Scientists discovered how to manipulate the brain by figuring out which chemicals work, specifically opiates, and how they attach to receptors found in the brain and spinal cord. They found which chemicals reduce the pain message that is reverberating through the raw and open wound in my heart, and I couldn’t be more thankful.
I feel fucking great.
My limbs and muscles feel numb to the world—jello in the flesh.
Han who?
Feeling proud of myself for attempting not to care, I take another swig of my beer as Sidney interrupts my thoughts with his one of a kind, surfer slang.
“Hey man, if you wanna hit the surf, I’ll be glad to be your guide. Some killer waves comin’ in.”
He chugs the rest of his Corona, tossing the bottle in the recycling bin nearby.
“Nah, you go ahead. I think I’m just going to wander for a bit.”\
I check my phone, seeing missed call after missed call. Hawke, Silas, even fucking Tarah apparently called me, but none from her, so what does it matter?
Fuck, I did it again. I can’t stop myself.
“Maybe you should just tell her you’ll see her this weekend? She’ll be at Bran’s ya know.”
Bran’s?! Why the fuck will she be at Bran’s?!
I must be glaring at him because he puts his hands up, backing away slowly.
“Chill, man. I get you dig the chick, but don’t kill the messenger.”
“Is there a party there this weekend?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Uh, yeah. I guess,” he says while shrugging.
“Are you going?”
“I might make an appearance.”
“Bring Han with you,” I demand.
“Woah, man, I’m not trying to get in the middle of—”
“Just give her a fuckin’ ride, Sid. Make it happen,” I snap.
He shrugs, muttering what sounds like ‘whatever man’, shaking the hair out of his face like a wet golden retriever, before reaching around the shitty screen door and grabbing for his board that’s leaning outside of the small beach shack.
I leave his place after an afternoon of drinking, meandering my way around the block, absorbing my numbness paired with my buzz. I decide to take a walk before I drive back to Cam and Cole’s. Another DUI is not in my future. Getting another one of those before even starting my class this week wouldn’t be a good look, even for me.
I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, but I head towards a torn up road with a few small shops lining it.
A homeless man sits on the corner of the block, playing with the long thin strands of his beard. He tips from side to side like a metronome to the tune of “Helter Skelter” by The Beatles, pouring from a tiny old radio on the ground behind him.
I walk closer, feeling my pockets for change, when I hear him murmuring a phrase again and again.
“The duck can talk. THE DUCK CAN TALK. The duck can talk.”
I pause at the phrase that hits me in the gut, staring straight at this crazed madman when I catch his eye.
“You know it too,” he whispers in shock while he points at me. His bushy eyebrows shoot up as his eyes widen, exposing the yellow discoloration there. “THE DUCK CAN TALK!”
“Larry! Knock it off. I told you I’d make you leave if you did it again. You’re scaring away my customers.” An older gentleman interrupts the crazed man, turning to face me. “Come on in, son.”
I look around me, noting the tiny shop with rusted toys and bicycles pouring out of the entrance. Dressers, tables, random wooden chairs all line the sidewalk into the business that’s called Gerald’s Gems.
I look at the burly man wearing a stretched out t-shirt, yellowing in the armpits. His pants are held up by suspenders, the suspenders donning a pin that has the name Gerald on it. I give him a side-eyed glance, questioning if this is truly the type of place I should enter.
“Have a look around. Tell me whatcha think.” His southern accent is thick as molasses, and his whitish-grey hair is in a tangled mess behind him, wrapped into some sort of low ponytail to keep it out of his foot long beard. “I’m Gerald, by the way.”
He extends his hand, shaking mine as he about snaps all the bones in my hand with his handshake. A light cry leaves my throat at the pain that not even the opiates can mask.
“Have at it,” he says, nodding to dismiss me.
The place is straight out of fucking nightmares. It’s hoarding hell. Vintage signs, old farm equipment, creepy ass dolls, old paintings, classic radios…you name it, it’s in here.
I weasel my tall ass through the tight aisles, the smell of musk and metal filling my nose. I do a lap, touching a few things here and there to take a closer look before I see a handwritten sign taped to the wall that says, ‘You Break it You Buy it’. Not today, Gerald.
Walking towards another section, I take notice of an entire wall of taxidermy mounts. I stand before it, eyeing each of them. Six deer heads, two raccoons, four ducks of varying species, a fox, and four fish mounted together in some sort of disgusting death collage.
My heart immediately aches for Han. She’s all I can ever think about. Drugs and alcohol don’t come close to touching the deep-rooted discomfort that comes from her shutting down on me. Nothing will. Only her. She’s my cure, she’s my remedy, she’s my only rehabilitation away from the colorless life I knew.
I wince in pain, swallowing down what feels like tears attempting to spring free from the torture of losing her to herself.
“They aren’t in pain anymore, son,” Gerald’s rough voice interrupts my thoughts.
I clear my throat, realizing I must’ve been looking at these dead animals all sad and crazy.
“No, I was actually thinking of adding to my collection,” I lie, scratching the side of my head.
“You collect Taxidermy?”
“Sure do,” I lie again.
