germs with error

Germs: germs laminated the saliva ridden rim of her half-empty glass of cognac. She had the oddest sensation of them feeding on her recently unused head. Which wasn’t technically ‘unused’ except functionally confined to nurturing grudge and heartbreak. She waned from the table gradually sliding down her seat, as the table top blurred and cacophonic thuds of relief throttled her rubbery spine. Sighs, pangs and bangs, relaxation then noise again, repetitively methodically winding tightly around her like a boa constrictor as she awaited her final gasp, that exciting last heartbeat: The welcomed end.
“It is my fault”, falling on to the kitchen floor, with a numb nimble crash she then crawled to her bedroom. Thinking about the cat’s saliva in her pan of pot pouri, it was her fault, she knew how her cat was, she knew just how she was, and she kept literally falling on her face “Itsy bitsy spider climbing up the wall...” the sojourn to the bedroom was short, as her apartment was small. To climb onto her bed seemed an impossible task, so she rolled under it, taking a last gasp.

***************************************


The wood on her bed’s underside was visibly dusty in the morning sunlight, and her heavy head felt like a bowling ball, she searched for three holes to stick her fingers in and yank it up. This time, rolling wasn’t a viable option; she slid from underneath it and was glad it was morning not afternoon, when the sun would be unbearable. Now, she’d have to stand, with her aching bowling ball of a head wobbling here and there as she tolerated the worst pain. . . “Hangover remedy” she muttered, staggering to the phone at her bedside, he fell and dialed her friend Samaritan’s phone number , when she noticed a man tied up in a chair duct tape on his mouth bloody and muddy , gawking at her , she dismissed it as being delirious. Alcohol could do that to her, though visual hallucinations are generally uncommon, she always knew she was special.
“Sam?” she moaned softy, he mimed her weak waning voice “Yes?”
“That … I was… hang”
“You called to hang up?” he enunciated while her headache mounted to what can only be described as ‘A red bang’ and she shrieked.
“No” she croaked
“I’m coming over”
“Thanks” mission accomplished she thought. That dryad of a tortured man glared at her, and she blinked thrice, considered pinching herself and then plopped into her bed.
Samaritan unlocked the front door, searched the living/drawing room which was part kitchen and then proceeded to the boudoir. There was a man in the room and Aida lay unconscious on her bed, the man was painted red-brown with mud and blood, his bushy black eyebrows were his only discernable feature and his bloodshot eyes were fixated on his friend.
“Is that you?” she murmured
“Me?” Samaritan answered, his gaze not leaving the phantom in the corner.
“Sam I’m having a terrible hang over. Come. Sit beside me.” He did, `` his eyes not leaving the living corpse chair… She continued, “You wouldn’t believe, it’s the worse ever, I’m seeing things, are you listening?”
“Yes I am, what did you see?” He cautiously did not shift his gaze and neither did what he was gazing at, their eyes never met. The Salamander vibrated wildly trying to break free.
“Not so loud!’ she screeched
“Sorry” Samaritan answered
“Not you…I can see this guy tied up in a chair , all bloody and wounded , like a cross between ‘the passion of the Christ’ and some kidnapping movie , and the Abu Ghariab tapes , I don’t know what’s wrong with me? Do you think it means something, like my inner sanctum is revealing that I’m actually an angry tortured prisoner all tied up sitting down looking stark naked under a blood mud camouflage?”
“Hmm”
“I thought you’d have no thoughts on that, so where’s my hang over remedy?”
“Have you thrown up yet?”
“No”
“You’ll have to throw up first”
“Oh goodie” she exclaimed acrimonious arms out, clasping his back like it were a Zimmer.
“Piggyback?”
“Are you crazy” she scoffed
“I ‘am’ a eunuch” he retorted.
“Fine” so he rushed her to the sink as the tortured prisoner’s head moved, gaping at her neck as if his life depended on it. Samaritan shut and bolted the lavatory door as the chair creaked towards them, the bruised victim made to the door with all his might shifted and shuffling, grunting growling , like two rutting animals , aggressive determined violent and ready to bite. Samaritan had no time to admire the dying man’s Stamina. He just knew he had to get of there with Aida, who was vomited and said “You know doing this in the toilet would’ve been cleaner”
“Yeah” he answered his voice tense. Was the bathroom window his way out? He’d seen it in the movies, so why not? He looked out side and examined fifty feet of ‘why not’ …
“Smell that bad (she giggled half-heartily) now, where’s my magic potion???”
He peered through the keyhole, chairman had not moved more than an inch and was still straight jacketed so to speak, the coast was clear; he gave her his concoction, “Drink up”, she swooned and he carried her out in his arms. Leaving the apartment with the man grunting and blubbering locked bolted latched inside. He got to his car, shoving her in the backseat; he drove back to his place. He threw on the couch and thought about paced to and fro in his living room; she muttered “miracle cure’ triumphant smiling,
“It is mostly the placebo effect” he said calmly, interrupting his thoughts with the conjecture ‘we’re safe now’, “Do you remember anything about last night?” he prodded.
“I came home with a bottle of cognac, invited a friend over for cards, played solitaire, got tired of waiting and got really drunk.”
“So this ‘friend’ never turned up” he found it hard to believe that a beaten up man could be in her room without her knowledge or involvement. “Are you sure he stood you up? Was he late? ‘Did’ he turn up?” he reiterated fiercely
“It was a ‘she’ and no ‘She’ didn’t! What do you take me for? I don’t call guys over in the middle of the night”
“I’m not a fan of savoir faire myself, but really be honest there’s no taboo, you were lonely you got drunk, it was a Saturday night, Are you sure, you weren’t ‘with’ somebody” being born sans pudendum, didn’t make him any less of a person, he self-argued against society’s view of social correctness and normality.
“I have my own set of morals, I maybe a drunk but I’m not a slut!” losing her temper
“No one’s calling you one, it’s perfectly understandable” softly
“Shut up” she hollered indignant sitting up with a start ‘what am I doing here?’ she asked irritated.
“Okay You were lonely, you called this guy over, you both got drunk, he thought you easy, you probably jabbered about you’re entire life story and he thought it was time to make his move, you had a violent fit, protecting your ‘maiden head’ and he raged after you, you used martial arts shred his skin, left him bruised and bloody and then not knowing what to do, tied him up on a chair. And got ‘really’ drunk before falling dead asleep?”
“Boy, you should be a writer” she snorted
“Am I right?”
“Of course not, you lunatic!” she peered at him with disbelief Standing up , “Where are my shoes.
‘In the foot locker, you’re not going anywhere, without an explanation”
‘For what? My hallucination?” she strolled to the footlocker, scoured her shoes and put them on, strutting to the front door.
“He was real. I saw him too”
“Well, I’ve just born witness to your dynamite of an imagination so excuse me, while I get my shoes. If anybody needs an explanation it’s me”
“Think, did you order pizza, Chinese something, anything? Was there anyone at your door last night?”
“I ‘DID’ ‘NOT’ assault a man in self-defense, do I have to sing it to you.”
“Then ‘who’ is he?”
“I DO NOT KNOW, I was alone last night, case closed. I’m going home”
“He kept glaring at you and he’s probably still in your apartment, and he might’ve broken free by now, and he looked really angry with you”
“You’re playing with me ‘cause I got drunk” she smirked wise to the ploy, she smiled victoriously “This is one those intervention thingies, right? You are ‘such’ a poker face” she giggled poking his cheek “And I would’ve bought it too , if it weren’t for that twitchy temple that gives you away. Don’t you know that I know you? Always a kidder. I’m fine I’m going home now , its an addiction , its not like I choose to get drunk , It keeps me alive , look I’m fully functional happy and cheerful , don’t worry about me , be happy.”
He scrutinized her, as she looked around.
“What are you looking for?”
‘The guy, you sent to scare me??”
“I didn’t send anyone”
“Oh I get it; I’m supposed to promise never to drink again before you admit to anything. Gotchya good game” she walked out.
He stood thinking for a while, still looking suspicious of her story, thinking it unwise to call the police, he followed her.
“You’re not going there alone”
“Are you serious?” She chuckled
“Yes and you should be too”
“Then why not call the police?”
‘To get ‘you’ into trouble?”
“No, to make a laughing stock of yourself and your silly “intervention”.”
“There was no intervention. This really happened.”
“It’s not Abdul Qadeer’s birthday.’
“No it isn’t”
“Why are you so serious? Lighten up, take a backseat, enjoy the show. Relax”
“And what ‘wait for the barbarians? What show is it that you so candidly refer to?”
“The show of life, I thought you’d know about it, since you play the part so well”
“Oh right we’re having one of those… call me you’re sober.”
“That’s a song and barbarian, there’s just one.”
“Not in the poem but okay, I stand corrected”
“Sit down old chum”
“SINCE WHEN DID WE GET CHUMMY?”
“Never with that attitude, no soirée”
“Hmm, maybe we should invest in stocks, is anything up?”
“What is the matter with you?”
“It matters not”
“See you later”
“BUBYE”

