Welcome to Percotran -Part XXII

By Richard Davidson

“I love you, baby.”

He had surprised himself by uttering the words.

“What the hell did you say?”

A look of anger, perhaps a bit of sadness flashed in her eyes.

Alexander had been seeing her for almost a year, but not very often.

Perhaps “seeing” wasn’t the right word.

“Having meaningless, empty sex with” would’ve probably been better.

He’d gone and romanticized the relationship, of course, and this particular morning, lying in her lavishly decorated bedroom, feeling her warmth next to him, and looking over to see the first rays of the morning sun across her beautiful face was just a little too pleasant.

“You don’t love me,” she said sourly, making a face to match.

She smacked him, a little harder than he would have liked, and said, “and I sure don’t love you.”

He knew that, of course, but the magic of the moment had certainly ended. She had other boyfriends. He was “allowed” to have other girlfriends, but he didn’t. It was considered a mutual arrangement, but it wasn’t.

His friends would say, “she’s a lousy girlfriend,” and they’d ask, “why do you put up with her crap?” but the answer was so simple, so plain to see.

“She’s gorgeous,” he would always answer, and he never got any argument when he said that.

They all knew what the deal was. Though charming, and a good conversationalist, Alexander just didn’t seem to have what it takes to get a relationship going. He was lonely, and she had swept him off his feet, out of nowhere, and now he was hers, and she knew it.

“Oh for God’s sake, are you crying?” she was now quite shrill.

He couldn’t believe it. He knew he didn’t love her, in fact, he’d been sure for quite some time he didn’t even like her. What in hell was making him into a world class weenie, who was probably done for all time with this particular pleasure cruise?

“I think you better be going.”

He wasn’t surprised, and he dressed with little ceremony, cupped her face softly in his hands, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Goodbye.”

He walked out her front door, and began falling into empty space. He just fell and fell, for what seemed like hours. He’d had this dream many times before, and he smiled as he fell, enjoying the rush of the wind blowing his hair straight up in the eternal blackness of the Dark Place. He knew he’d awaken before he’d ever land, and he did.

Alexander was alone, on a calm ocean. His face was stuck to the raft. Had been for hours. So Alexander simply lay on his side, the spiderweb hanging limply from his makeshift mast, occasionally finding a new spot on his face to stick to, at every hint of breeze.

He had never seen such a beautiful thing. He’d seen “Joe vs the Volcano,” starring Tom Hanks, and though he didn’t much care for that film, he’d always liked the part where Tom Hanks was alone on the ocean, sitting on some trunks he’d lashed together, with the moon dominating the watery landscape.

And now, here he was, living it. Well, sort of living it. He couldn’t remember anything about Tom Hanks’ face being stuck to the raft with a big spiderweb full of leaves, and three lizards. Regardless, even the brilliant cinematography of that scene was no match for the real thing, and Alexander could do nothing but bask in its incredible natural beauty.

“Yes, I like Oceania the best,” he decided aloud.

He was back to the busy task of figuring out what had actually happened, and what he had dreamt.

“Wow. Mary Ellen Ripke.” Alexander laughed to himself. “I wonder what she’d think if she knew I’d be dreaming about her thousands of years in the future.”

For some reason, sitting here, it was obvious to Alexander that he had degraded himself during that “relationship,” and that maybe it was worth it, for the memories of all that incredible sex, but that it could never happen again.

“I believe in love,” he told the light breeze that had whipped up.

“Ah, we’re moving again,” he announced, in case the passengers were interested.

One of the passengers, a medium sized Puali Lizard, had been working for quite a number of hours on chewing the spiderweb, so it could free itself. It had blood all over its mouth, but it was actually starting to make progress. This was exciting to Alexander. The thought that he could perhaps someday be free of this stupid spiderweb was, at this moment, more appealing than Mary Ellen Ripke’s silk sheets, or even true love.

He knew that the tears that morning had been shed for a life with no meaning. How could he have expected to fall in love, or even more, have another fall in love with him? What was there to love? Alexander smacked himself in the forehead, and now his right hand was stuck in the spiderweb, too.

Alexander had once held dreams. Good dreams.

Somebody had to pay the bills, and Alexander’s job at Percolex was pretty good for that.

He’d done a good job of blending into the scenery there, and was rarely bothered, or put upon by others. He was also rarely invited to their parties, or other social gatherings, but so what? What was he supposed to do there, anyway? No matter how he tried, his coworkers seemed to always say variations of “blah blah blah blah blah,” and there was nothing he could do to drag himself into the conversation.

He thought about the person he’d been for so many years, and he thought that person would surely die out here; no match for the elements.

The Puali Lizard freed himself, and fell to the bamboo beams of Alexander’s makeshift raft, which Alexander realized would be a good Dixieland number. Alexander rewarded him by killing him with his free hand, ripping his head off, and using his teeth to cut into the spiderweb.

He’d learned a thing or two out here, by God, and one of them is, sharp teeth make a damn fine tool, especially for cutting restraints, be they fishnet or spiderweb. The wind was getting stronger, and he was sawing furiously at his restraints. The other lizards were jumping around in a panic, perhaps from witnessing the violent death of their compatriot, or from the wind. Whatever the case, two of them struggled to death, leaving Alexander alone on the vast ocean with only one Puali Lizard for company, and that lizard didn’t appear as if it would last much longer.

It started to sing “Forever Young,” by Bob Dylan, but this time Alexander wasn’t fooled. He knew a hallucination by now, and although he was only too happy to sing along, he knew that not only can the Puali Lizard not sing, but it certainly wouldn’t know songs from thousands of years ago.

Alexander had never remembered the song having so many verses, but since he didn’t know most of the words, he’d been making most of them up from the get-go.

“May the ocean not destroy you, may the Pirates not come back, may the morons that employ you, fall under attack,” he sang, surprised at the lizard’s clever harmonies.

The moon had disappeared, and there were huge waves all around him. The makeshift raft was at an extreme angle, its spiderweb and leaf sail full to bursting. He had unstuck his hand from his face, and was now sawing through the last few tendrils of webbing holding his face to the raft.

“I gotta be free,” he told the lizard. “Looks like we’re in for one hell of a storm.”

He finally snapped free from the web, and as he tried to stand up, it wrapped around him, and lashed him to the mast.

“Well all we need now is a giant whirlpool,” he thought sarcastically, simultaneously thinking of Poe, and “No One at the Bridge,” by Rush.

There was no maelstrom, but the waves were quickly becoming too big for a top heavy bamboo raft.

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