Killing Ways

21

Ren went into the office the next morning and over to Everett’s desk.

‘What’s going on in your tiny mind?’ said Ren.

‘The roll of tiny tumbleweeds,’ said Everett.

‘Were you out last night?’

‘Of my mind,’ said Everett.

‘Good for you,’ said Ren. ‘I shall pick you up some pineapple juice.’

‘I don’t like pineapples.’

‘Who doesn’t like pineapples? Literally, who?’

‘Me. I know. It’s a popular fruit — what can I say?’

‘How did I only find this out now?’ said Ren.

‘You never asked.’

‘Do I never ask you about things? Is it all about me?’

‘Yes, but that’s OK.’

‘I have a question,’ said Ren, ‘Are you skilled with a drill?’

‘Are we on euphemisms again?’

‘I need someone who can put up a curtain rail,’ said Ren. ‘Someone who has been forewarned that I have OCD tendencies and will be hyper-aware of anything even fractionally off-level—’

‘I have just the man for you.’ Everett sat back. ‘He is rigorous in his attention to detail. He has worked on every room of my house.’

‘I must see your house some day.’

‘You must.’

‘OK... send this talented man my way.’

‘You might not send him back...’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Ren.

‘Nothing,’ said Everett.

I see the twinkle in your eye. You can’t fool me! I’m guessing the guy is hot. And Everett views me as a philanderess.

Janine arrived. ‘Greetings, Streetlings.’

‘I like that,’ said Ren.

Janine came over to her desk. ‘I hope I didn’t offend you last night...’

‘No!’ said Ren. ‘Not at all. I was the one intruding.’

‘You weren’t intruding!’ said Janine. ‘It’s just Terri.’

‘Who is Terri?’

‘Oh, I met her in the park in Golden — she was walking her dog. You know me — I had to stop. He’s a gorgeous chocolate Lab. I’ve only known her a few months. She seems really nice.’

There is something a tiny bit off with this tale... or is it just me?

That night, Ren went to her bipolar support meeting. The main speaker of the night was in his early fifties, with neatly combed brown hair, glasses, a crisp short-sleeved shirt, pants that were tight on the hips, with a crease down the center.

Wrestled from behind the desk of a geography class.

‘Mania is a thing of increases,’ he announced.

OK — math class, then...

He continued. ‘Increased appetites for spending, gambling, exercise, sex, alcohol, drugs, risks...’

Yet people come down so hard on mania...

‘There is an increase in the number and speed of thoughts,’ he said, ‘in the speed of speech, in socializing, in levels of irritability, and — literally — an increase in driving speed. You’ll even notice an increase in the incidents of cussing.’

Shock fucking horror: not the crime of cussing! The crime of cussing is that it exists as a word at all.

Ren looked at the guy sitting to her right. Sexy, rough-looking, edgy, shaved head, cool blue eyes, late forties.

What is my thing with the rough guys? And the handsome, older, uptight ones? And the hot younger ones? And the elderly charmers? And the...

The guy beside her turned and smiled at her. He had a white raised scar that was like an extension of his smile. Don’t judge. Ren smiled back. The guy side-eyed the speaker at the top of the room. Ren nodded. Yes. Poor us.

She zoned back in on the speaker. ‘Mania works like broad brushstrokes of black paint swept across a rainbow,’ he was saying. ‘But to the manic, the black is neon.’ He paused. ‘And neon is brighter than any rainbow.’

Ren’s neighbor leaned in to her. ‘We need to find a bar.’ There was a hint of a drawl.

Nice. ‘Yes,’ said Ren. Yes, we do.

‘Want to make a run for it?’

Totally. But... I’m here by Order of My Boss. There could be spies dotted around this room. ‘I’m going to sit it out,’ said Ren. ‘But what bar are you going to?’

‘Nah — I’ll wait too.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s only ten more minutes.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Check this shit out — the speaker eyeballing us. Stop talking in class, children! Fuck this bullshit.

They were two beers down and hadn’t exchanged names. It was like a pact.

The Privacy of Lunatics Act, 1828.

‘That guy at the podium,’ said Ren, ‘talking about mania and increases. There was something about him. I get the sense that he had reconstructed himself after a post-mania crash. Like, last week he was in Speedos, bent over a table snorting coke at a pool-party in Vegas, then he collapsed with a nosebleed, ended up in the emergency room, was resuscitated, like ten times, then medicated, cleaned up, styled as a 1980s geography or math teacher... Do you ever think that people restyle themselves post-mania as a form of protection? Like, if they look nerdy on the outside, it’s easier not to become a party person, or attract party people, or they can look in the mirror and not see the party person they were the previous week when they slept with their wife’s best friend or OD’d or ran naked through their upscale gated community. I mean—’

The guy’s brusque laughter cut her off. ‘When did you ditch your meds?’ There was no mirth in his voice.

‘Excuse me?’ said Ren.

‘Just... well, you’re talking a mile a minute, and—’ He shrugged.

And what bipolar love ripped your heart out, dickhead?

‘This probably wasn’t a good idea,’ said Ren. She stood up.

‘Man, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know you. You probably aren’t even bipolar.’

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ said Ren. ‘And you’re right — I’m not. It’s my brother who’s bipolar.’ Sorry, Matt. Sorry, Jay. And Beau, if you’re looking down on me. But please don’t be looking down on me. No one needs to see that shiz.

‘I guess I’ve been burned,’ said the guy. ‘And I haven’t quite got a handle on it.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Ren. And eager for either you or me to leave. ‘You might just need more time.’ Stop engaging.

The guy nodded. ‘It’s just, I feel... all the things I loved about her were because she was crazy.’

‘That’s not really true,’ said Ren. ‘But I understand why you feel that way right now.’ This is all very grim. I just wanted to have some fun. I hate turns for the worse. ‘Shots?’

He shook his head. ‘No, thanks. Sorry for bringing the misery.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Ren. ‘You didn’t. I don’t mind.’

‘I guess I slotted you right on into the “beautiful and crazy” category. And that’s one rodeo I don’t want to sign up for.’ He smiled an extra-wide smile. ‘I better be on my way...’

You be on your way, cowboy.

‘You must think I’m crazy myself,’ he said.

‘No,’ said Ren. Weird? Yes. If you were a different type of guy, I might have said that out loud.

‘Will you be OK here?’ he said, looking around the bar.

‘OK?’ said Ren. I’m in a bar! Filled with strangers! Who have no insight into any part of me! Who know nothing of madness and meds! ‘I’m perfect.’ Fucking perfect!