Neurocysticercomyiasis

The sun is already tangent on the horizon when he arrived about an hour late at the wedding reception. George’s tie had the long end behind the short end. His suit jacket, he left alone on the pale marble floor. His sleeved polo, torn with small rips and shreds. His gift for the married couple, formally wrapped in a floral design of red and white roses, he held tight in his hand. He strolled stupidly due to a balance disorder. Bursitis has had his knees calloused for almost five years. His detached outsoles clapped inside the venue. He arched outward and his lower back crackled. He shook his stiff shoulders around and rotated his popping, locking wrists. His arms fumbled independent of his control. Even Rodney, the sole person available and capable of conversing with him, stood concerned yet ashamed while pouring sour cream on three pieces of tempura on his plate. He paced to table number 12, looking down. He never knew exactly what George was going to talk about every time, but he certainly knew what he always talked about. Frankly, he’s had enough. George dipped three mucky fingers in the chocolate fountain, licked it clean, and hurried beside Rodney. A maid can be heard lamenting in the distance. The sound technician, a part-time musician himself, had the dark guitar solo of a Funkadelic track echoing through the ceiling speakers.

“Okay, I see. I know you’ve had enough. I understand that, but I just came from the airport and guess what I found? A pink taxi… and now look at this tablecloth”, murmured George, while caressing the thin polyester like rice grains, smudging it with saliva-coated chocolate.

Rodney, concentrating on the emotional bride, faced the contemplative man and said, “You need to stop.”

“When?”

Rodney hit the table with his palm and darted his eyes on George, who maintained his retarded composure. A couple of visitors looked as quickly as they dismissed the weird pair.

“I used to understand you. Now you’ve definitely lost your mind.”

“No, listen. I went on YouTube and checked out MJ’s Smooth Criminal. Two days later, guess what happened? I watched the noon show and there it is, they’re dancing to it. Three days later, boom, trending on Twitter.”

“That was three years ago when I told you to throw away your goddamn phone.” Rodney, feeling off the wall, has decided not to eat. His attempts to relax were futile. He also smells something inexplicably rotten.

“For a whole year, not a single day went by where I didn’t see a golden circle. On dog collars, hotel logos, nurseries, and zoos. On bars, art museums, restaurants, parks, and tailor shops. In that same year, I saw that, uh, that Kingsman sequel, three years after they released it. How do you explain that?” George’s head throbbed.

Rodney tried to connect with him, saying, “Nurseries as in for plants, or for children?”

The distinct scent of Sampaguita spreading across the room made George tingle and twitch. He leaned intensely closer to Rodney, who almost fell out of his wooden chair. “My mother loved plants, and on the way here, I saw them, uh, small children walking out of a nursery. Oh, oh, and I saw that signage for pedestrians. Guess what the sign had, a mother walking her child through the lane! And… and you know what? it’s a golden triangular sign! Oh, and I also saw that, uh, delicious chicken curry on the buffet, and oh boy, did it shine like gold! And, and, and the potatoes were chopped like triangles, too…!”

Rodney had never been startled like this before.

“So! Do you understand me now? Are you feeling it?” George only became aware that he’d been holding Rodney’s collar when the pissed but pitying friend threw both of his hands back on the table.

“No. No, I don’t know who you are anymore, and I’m not feeling anything at all… are you… are you shaking?”, said Rodney, whose disappointment turned into confused worry, which then turned into worrying disgust.

“Oh God, your eye is all red! You are not fine! Not fine at all!”

A few visitors heard this and turned to the eerie sight. Now, they can’t even take their eyes off the peculiar idiots.

“Stop worrying. By the way, I h…had to see one Reddit post, read one online health post, attend one health conference about jo…joints, watch one gangster drama film (most gangsters of which o…operates on ch…cheap f…food joints, obviously), and wa…watch one mockumentary whose host had g…g…go…golden hair… before I finally got diagnosed with bursitis! It may be that I, I… uh, should have seen it coming be…because sooner or later it was me…me…me…meant to happen!” George cackled. A drop of vermilion eye blood smeared the fuchsia-dyed tablecloth. Dear friends of the married couple are now maneuvering closer and inspecting the scary commotion. Rodney turned deaf out of shock.

“Have you… have you noticed how three is… three's... it's everywhere right now?”

“Hey, listen. Listen, listen, listen. Look at your eye, jeez. Look at me, listen. Your hands have been twitching for a while now, and your bloody eye…I think we should go to the hospital. Have you even tried to visit a doctor lately?”

“My dad used to be a radiologist… d...d…do you know what that means?”

“Okay, let’s go.” Rodney accompanied George out of the chair and slowly walked beside him. Flies are now gathering over his sour tempura. To the friends, neighbors, and in-laws, this is not about the newlyweds anymore. They never helped though. The groom himself had to run towards the situation and approach the noisy bastards.

“Oh, no… is he really alright?”, the white-suited Ben asked Rodney, shocked at the friend's conjunctivitis.

“We’re getting out of here, don’t worry about it”, Rodney assures him.

“What's that smell?”

“I don't really know either.”

“Alright then... Uhm… okay, people… please, let’s just get back to our seats... Uh, ehem… we still haven’t seen my sweet Annie and I’s sweet slideshow yet, so let’s all just… calm down and keep going…”, Ben explained while holding a microphone, still looking concerned at the sick man. The sound technician had turned off the music.

“That means… he looks… at images from x-rays… every day. O… one time, he experimented with a… what was it? A C…CT scan, and guess what… what he found in his… own… brain? A tumor…” The shaking and fumbling had gravely worsened when George caught a glimpse of Ben’s golden wedding ring. His grip surrendered, and his gift thumped on the floor.

George gasped and fell. He was lying, writhing, and wriggling. All his muscles contracted. His torso and limbs twisted; his neck craned and jerked everywhere. His face contorts as he rolls around. Vermilion spattered and streaked on the marble.

Rodney waved and addressed the wide-eyed nosy people crowding over poor George. “Everyone, stay away! Stay away! Let him breathe!” He straightened the man’s prone disposition and turned him onto his side. A woman wearing a pink, polyester gown took the lone suit jacket on the floor, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, then placed it under George’s head.

Ben took the fallen gift and, after learning it was addressed to him and Annie, opened it slowly. It had two sets of small shirts and shorts for their two toddlers.

The other attendees tried ignoring the vibrations on their heels coming from the faint hits and bumps on the floor as George continued to convulse. His teary eyes saw everything. Rodney, while assisting George, asked a maid to grab a bottle of water from the cooler behind the buffet. He concentrated on the ticking hands of his wristwatch.

Another minute of this awkward moment passed before the faint hits had stopped and George had appeared to relax. Rodney saluted those who helped and he brought George to a lower seat.

“There has to be a reason… there has to be…”, George cried.

"Breathe... breathe deeply and slowly...", Rodney requested.

“We have to go to the hospital now. Don’t worry about the bills.” Rodney opened the water bottle and gave it to George. "You're going to be fine, George. You're going to be fine."

Words from a gospel-influenced funk song resounded within the walls: …the debts you make you have to pay…

“Ever heard the album, Maggot Brain?”, George asked, smiling.

A maggot crawled out of his crimson eye.

“Oh, my fucking God!”

George suddenly squeezed the water bottle. He howled and screamed frantically while running outside the venue and through the dark hallway. The sad sun had set.