Origami

Chuck swayed into his sleep-out and closed the door behind him. He threw his backpack onto the bed. Moving towards his bed he tripped on a coke bottle. Then he floated down onto the mattress of tissues on the floor. He curled up in a ball. Chuck chucked. He woke up six hours later.
    His head was sore. He couldn’t remember last night. Chuck unfurled and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed. There was one message sitting inside it waiting to be read. He ignored it and stood up. He stepped across the lawn of tissues to the bed. He took a piece of paper and a pen out of his backpack. He scribbled.

I think I’m a rude person. I can never remember peoples names, so I never refer to people by their names. I say to myself that it’s more intimate that way. You only use peoples names when you’re trying to prove to them that you remember, when you’re comfortable with them you just say hi. Think of how often you use you’re family’s names when greeting them. But it’s all bullshit. I just don’t try hard enough.

Chuck hid the pen and paper under his pillow. He picked up the bottle of coke and drank half of it in order to wash down a pill. He looked at the time on his phone. It was ten thirty.
    He stepped outside of his sleep-out, pulled himself over the back fence into the neighbours’ back yard and walked down their drive way into the street. There were too many people walking around town, so Chuck went into an internet café that was mostly empty. He paid for six hours internet. He googled fluoxetine and then followed the links. His time ran out halfway through a stand-up comedy video.
    He stopped at a office on the way home. The psychiatrist asked him have you tidied your room yet.

Chuck chucked his chucks into the closet. He did battle with the army of tissues until he had fought his way to the other side of the room. He flopped onto the bed, which was covered in clothes, and smothered his head with a pillow. He woke up four hours later.
    His phone was buzzing. There were five messages sitting inside it waiting to be read. He threw it into a shoe. He reached down into the carpet of used tissues and fished around until he found a half empty coke bottle. He pulled it out and gulped the remains in order to wash down a pill. He picked up his pillow and took a pen and paper out from underneath. Then, lying back down in bed, he scribbled.

Once I saw a mouse in the school changing room. There was no one else in there. It was trying to climb over a ledge to get into the urinal but it was too small. It kept trying and jumping. I needed to piss so I stepped over the mouse onto the ledge and unzipped. When I was done, I didn’t look back to see if it was still there, I just washed my hands and left.

Chuck lay back down. He starred at the ceiling. He sat back up and scribbled again.

Was I wearing a hat recently? I remember something about a hat. Maybe it was a dream. Those are the only dreams I have, so normal I’m not sure if they actually happened or not. I don’t know why I would have been wearing a hat. I think it was a beanie. It must have been a dream. More like a nightmare, ha ha ha. Maybe it was at a party.

Chuck put the pen and paper back under his pillow and got ready to leave. He picked up the shoe he had thrown his phone into, found its partner and emptied them into a backpack which he kept on his bed. He put the shoes on and hopscotched his way to the door, only landing in squares where the pool of tissues was shallow. He stepped outside of his sleep-out, pulled himself over the back fence into the neighbours’ back yard and walked down their drive way into the street.
    It was early in the morning, about two thirty he judged by looking at the street lights. He had a while until his appointment so he headed into town assuming he would find something interesting to use up the time.
    It was a Thursday so there weren’t many people around town. The streets were quiet but the shops were still lit up. Chuck saw Micky walking towards him from farther up the street. Micky hadn’t noticed him yet, so Chuck ducked into a Starmart until Micky had walked past. Inside, Chuck bought a Snickers bar. As he walked out of the store he tucked it into his briefs.
    Wandering around town he passed by a transsexual prostitute. She smiled at him.
    Chuck decided to head up to the lookout. He spent the early morning looking down at the lights of the city until it was time for him to leave for his appointment.
    The psychiatrist asked him have you talked to your family? Chuck said no.

Chuck came home after his appointment. He was sweaty. He trudged through the field of tissues in his room and fell onto the bed. He unzipped the backpack and shook it upside down. Tissues and paper and pens and a bottle of water and keys and his phone tumbled out. There were nine messages sitting inside his phone waiting to be read.
    Chuck picked up a pen and one of the pieces of paper and scribbled.

Me and my friends don’t have conversations. We talk but we never converse. More words are spent organising social events than participating in them. Too bad our idea of a social event is going to a movie where we sit without speaking to or even looking at each other. When the film is finished we wander off in different directions without discussing what we just saw. I usually stand just outside the cinema for a few minutes and watch them drift away. I assume they have important things to do.
    Otherwise we get so drunk that we can’t talk. We pass out and when we come to we leave without a word. We go home and post the pictures on Facebook. Then people ‘like’ them but don’t comment on them. Yay.

Chuck took the Snickers bar out of his underwear and dropped it beside the bed, where a whirlpool of tissues slowly swallowed it. He put the pen and paper under his pillow. Then he lay down and looked at the ceiling. He opened the bottle of water and drank a mouthful in order to wash down a pill.
    It was around ten in the morning. Chuck fell asleep.

Chuck didn’t sleep long. He woke up and looked at his phone. There were fifteen messages sitting inside it waiting to be read. His phone said it was two thirty in the afternoon. He looked up at the ceiling. It was blank. Chuck took a pen and a sheet of paper from under his pillow and scribbled.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in a black and white movie. Maybe it’s even a silent movie. If I was in a silent movie I would wait until one of those shots where it’s just text on the screen. Then I’d run away. When they cut back to the actors I would have disappeared.