The sun shied behind the clouds and winds crisp as a tucker, slapped about my face like a fly desperate to be swat. Oh the tyranny of the moment, slandered by my selfish being in selfless ecstatic masochism. Dread.
“l drooled in public , when having ice cream. It was tragic.”


“Ah work, what a wonderful little factoid… I’m afraid of running out of it , so I avoid it altogether.”
“OH purpose”
“ you laugh?”
“YES”
“Why?”
“What else should I do?”
“It is not for me to state, but you could answer the answer the question”
“Great suggestion but I’ll pass”
“Inshahlah”
“What with our progress nothing can stand in our way”
“You’re so optimistic”
“Predictable you are”
“Like a broken record”
“No like a love song actually, shall we dance?”
“What for?”
“WHAT IF?”
‘Let’s work instead”
“You know we can’t, this will be another futile attempt, so give it up already”
“I laud your enthusiasm, perseverance and what should I say ‘will’ to go on, there’s do and don’t, there is no try, wise old Yoda said that”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way”
“Come on give me a push, nudge me, propel me, motivate me, I KNOW you can, you have so often. I miss it terribly infinitely”
“It’s getting stuffy, suffocating...”
“Don’t go”
“The dance?”
“No”
“Goodnight then and adieu” he blows a kiss while she looks askance then examining the rim of her glass ,remarks “My lipstick doesn’t come off… it actually works.. Wow”