Phone Call Note From Dr. Yarozik

After reading the progress of this work, Happy Hour, I must warn to please use extreme discretion when crediting Hela with the truth. She has a, let’s say, mutable boundary with reality and is prone to gross exaggeration.

Consider her diagnosis:
Axis I: Bi-polar disorder, borderline personality disorder.
Axis II: Anxiety disorder. Marijuana dependence. Sex addiction.
Axis III: Chlamydia. Heart murmurs.
Axis IV: New living arrangement, loss of job, untimely death of mother, recent sexual assaults, possible homelessness.

Besides, she can't even spell my name right.


Phone Call

After Hela and Dr. Littleboy’s scrabble game, he fed her a fat Valium and sat her down in front of the phone in the hallway between the dayroom and solarium. Hela pressed the numbers she knew so well. The doctor left.

“Hell-o.” a man’s voice answered. Deep, with the bounce of a boy's.

“Hi.” Hela said.

“Hey there, what’s up my little Hel-fire? Where you been?” She heard his lighter flick. Saw him leaned back in the office chair at his desk, taking breath after breath of his hand-rolled cigarette, staring up at the Sears Tower, poking the clouds with it's twin horns of blinking purple. An airplane flies toward the steel devil head and Hela's master, for a moment muses at the prospect of that plane swooping low and crashing, flames and shattered glass, a tumbling of floors like a stack of cards, small bodies plunging…

"I have a request." Hela started with a spaced-out gravity, with a detached bemusement, a funeral tone that snapped her master from his carnage reverie.

"Wear nothing but leather pants and a mask. Fill up your gun. On the cross streets of Montrose and Oak Park, there is a state mental hospital. I am there. Way in the back. In a ward called D-North. Shoot through the locks. Shoot every guard on duty you see. Then chain me up. Carry me out of here. The airport is nearby. We can flee."

"Mmm…to where?" he purred. He thought she was kidding. "Assuming I own a pair of leather pants."

"No, really. They locked me up again."


8/3
Dinner

Before dinner, I finally called Master. He didn't believe this whole thing was true, at first. He won't bust me out of here like I asked, but volunteered to come visit on Friday and bring me a funny book. He asked how it smells here. I told him, like farts.

"I'm homeless in the bosom of my soul. I'm homeless, starving to death." Carol just went off on another sermon. Is standing in front of her fold-out chair at one of these plywood tables, with a far-off, righteous look in her glassed-out eyes, placing one hand above where her heart should be. "I am strong. I'm a OX! I'm a BULL! I'm a, I'm a…DOG!" We all laughed.

"Woof woof!" Markus taunted. We laughed again.

"Miss Carol, siddown!" Nurse I'm-a-turtle Jean just said to her.

Jean is slow at passing out the dinner trays, tonight. I haven't received mine yet. The turtle is probably waiting to give me mine last, since I'm her oh-so-favorite patient here.

Mona and Elena have gotten theirs and from what I can see, this is what's on the menu:
-6 saltine crackers, wheat flavored
-2 slices of American cheese
-Applesauce
-3 2-inch mini dill pickles (which I will try to trade for more applesauce)
-Milk (yuck!)


"Oh goody! Applesauce!" Elena cheered, genuine. I am sitting with her and Mona.

"Oh yay. A full 6 crackers. Won't I be stuffed." Mona said deadpan, lips still, jowls flapping. Big, round glasses bouncing on her cheeks, making Mona into an angry, gray-haired frog in a gown.

Good. Nurse Turtle finally placed my tray in front of me.

"Thanks." I murmered, not looking up then called out, "Is anyone hungry for pickles?"

"Yeah, giv'em to me." this new girl waved from across the dining area. Looking about here, I always flash back to my grade-school cafeteria. Sticky round tables, the sweet reek of packet ketchup and curdled carton milk laid to crust on a seldom mopped tile floor.

I studied the new girl. She is shorter than I am, under 5 feet, but chiseled compact. If Dionysus has designed me thick and soft to consume great quantities of whisky, tough and flexible to sustain bondage sessions in which I am chained precariously with a nullified range of motion, limbs stretched in angles of 90 degrees or wider, joints taut and aching to full extent, this girl was designed by Artemis. The huntress. She was designed to stalk and chase. Bounding on her tight, round chocolate calves. Pouncing, then shredding the muscles of prey with her pointy nails, tinting pink with blood.

The new girl's narrow hips swiveled and cut sharp corners as she twisted around the tables to get to my pickles. She pinched them up with her claws. She left a cup of applesauce on my tray in exchange. How perfect!

"Thanks, Thickums." she smiled. She had the whitest teeth. Small and sharp. Like she is. Bet they'd leave the prettiest purple moons on my neck. The whitest eye. The left eye. The right eye is brown, but the left has a colorless cornea. Wow!

"What did you call me?" I asked. Friendly, not offended. What she said could have been a compliment, for all I know.

"I called you Thickums. You thick, you luscious." she winked her brown eye. My thighs got moist.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Mmmhmmm…" she nodded slowly, inviting.

"Leesha, siddown!" Nurse turtle-ass Jean yelled. The new girl sauntered back to her seat, her tight butt tick-tocking beneath her paper pajamas. I can't see her from here, anymore. Some dude's head is in my way.





  ¶ 3:53 PM