“What is it with kids these days? Into weird shit because of that TakTak, or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s another young lady always calling here, asking for some animals. Crazy as hell, you kids and your trends.”
My heart literally stops beating inside of my chest.
“Really? Who is she?” I ask, needing more.
“I don’t know her real well or nothin’, she just popped on by one day askin’ for ‘em, then calls every week or so to see if any passed my way. You two should meet up, share your love of dead animals. I could be a real cupid here, wouldn’t ya know it?” He laughs to himself.
“You should give me her number,” I suggest. “Or put in a good word for me.”
“I would, but I reckon she’s got some stuff going on, ya know”—he points to his head—“up there.”
I arch my brow in question. What does he know that I don’t?
“Word on the street is her mother was the one who died near here a few years ago. Killed herself in front of her daughter and everything.”
My stomach hits the floor.
“W-word on the street?” I clear my throat, feeling the need to vomit, wondering how he could possibly know such detailed information.
“Just small talk that passes through towns.” He explains, as if I have no idea what the phrase means. “Yeah, that’ll mess ya up, seeing your mom kill herself like that.”
I can’t feel my limbs, and it has nothing to do with drugs.
Han saw her mother kill herself? In front of her. Her husband was cheating on her with another woman, and Han’s mother killed herself. She didn’t just find her; she did it in front of her. Holy shit.
How could Han ever believe that love is worth it when her only example showed her just how disgusting and horrifically heartbreaking the world can be? She shuts off love to keep herself alive in a world filled with deception, disloyalty, and death.
“She seems to handle it well, I guess. She’s always smiling. Great smile, that one,” Gerald continues. “And I like them piercings, too. Little work of art, that one.”
Ignoring his strange comment, I think about how she’s actually handling it. She’s not handling it well. She’s not handling it at all. That’s her roadblock. It’s the reason she bends time, the reason she fears death and connection the way she does. She’s seen the worst side of it and it’s quite literally haunted her ever since.
I vaguely remember our conversation at the cove about how uncontrolled and intractable life was. She made it a point to voice that because everything around us felt so unconstrained that having the ability to change your path and alter your own reality was the only way towards some sense of freedom. The thought of that unrelenting torture makes me sick to my stomach.
“Do you ever see any little animals that look like they could be a part of a gothic mariachi band?” I ask, bringing myself back to the present.
“Excuse me?”
“Taxidermy, where the animals are dressed up in a band?”
“That’s extremely weird.” He narrows his eyes, looking me up and down.
Says the man who owns a hoarding business.
“But anything like that coming through already has claim to it.”
“Han,” I say out loud.
He cocks his head at the mention of her name, his brows lowering.
“Who are you?” he asks suddenly, seeming suspicious.
I sigh, feeling the weight of that question for an entirely different reason. It’s the whole reason I’m here, right? In California, away from my shit life back home, to figure out who I truly am.
I rest my hands on top of my head, looking back over at those dead animals, wondering what kind of lives they lived before they became permanent wall decor in a hoarding shop from hell.
Shaking my head, I answered his question in all honesty, “I’m just a shattered fool in love with a broken girl.”
He scratches his beard. “Sounds like you both have some mending to do.”
I nod, trying to figure out how to even begin that.
“It all starts with that reflection in the mirror,” he continues.
I look back at him, understanding his statement entirely.
“The problem is finding the motivation to better myself.”
“If love and a good woman ain’t motivation enough, I don’t know what is.”
My lip pulls into a grin as my eyes find him leaning casually against the glass counter.
“Thank you, Gerald.”
“Sure thing, son. But you sure I can’t convince you to buy anything today? We have a sale on cassette tapes. All the classics,” he says in his best sales voice, showing off a box of cassettes on top of the display counter.
I grab five different cassette tapes, tossing them on the glass, before seeing a few boxes of various treats and snacks lined along the checkout. Grabbing a bag of gummy worms, I throw it alongside my newly acquired music and finish checking out.
I walk towards Larry on my way out of the shop. He’s still facing the street, shaking side to side and humming to himself as he does it.
“Larry?” I ask, interrupting the conversation he’s having with himself.
He turns slightly, as if hearing something, before fully turning around to face me. He looks at me questionably.
“How do you know my name?”
“I was just out here a minute ago. Gerald mentioned it.”
He tips his chin back, still looking suspicious. He doesn’t remember me at all.
“Here,” I say, holding out the bag of cassettes. “For you.”
He quickly grabs the bag from me, peering inside and smiling as he goes through them. He immediately grabs his little radio, switching out the one inside for Aerosmith’s Greatest Hits, and begins his rock to a new beat.
Smiling to myself, I turn towards the street again with my gummy worms in hand, heading back towards Sidney’s.
“You belong together, you know!” Larry calls out, making me stop in place in the middle of the street.
I turn back to face him, my expression ghost-like. His face melts itself into a huge knowing grin, almost resembling the Cheshire Cat, as he sits on the curb with his new music.
“You fix each other,” he calls out. “But only after all the pieces have broken, all the cracks in place.”
I chuckle at the irony of this moment, this place.
Some may call him crazy. Most may think he’s mad. But I know deep in my soul, the most valuable gem is not even in the shop.
