The Perfect Drug

"That is too bad," I shrugged, "As I'll probably need to be one."

I filled out the forms, which Valerie faxed off for me, and I wished her a good afternoon, receiving another pixie-cute smile from her. Yeah, it was too bad. Dr. Suttelmyre awaited me outside.

"She's quite a gem, isn't she?" he looked in the front window of the building, "While you were talking to her, I was looking up her skirt. Did you know that she doesn't wear panties?"

"That's pretty fucked up," I muttered to him, and he walked beside me.

"I know, right? I wonder what she does on her breaks..." he wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

"No, I mean the fact that you were looking up her skirt."

"Well, for a psychiatrist, I don't get laid much."

"Kinda difficult when you don't exist, huh?"

"Damn straight," he nodded, "Well, don't forget your nine o'clock appointment. I've got a lot of non-existent patients lined up after you, and I hate to get behind on my appointments."

"Sure thing, doc," I sighed, and he veered off the sidewalk and into traffic.

I went home to my apartment and started packing my things. As I was boxing stuff up, the landlord, a fiftyish man who had somehow maintained a thin physique throughout his life, even though he ate like a much fatter man, a source of envy for me, considering I had to watch what I ate since I was a kid, showed up at my door, which I had left open.

"Hey, Steve, what's going on?" he looked around at all the boxes, "You moving out?"

"Yeah, Gideon, sort of. Look, I should be able to get you the last month's rent, and I'll leave a thirty-day notice in your office. I lost my job, though, and it's not looking like I'll be able to get another one anytime soon."

"Well, shit," Gideon scratched his graying hair, "That blows. You're one of the few tenants I've never had a problem with. I'd rather get rid of Mrs. Jakowski. That bitch keeps sneaking damn cats in, messing up the place. I hate cats! All they do is piss and shit everywhere, and it'll take a damn can of napalm to get the smells out! So what happened?"

I taped a box shut, and then set the tape aside, "Well, I've just been dealing with some stuff, Gideon. I guess it's gotten to be too much, and my performance was slipping. Then my boss calls me into his office to talk about it, and demands that I get a drug test. I blew up at him, and left."

That's... sort of how it happened, I just left out a lot of details...

"Damn," Gideon shook his head, "Well, you're not the first guy to blow up at his boss."

"Yeah, well, you're lucky," I replied, "You're your own boss, so you can't fire yourself, and if you blow up at yourself, I'm sure you can work it out, right?"

Gideon laughed uproariously at that, and one of the other tenants down the hall yelled, "Shut the fuck up!"

"Hey!" Gideon leaned out into the hall, "You want me to call the cops about that shit you've been growing in there, then keep talking!"

A door closed quietly, and I chuckled, "It's great to be the king, huh?"

"Yeah, until something's gotta be fixed, which is constantly, in this place. Hey, don't worry about the notice, I'll type something up and you can sign it when you get a chance, okay? Damn it, this blows, Steve. If I could afford to let you stay for free until you got another job, I would, you know that, right?"

"Sure, man," I nodded, "And I appreciate the thought. It's all right, though, I'll be staying with some friends, so it's not like I'll be out on the street. Thanks, Gideon, you're one hell of a landlord, and I'll nominate you for Landlord of the Century, if they ever do make that an award."

"Shit," he grinned, "I'll put you at the top of the list of people I thank for the award, if they do."

I had most of my things packed by nightfall, despite the fact that I had to contend with a goon dressed in black slacks and a greasy-looking undershirt who kept reading aloud from a book of dirty jokes and riddles, constantly saying, "Stop me if you've heard this one..."

The guy eventually disappeared, but then one of those extremely surly pigeons sat on the ledge outside one of my windows, pecking at the glass, bitching because he had to live outside.

"Why the hell do you get such fancy digs while I gotta live outside in a fucking overhang? You live in an overhang and tell me how you like it, and I'll lounge on the couch and watch your stupid fucking sitcoms!"

The bastard had a point, but I didn't intend on living in a little nest in an overhang, so I tried to ignore him instead.

"Sure, why not? Let's all ignore the fucking bird, what the fuck does he know, he's just a fucking bird!"

I lowered the blinds.

"You fucker! You wait and see if I don't find you and shit on your head! Pecker-nuts!"

This was definitely no Disney movie I'd ever seen.

