Lucid

WARNING:

This book contains references to mental health and physical violence.

I thought about killing him but decided against it because my dog would be too sad. Instead, I stared at my neighbor through the blinds of the living room window. He entered his truck wearing dust-ridden work boots that looked more khaki than their actual gold suede. I forget his name. I wonder what kind of work he does based on his attire and choice of vehicle, a bright blue lifted Ford F150. Right for construction I think. He revs the loud thing, backs out of the aggregate paved driveway, and goes off to where I stop my imagination from guessing.

Paul yelled from the master bedroom for me to make him coffee. No asking there, just a demand as usual. He hasn't said a polite word to me in over a year. I turn into the kitchen and begin my task. He prefers his coffee made with a percolator. He had to instruct me how to use it because who under the age of 40 uses a percolator? I'd never even heard of one until I met him. That was three years ago at an after-work happy hour. Paul was a data analyst with loads of ambition; I was a marketing coordinator fresh out of college who was just delighted to have a job. We began dating almost out of habit, or perhaps by default. We were both young, although he was five years my senior. We were both attractive. That's not boastful—it’s what others have told me all my life. It’s what others always told Paul and what he certainly thought of himself. He was the most arrogant man I’ve come to know.

“I’ve got to get going. Hurry up, dammit!” Paul stood behind me, red-faced adjusting his tie.

The percolator rattled. I thought about grabbing the handle and pouring it all over his face. I looked at Jasper, sitting stiffly between two occasional chairs nestled by the back door. Breathe in, 2-3-4… breathe out 6-7-8.

The firm we worked for had a round of mass-lay-offs that affected over 100 employees including me, so I moved in with him a year into dating. The cut-throat world of corporate America gave me a humbling lesson. I didn’t have any money saved so Paul came to the rescue. We got along well enough and I needed to be rescued. With my Shiba-Inu, Jasper by my side, I packed up my one-bedroom studio on the North side of Dallas and Uhauled it over to Paul’s suburban home in an older neighborhood of Plano, TX. He had a large backyard that Jasper loved and Jasper also loved Paul.

My role in the hierarchy of Paul’s home was apparent after a few months of living together. Paul - king; Jasper - lord; me - servant. Paul treated Jasper better than he treated me. I gave no quarrel. I’d gotten used to the subservience. I’d gotten used to the robotic sex. Apathy became my personality.

“We certainly don’t want you to be late,” I feigned respect as I poured the hot liquid into Paul’s plain white mug and prepared it. Two lumps of sugar; yes the old-school cubes. One teaspoon of heavy cream, stirred eight times; yes exactly eight swirls of the spoon. A maddening ritual after almost two years.

He picked up his mug and sipped, still trying to adjust his tie with his left hand. I noticed the knot was still crooked and gave Jasper a smirk. Paul must have seen me because he plunked down the mug spilling coffee all over the granite counter, cabinet front, and floor. He grabbed the back of my right arm and jerked me all the way around to face him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His chin bore down on my forehead as he pressed all six foot three of his taught body into my five foot six frame.

“I’m sorry, I… I… haven’t taken my meds yet. My brain is a bit foggy this morning.” I inched away from him backing into the cabinets.

“Don’t be an insolent bitch, Bryia,” his spittle hit my face. “I am this close to kicking your crazy ass up out of my house. I’ve made so many concessions for you. Don’t test me.”

I hung my head low, nodded a yes, and held my hands together in front of me.

“Just clean up and then you can sit and rot or mope around like you always do. I have an important interview today. Fix my tie.”

Staccato demands. Another maddening ritual after almost two years. I pushed him away a bit more giving myself room to undo the tie and start from scratch. The dark violet silk conformed to my hand as I crossed the wide part of the tie over the narrow tail. I made the first loop by pulling the wide end up through the opening of the neck. But instead of dropping it down, I continued pulling both parts towards me, tightening the loop. I pulled and squeezed my hands tightly around the silk as I felt it slipping through my hands. Paul coughed and reached for the tie and then for my neck.

I ducked and moved around to his backside, making another loop around the back of his neck, twisting my hands around the silk tails to gain a tighter grip. I climbed on his back and pulled and pulled and pulled and pulled… we fell to the floor, Paul still reaching for me, unable to gain control. I pulled and pulled and pulled… He quieted. He slumped flat to the tile floor. My breath came in heaving moments. I got up and braced myself on the edge of the counter. I gave Jasper a look, more than a smirk this time and I sat down on the sofa to rot for a while, just like Paul told me to do.

I must have fallen asleep because when I woke, it was well into the afternoon. I got up from the sofa and padded my way to the kitchen, where I saw Paul’s lifeless body and limbs skewed oddly on the floor. The rumble of the neighbor’s truck penetrated through the walls of the house unmistakably. I gathered Jasper in my arms and walked outside and across the street. The neighbor’s name still escaped me but I didn’t need formalities. I walked up to him before he could fully exit the truck.

“Hey. Sorry to bother you.” He looked at me in such an odd way, rather, he looked oddly at Jasper. I continued, “I just killed my boyfriend. I didn’t take my meds today. It was a rough morning.”

“Excuse me. What did you say? What’s going on?” Even though he was obviously confounded, I was irritated.

“I killed my boyfriend,” I repeated. “Can you take my dog Jasper and look after him for a while?” I sat Jasper down on his lawn, next to the driveway and turned to walk away.

My neighbor took out his phone and dialed 911. “Hi. My neighbor just told me she killed her boyfriend. She approached me with a taxidermy dog in her hands and just told me. She sat the dog down in my yard and she’s trying to walk away.” He yelled at me to wait, saying someone would soon help me.

I smiled back at him and continued to walk away down the street in my gray slippers with the gripper bottoms.

One month later:

The doctors told me I had another psychotic break. I didn’t recall having a first one. They say it happened five months ago when Jasper died. Well, it happened when I killed Jasper. I need to be honest to help my recovery. I killed my precious dog because he loved Paul and Paul loved him. No one knew I killed my pet at the time. Paul thought he was just old and that the shock of losing him caused me great mental trauma. So, my medical team told him to do whatever it took to help me regain my clarity.

I told Paul I still needed Jasper with me so he agreed to take him to a pet taxidermy service and preserve him. How could the doctors realize this act of kindness towards me sent Paul into a bitter spiral? His aggression towards me increased and only exacerbated my struggles. I’m not blaming him. Victim blaming is wrong. But the doctors are always telling me how actions have consequences. That goes for everyone, not just me. Jasper, Paul, and my neighbor. My attractive neighbor. He was there for me and Jasper when I needed him. If I ever get out of here, I want to thank him for his kindness. I never did find out what he did for a living.