Dancing In A Wool Room

 Dancing In A Wool Room

“Franco! Franco!”

I snap out of my trance and find myself dancing on the table of some stranger. I look around and see tonight’s companions on the other side of the room looking at me, almost with a gaze of disbelief. I slowly come to my senses and start asking myself: “Did it happen again?”

Earlier this evening I was walking my block for some fresh air in Central New York when I stumbled into friends from a distant past. I used to meet up with these people after my accident. It was weird to see them here because they moved far away a long time ago. I asked them how they were. “It’s good, but a little boring since we moved.”, said Jack. Jennifer added: “No one like you in Minnesota, if you know what I mean.” I knew too well what she meant by that.

Jack has been my buddy from even before my first accident, and I think I might have met him when we were in high school. I met Jennifer later when the both of them took care of me and eventually started seeing each other. Jack asked me how I had been and I said that I finished a degree in architecture and started working with a firm in Central New York. I added that I never moved away from Central New York. I asked Jack what they were doing back home and Jennifer said that they were on a road trip but things didn’t pan out the way they hoped and they were forced to take a plane back home but decided to stop by in their old neighborhood since they had to stop in New York anyway. I asked if they had time to go for a drink… 

A couple of hours later we were snug in a basement cafe called Johnny’s. A few drinks in, I started feeling something that felt familiar, like a hug from a relative that you don't often see. I didn’t think much of it and I was hoping it would go away. Jack suddenly asked me if I remembered. I knew what he was talking about and I tried to change the subject by asking Jack how his football team were doing. Jack answered snappily, “It's great, man.” Jennifer looked me straight in the eye and said: “Do you think this little rendezvous is a coincidence?” My heart skipped a beat and before I could think of going for the door I felt reality slip away. I felt my arms and legs spasm before my eyes went black.

Where Do I Start?

It’s a cold but sunny day in November. I see the empty trees, the few singing birds scrambling to get warm, and I see the empty street I used to call home. I am walking in Central New York to find warmth and perhaps a coffee. A bagel sounds pretty good too. As I am walking, I remember how things used to be and how they have turned out since I started my degree in Architecture. I was homeless and now I rent a two-bedroom apartment in the city. I didn’t have a job and now I am working at a small architecture firm just outside the city.

I sometimes think back to my childhood and some of the troubles I went through. My mother divorced my father shortly after I was born and I never had the chance to meet him. Every time I asked my mother about him, she would give me different explanations. She always did say that he was sick but nothing more than that. She tried to hide something and I gave up asking when I was 6. 

When I was 15, I had my first cigarette and a beer. I remember getting sick from the cigarette, I had smoked it too fast and I never touched another one again. The beer gave me nice feelings, but also not-so-nice thoughts. Every time I drank, I took it far. I know that for most people this is the goal and their moment of reflection follows the next morning when they hold themselves together with light food, water, and a bunch of paracetamol. I knew that I shouldn’t do it for different reasons… I think back to my mom, I think she knew… I even started to believe my dad would know…

When I was 20 I started looking for my passion. Something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I didn’t like my current job, which involved serving loud and obnoxious, drunk, youngsters coming into the fast food restaurant at midnight to ask for burgers. I had been doing this for a couple of years now and I wished every day that something would be different. Nothing ever happened. Then one night, when I just served a group of 7 boys and girls who were drunk and shouting for no apparent reason, a friend I knew from my high school entered the fast food establishment. I hadn’t seen him for a while and he didn’t seem to share the same irritating behavior as the group I just served which was very unusual for this time of the night. Jack as I knew him, asked me if I wanted to quit my job. I stood still for a minute, gazing at him, wondering where this situation would lead to. I was alone at this point because my colleagues were outside for a smoke. Something I wouldn’t do, anymore.

Who are they?

Jack, my buddy from high school. We used to hang out in the darker parts of the school, away from everyone else. We had our little games, mostly psychologically fueled mind games. We would try and come up with a scenario, usually, these were crime-related, and we would try and figure out why the other would be caught. Now that I am older, I know that these are silly games. Even though Jack went to the same school, I never saw him in any classes. Or even in school for that matter, unless I went to the lesser visited hallways, where I would meet him. He was a light stepper because I could never figure out how he could sneak up on me without me hearing him. Jack was always nice to me, but not so much to other people, although I rarely saw him with others. 

After my first accident, Jack met Jennifer. She used to take care of me, but mostly she would make sure that I didn’t lose my mind. Jack always made sure I did. They were made for each other, it seemed.

Jennifer was a kind woman with a heart of gold and the most soft voice I had ever heard. Whenever she spoke, everything around me froze, and only her voice mattered. It was as if the whole world faded away and nothing could hurt me. Jack always made sure that this was balanced out, that bastard.

On a chilly Thursday evening, Jack invited me into the city to hang out, as he would call it. He didn’t like people and it showed. Jack would start arguments with just about anyone. That night, Jack decided to go somewhere where neither of us had gone before, but that didn’t faze him and I just went along.

Thursday wasn’t a typical going-out kind of night and the people in this particular bar were mostly bikers. When the hands of my watch struck 2.05 am, Jack yelled at a group of bikers. “I don’t like you, you fat hobbit!” Before I knew it, I was hit in the head with a bar stool. It went black…

It’s Dark

I find myself in a dark place… There is nothing here… I can hear sounds and I can feel sensations in my limbs… But… But… It’s all vague…

I slowly wake up. I see 5 bikers lying all over the bar floor and everything is smashed to bits. I wondered what happened and I looked around to look for Jack. I hope he’s okay. I get up and find myself completely fine, I walk around and check if any of the bikers are okay. They appear to be alive but unconscious. I decided not to call the police because I might be the suspect of their choice, which would be the easiest choice anyway since I am the only one walking away from this ordeal.

The next day, I flick on the local news on a small TV in the manager’s office at work I see that my little bar experience has made headlines. Someone filmed the fight, but it was quite dark and the footage is blurry. I couldn’t make out who was who and I couldn’t see Jack, or recognize him, or myself for that matter. It almost looks like I took all those bikers out. It almost looks like I even spoke to them before we started rumbling.

I don’t know what to think but I don’t about very much or very long. I never had the police knock on my door and I just continued to live my life. Finish my degree…

Again?

It happened again. I went out with Jack and Jennifer and they had a few drinks when a group of young men started shouting at us. They told us to get lost and find a different bar to hang in because this was supposed to be their place. Before I knew it, I blacked out again and when I woke up everyone was flattened to the ground.

Suddenly I get the feeling of a needle in my arm followed by a rush of anxiety and rage speeding through my veins. Some call it adrenaline and then I fall away again.

I awaken from what seemed to be weeks of hibernation and I see soft cushioning all around me, even the floor and the ceiling. I can move but my whole body is in pain, and I see nothing in this room. The door is covered in this cushioning to the point that it’s barely recognizable as a door. I look around and I see a small camera in one of the top corners of the ceiling. Then I see a newspaper lying in the middle of the room. I stumble towards it and I pick it up. I am amazed by the headlines:

“Student takes out biker clubhouse on his own.” - Local Newspaper

“Young man raged. Says his friends said he should do it.” - Local Newspaper

“Schizoid named as Franco. No More Voices, He Demanded.”

I started shouting. “Where am I?!” I wonder what happened and where I am. Suddenly I hear a voice coming from the ceiling: “Good morning Franco, it’s nice to see you awake. In case you have forgotten; you are in the mental health facility. You can read all about it in the newspapers in your room. They’re all about you.”

It starts to make sense now… "Is this what my mom didn’t want me to know about my father?”

Then I hear: “Time for your medication."