It took almost a week to get a response about the state funding, but when they did respond, they did so with a request for an interview, so I went to an office in a building they worked out of, searching for the office number on a large directory between two elevators. A young woman with white Keds, a pair of forest-green Capris, and a purple short-sleeved tee shirt with a cartoon cat on the front stepped up beside me, also looking at the directory, her pleasant, lightly tanned face and honey-blonde hair catching a ray of sunlight that had filtered through the glass in the front door.

"They always make these stupid things so complicated, don't they?" she frowned, appearing almost childlike in her expression.

I glanced at her, wondering if she was real, "Which office are you looking for?"

"Who says I'm looking for an office?"

"Why else would you be looking at the directory?"

"Do you always answer questions with questions?" she looked at me curiously, "That's a little rude."

"You started it," I pointed out.

"I didn't! Do you always go around blaming other people for things you did?"

"Do you always go around starting arguments for no reason?"

"See?" she announced victoriously, "You did it again!"

Damn.

"Okay," I allowed, but you started it the first time."

I went into the elevator, and, of course, she got in with me.

"You haven't told me your name," she crossed her arms over her chest, "You're supposed to introduce yourself."

"Well, neither did you."

"Fine, I'll start then. I'm Virginia. Now it's your turn."

"I'm Steven," I sighed.

She smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth, which was sort of adorable, I supposed, "Good, so why are you here, Steven?"

I decided that I wanted her to go away, so I was honest, "Well, lately, I've been hallucinating a lot. I see all kinds of crazy things, and I'm trying to get the state to pay for me to go to a nuthouse."

Her eyes widened with amazement, "Really? So what do you see?"

"I hear things, too, like this surly pigeon who keeps yelling at me. But I see people that aren't there, too."

She seemed fascinated, not quite the reaction I was hoping for, "Wow, that sounds like fun. So... if you see people that aren't there, how do you know they're not real?"

"There's no telling, I guess, until they vanish, anyway."

"So if I just disappeared, that means I'm not real?"

"That's exactly what that means. I'm not sure if you're real or not right now, except that you're not looking for any office, but you're in an elevator with me anyway."

She nodded thoughtfully, and then baffled me some more, "Who says I'm not headed for an office in this building?"

"You said you weren't searching for an office."

"Did I? I remember asking you , 'Who says I'm looking for an office,' so I never really said, one way or another. And, by the way, you did start it. I asked the first question, and then you answered it with another question. So there!"

Damn.

"So then, which office are you headed for?"

"I'm not."

"Then why are you in the elevator?"

"You sure do ask a lot of questions," she noticed.

I closed my eyes, counting to ten.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm counting to ten."

"Why? Are you trying to remember how to count?"

"Nope, I'm trying to remain calm, because you're pretty frustrating."

"You're the one asking a bunch of questions."

I opened my eyes, and she was gone.

I got out of the elevator on the seventh floor, looked around for the office I needed to meet them in, and found it near the end of one corner of the building. The office was sectioned off with a small waiting room, a front desk, and two partitioned offices behind it. The receptionist at the desk, who barely glanced up as I approached, pointed with a manicured nail at a clipboard on the counter before her. I signed in, put the time down, and the time of my appointment with them, and then wrote state-funding program for the reason of my visit. I looked down at the receptionist who was occupied with a self-help book of some kind. She looked middle-aged, her hair appeared dyed, and she had obviously had a boob job. Apparently, she was trying to fight mortality by pretending she would never get old.

"Have a seat, please, and someone will be with you shortly," she noticed me looking at her and flashed me an annoyed look. I nodded, and sat down in one of five uncomfortable plastic chairs.

It took another twenty minutes, and, to complicate things further, Dr. Suttelmyre came in and sat next to me.

"I wonder if that receptionist knows how old she looks just by trying to look younger," he glanced over at her disapprovingly.

"Yup," I muttered under my breath.

"My god! Did you see the silicone job she had done? What hack-job did she go to see for those things? She ought to get her money back!"

I stifled a grin, pretending to wipe my mouth until I got control of myself.

"I don't even think that hair dye was ever a natural hair color! She looks like she's trying to win a drag-queen cougar beauty contest, for crying out loud!"

It was getting tougher and tougher to keep from laughing out loud at this point.

Undaunted, determined even, he continued on, "I'll bet that when she does finally kick the bucket, she'll be perfectly preserved with all the Botox injections she's had. Why, she's more silicone than woman at this point!"

