get drunk occasionally. Loopy-eyed and doe-eyed at one or two parties, but who hasn’t? Still, for all of her previous rebellion she had never before wandered into the Caterpillar’s den and asked him for his hookah. Things had changed however. (Don’t they always?) And tonight she needed this high. Deserved it dammit.
Too many nuclear winters had already passed through her body. Too much time had been spent rattling the bars of her lonely cage hating herself and despairing at her perpetual isolation. The thing inside herself (her soul or was it her self loathing) wanted to waste the body to kill the mind. Because you know what folks? Nothing ever stuck. No matter what Min gave, people always wanted more. Expected more. Better. Perfection. But Mindy didn’t have all the answers.
If she did then wouldn’t she be out of her parent’s house by now? Wouldn’t her name be plastered in print? Bestselling author maybe? With publishers clamoring up the wazoo for more of Mindy’s brilliant sardonic wit and special brand of sass? Yeah, she sure as shit wouldn’t be this apathetic nobody. She’d be a somebody making waves, unleashing stories like hurricanes unto the masses. She’d be important. Known. Free of the lingering disappointed stares of her father whenever he passed her in the hallway, hands calloused from hard labor and late nights working construction.
Feeling dizzy, the tired dreamer curls up into a ball. Sweat stains Mindy’s forehead as her skin begins to buzz and tingle, as if an entire hive of bees were suddenly alive within her. God she was a loser. Loser. Loser. Loser. Should she text him? Jacob? She missed him and the way he held her when she cried and spooned her with one of his legs always straddling her while they slept. She missed the taste of him salty like peanut butter, but. . .
What was her dulled mind trying to remember? Oh. Right. He’d left her behind. Said they grew apart, while muttering a half-hearted apology about time healing all wounds. Some bullshit that was. Blearily Mindy finds Jacob’s number and writes him. Her text is a jumbled mess of verbs and adjectives but the gist of her anger is clear: You abandoned me when I needed you most.
In the morning ten missed phone calls and several, “Are you okay” messages will be beeping on Mindy’s cracked cell phone. It’ll mortify and mollify the girl. It’ll bring back all the old hurts too. But what’s the use thinking about tomorrow? Today is the day that counts. Mindy sure as hell thinks so in her current state. I mean, who gives a rat’s greasy fat patoot about romance anyway? Loners don’t get that luxury. Nope. Love exited Mind’s stage right after carelessly tossing twenties on her nightstand, so why cry about it? Everything she shared with Jacob meant nothing to him. Nothing.
Unable to breathe without wheezing, proper sophisticated “Mindful Mindy” drops her second raw round pill upon her tongue. She savors the flavor of it all chalky sweetness. Slipping. Slipping. Slip-lip-lipping. Colors contort as the walls wheeze. Sounds roar, whisper and retreat. Then CLANG! BANG! BOOM! A marching band serenades our sad swan, her wings covering her ears until the sounds become music. Mindy knows this song. Likes it. A lot.
Thank Christ her parents were away on holiday. Thank Christ. Because this song is just too good not to sing. Giggling, Mindy belches out the words in her own uneven pitch. “Go Ask Alice,” is her jam and the covers in her bed are too soft not to pet as if her sheets are moss not goosedown. Down, down, down the rabbit hole Mindy will go tonight. Fall, fall, fall into oblivion she’ll merrily sink. Cosmic “oneness” could go royally screw itself. All that was needed was an escape; some form of ruined release. Life itself could grow small as Mindy grew tall. She wasn’t anybody’s Alice anyway. She belonged nowhere. She was Mindy and Mindy walked alone.