He put the pen and paper back under his pillow. He gulped some water in order to wash down a pill. Chuck decided to go and get a hair cut. His hair hung over his head like a tarp. He packed everything back into the backpack, put the backpack on, and waded through the tissue swamp. He stepped outside of his sleep-out, pulled himself over the back fence into the neighbour’s back yard and walked down their drive way into the street. He headed to the hairdressers.
    He stood outside and looked in the window. He was too scared to go inside so he started going into all of the other shops, trying to find one with a clock in it. The chemist had one. The clock said that it was five thirty. Chuck thought of something he would like to scribble.

It feels like the appointments are getting closer together.

While he was at the chemist he got a prescription filled. He went to his appointment. The psychiatrist asked him have you talked to your friends? Chuck said no. The psychiatrist asked to look at Chuck’s phone. Chuck passed it to him. The phone had twenty one messages sitting inside it waiting to be read.

When he got home Chuck remembered that he had wanted to write something down. He couldn’t remember what it was. He got out pen and paper and scribbled.

You know those things that look like dandelion heads that float around like miniature balloons? They‘re actually thistle seeds. Kids call them fairies. They say that if you catch one you get a wish. I’ve never caught one, it always seemed cruel to me. Because they are fairies. I can understand catching a leprechaun for his gold because leprechauns have always seemed like dicks to me. You’d never catch me hanging out with a leprechaun. They drink too much, I think too much. But fairies are beautiful, it doesn’t matter if you’re talking about the thistle seeds or the little winged people. Beauty should be savoured, not crushed in a sweaty hand.
    I saw an injured fairy just now as I was walking home. It looked like a dandelion that had only been given a half-hearted blow, like a smoker had tried to wish on the flower’s seeds. It staggered towards me and I wondered if it would be kinder to catch it than to let it go free. If I brought it into custody it could receive healthcare that it wouldn’t get on the streets. Maybe its beauty could be restored.
    I was working myself up to the action. Planning how I would pluck it out of its natural habitat. I would have to be careful, it was a fragile specimen. I was finally going to catch a fairy. But before I could bring myself to do it a gust of wind blew into my face.
    I only closed my eyes for a moment but by the time I reopened them the fairy was gone. It had zigged past me in the breeze. Perhaps it was a sign: I wasn’t supposed to catch the fairy. I’m destined to keep my hands clean of fairy dust. Or maybe I was deliberate, like when I zag to the other side of the road to avoid Red Cross volunteers.

Chuck yawned. That was the most he had written since he left school. Before he could drink anything in order to wash down a pill, he fell asleep.

Chuck smiled when he opened his eyes. He had just had a dream. He quickly scribbled.

I must have worn a hat. The pills stop me from having dreams.

Then he emptied the backpack onto his bed. He picked up his phone. There were thirty seven messages sitting inside it waiting to be read. Chuck read one.

I think I saw you in Starmart the other night.

Chuck chuckled. He sent a reply to Micky.

Yeah. I was trying to hide from you.

He picked the keys up off the bed and locked the door to his sleep out from the inside. Then he started plucking the field of origami flowers, throwing the tissues out of the window where they confettied into a skip.
    Then he folded all of the clothes that covered his bed and piled them on the shelves. When that was done he picked up a vacuum cleaner that had been sleeping at the foot of the bed under a mountain of socks. He plugged it in and used it on the debris that had gathered under the tissues. After he had finished vacuuming Chuck ate the Snickers bar which he had also uncovered.
    He unlocked the door, walked out of it, and used the keys to open the main house. His sister was sitting on the couch watching tv.
    She said hi.
    Chuck said hi.
    He went and had a shower. Afterwards he put on some clothes from the wash basket sitting in the hall. They were less dirty than the ones he’d been wearing.

He went to see the psychiatrist.

    You’re late.

    Sorry.

    Did you have a shower?

    Yes.

    Are those clean clothes?

    No.

    But they are different clothes?

    Yes.

    Interesting. What else did you do?

    I cleaned my room and replied to a message from Micky.

    Anything else?

    I said hi to my sister.

    Did she say anything?

    She said hi.

    Good. So, what brought all this on?

    I didn’t take a pill last night.

    Why not?

    I was tired from writing. I fell asleep before I had the chance. I had a dream.

    How long have you been writing for?

    A few days.

    Can I see what you wrote?

    Chuck handed him the paper and sat quietly while the psychiatrist read it. The psychiatrist handed the paper back and made some notes on his pad.

    So you are feeling better?

    Yes.

    Is it similar to last month?

    Better.

    That is a quick turn around.

    The psychiatrist paused.

    I think you should continue writing a journal. It could be a useful tool.

    What about the pills?

    I can’t tell you what to do. Do you think they have done any good?

    No.

    Then why were you taking them?

    You told me too.

    Do you remember the first thing I ever told you?

    No.

    What I said was: Charles the purpose of these meetings is for me to try and help you to learn to trust yourself.
    Do you trust yourself Charles?

    Chuck nodded.