I snorted into my hand, and the receptionist glanced up at me, irritated.

"Sorry, allergies," I lied.

Dr. Suttelmyre stood up, "In the interest of scientists everywhere, it is my duty to see what kind of miraculous figure-supporting underwear this lady's wearing. I'll bet it's made out of duct tape and Spandex!"

I was laughing now, as quietly as possible, pretending to look at something funny on my phone.

"Holy moly," I heard Dr. Suttelmyre exclaim softly from under the counter, "You won't believe it. I don't believe it! Steven, you ought to have a look for yourself. I swear you'll be scared straight here, or my name isn't Alex Suttelmyre!"

I didn't get up. I didn't have the advantage of being seen only by me, and even then, I wasn't sure I ever in my life wanted to see up this receptionist's skirt, Valerie maybe, but not this lady!

"Fine, Steven," Dr. Suttelmyre said, "I'll tell you because you're obviously not brave enough to attempt it yourself. Man, she is wearing one of the frilliest thongs I've ever witnessed, and I don't think I'll ever eat clams again in my life!"

Before I could burst into gales of laughter, a man walked out of one of the little offices, "Mr. Weston? Come on back."

I got myself under control, relieved to see that Dr. Suttelmyre had vanished once more. I didn't think I'd be able to keep my composure if I saw his legs poking out from under the counter.

"Well, Mr. Weston," the man, a plain-looking, suit-wearing guy in his late thirties sat down behind his little desk and indicated one of two chairs in front of it, "I'm Don Gossier, the programs manager. It appears that you've applied for some financial assistance for a Grant Valley Psychiatric Hospital, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," I sat down, "I lost my job, due to some... problems I've been having, and I'm worried for my sanity."

He glanced up from his computer, a little wary, but trying not to show it, "I see. So, you're voluntarily committing yourself for observation? Well, you do realize that, should you be approved, you will need to provide us with Dr... "

"Dr. Massinger," I provided, and he snapped his fingers.

"That's the one. He'll need to send a confirmation that you are to be observed and treated there. Also, when he deems you fit to be a member of society again, we will require a copy of that."

"Okay, so what does that mean? Am I approved?"

"As soon as Dr. Massinger sends the confirmation, the funding will begin. Oh, and, I am required to point this out, the penalty for applying for State Assistance Programs under false pretenses does incur fines of up to $25,000 in addition to the amount you received, as well as prison time of up to five years."

"Well, I won't really be receiving it, right? The hospital will. But yeah, I understand."

"So," he looked at me again, "We'll let you know when we get Dr. Massinger's confirmation. Thank you for coming in."

I stood up, about to leave, but then stopped.

"That wasn't much of an interview."

"Yeah, we've got all the information we really need from the forms you filled out. You're not married, no children, is that correct? Yes, well, we just needed you to come down so that we could speak face to face, and to answer any questions you had. Other than that, you're right, it's really not much an interview, per se, just a meeting."

"Oh, okay," I nodded, "Well, I don't have any questions right now, but if I think of one..."

He handed me a business card, "Yes, there you go."

"Thank you," I left his office, passed the receptionist with a nod and a serious attempt not to think about her in a frilly thong, and headed down the hall to the elevators. I muttered a few choice words under my breath as I saw the annoying young woman leaning against the wall near the closest elevator.

"Did you get the answers you were looking for?" she asked as I pressed the call button for the elevator.

"For the most part, yeah," I smoothed my shirt down.

"Good to hear. So, are you really crazy, or were you just trying to scare me off?"

"Yes, and yes," I admitted.

"Why would you want to scare me off? That's just plain mean."

"Because you're not real."

"It doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

"It does if you don't exist."

"If I don't exist, then why am I still here?" she scowled at me.

"Because I took some kind of experimental drug, and now I hallucinate. You're one of my hallucinations, that's all."

She looked down at herself, and then back at me, "I seem pretty real to me."

"Yeah, of course, otherwise I'd have no trouble distinguishing you as a hallucination, would I?"

"Then, really, what's the difference? I'm here, and I'm talking to you, and you're talking back to me, and being mean about it, by the way. So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that nobody else can see you, so it looks like I'm talking to someone who isn't there."

"Well then, it's everyone else's loss, I think. You still don't have to be mean about it."

"Sorry," I was actually feeling guilty for hurting a hallucination's feelings? How far gone was I now?

The elevator stopped, and I lowered my voice, as she followed me out and walked beside me.

"It's okay, you're probably a little upset, huh?"

"Just a little bit. What am I supposed to do? I'm seeing things that can't be, talking animals, pictures of women that flash me... I'm here right now, having a conversation with a person that isn't here... wouldn't you be upset?"

"I am upset, because you're still being mean. Just because I don't exist doesn't mean you have to keep reminding me."

"I'm sorry," I sighed, "I'm not trying to be mean."

She grinned, "So what do you think of my shirt?"

"It's a cartoon cat."

"I know, it's pretty bitchin, right?"

"Pretty, yeah."

"I like it, too."

"So, how old are you?"

"I'm nineteen. Sort of..."

"What do you mean, 'sort of?'"

"Well, I'm not really any age, I suppose. Anyway, I gotta go. I'll see you later, I guess... bye!"

I watched her as she walked off, disappearing around the corner of the building.

I went back to my apartment gathered things to donate, others to pawn off, and then called Nate.

"Hey man," I greeted, "Just wanted to let you know that I lost my job, and I'm moving out of my apartment."

"Geez, I didn't think you'd take it so literal!" he replied, shocked.

"Nah, the job thing just kinda happened. I quit rather than submit to a drug test. The apartment thing is just a consequence of having no money for the rent. By the way, did you want my TV? Otherwise, I'm gonna pawn it."

"Shit, dude," he sighed miserably, "I really fucked your life up, didn't I?"

"Maybe a little, but I can't say I've been bored, what with all the interesting people I've been meeting lately."

"What people?" he became suspicious, "Were they asking about me?"

"Calm down, dude," I laughed, "No need to worry about these people. Anyway, I'll call you when I get a chance, okay?"

"Where're you gonna be staying?"

"I'm checking into a psychiatric hospital."

"What?"

"Relax," I said, "I'm cool, man. I'll handle it."

"Shit. Just be careful, dude."

I assured Nate I would, and hung up. I looked around at all of my things, mostly boxed up, except for the things I wished to donate or sell. It didn't seem to be very much, seeing it like this. It was a little depressing. So I went to the fridge, got a beer, and opened it.

"Are you sure you ought to be drinking that in your condition?" Dr. Suttelmyre eyed the beer bottle in my hand.

"I think it's the perfect thing to do in my condition," I replied and took a swig, feeling it burning my throat a little.

He chuckled, "I think you're starting to get used to all this."

"As opposed to what?"

"Well, you could be freaking out, wearing a tinfoil hat to keep the malevolent radio waves from stealing your thoughts and beaming them up to the mother-ship that hovers just above the planet."

I laughed, "Tinfoil hats are so eighties."

"In that case, it's just about time to bring them back, don't you think?"

I took my beer into the living room, dropping onto the couch.

"So how do you know that we don't exist?" he asked, "And maybe none of this is real?"

"Don't start in on Matrix shit, okay? I've got plenty enough to deal with."

"I'm just saying, how do you know? Perhaps perception dictates reality."

"And maybe I'll have to perceive myself getting drunk and falling asleep on the couch. What do you think?"

Dr. Suttelmyre clucked his tongue, "Alcohol won't solve your problems. When you wake up, you'll still be completely fucked in the head."

"Don't they teach you guys not to say shit like that in college?"

"What do I know? I don't even exist, right? Anyway, I call it like it is."

I drained my beer, setting the bottle aside. I didn't feel like getting drunk anyway.

"Do you know a chick named Virginia?" I asked suddenly.

He blinked at me, confused, "No, why should I?"

"I figured that since you're all in my head, you would all know each other."

"We are Legion," the doctor joked , "For we are many!"

"Fuck off, doc," I shook my head, "Quit fucking with my head, will you?"

"But that's my job description. I 'fuck with peoples' heads.'"

I threw my empty beer bottle away, flopped back down on the couch, and he was gone.

I fell asleep on the couch, and dreamed that I was walking through an enormous, cavernous room. Along the walls were boxes, all marked with my memories, thoughts, perceptions of people I'd met all throughout my life, and every tidbit of knowledge I'd ever learned. I walked through aisles cluttered with boxes, stacked higher than I could see. I started down another aisle, and there was Virginia, wearing a pretty, mint green sun dress, sifting through the contents of one of the boxes.