The n-Body Problem

I only make it halfway through the alley and have to lean against the brick. There is a sharp pain in my stomach. And it’s distended now to the point where it handicaps me. I push a hand in. Very soft. Like it’s full of water. I can feel a corner of the liver is hardened. Cirrhosis? Maybe. Too much anxiety about meds. Too much looking at the sky. This could be big. All my pushing has made me need to shit. I drop my pants and slide my back down the wall. It comes out as water. Like a tap I turn on under my nuts. I bounce over as it moves around my feet. There’s more. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s irritable bowel. I watch the dark leafy fluid run down the alley. If there’s blood then I am fucked. Crohn’s disease would explain the pain. Longitudinal ulcer in the large intestine. Inflamed, even morbid, splenetic plicture. Could explain the hard liver. Spleen might be going up too. What a mess. I study my shit for blood. So far nothing. What would be the outcome? Without steroids I might bleed to death. God, I regret dumping all those benzos now. Sometimes they can be magic. Feel good and everything falls back in line. I need a full spectrum light too. I finally stop shitting. I close my eyes and try to recall the scent of cedar, but all I’m getting is the bland filth rolling down this alley. I pull up my pants. The fabric fuses to my ass and wicks the muck up. Did he say there was a stream? Gotta be. Gotta move.

I launch off the wall and fall down. My palms in shit. No blood. I crawl to the dry wall. A loud fart that opens my body from asshole to mouth. I wonder if there were any opioids in that box. Fuck. That’d be great. Shut the digestive system down like it had a switch. Hard as hell to live clean. Not so sure it’s the best idea anymore. It feels like something is hanging off me. I can feel gravity on my belly. I stand. My belly is bigger. This is in my abdominal cavity. This isn’t Crohn’s or IBS. This could be far worse. Definitely cancer. And lots. I’m cascading here. I think I know what it is. I’m afraid to say. Sometimes accepting contains it and sometimes it just blows the shit right up.

“Holy shit. Are you okay?”

I sit on the ground and pull out my pad.

“Go back to the shed. Check the box for these.”

I write: Diazepam. Lorazepam. Xanax. Tylenol 3. Fentanyl. Oxicontin.

’“But, I thought…”

“This is an emergency. Emergencies are different. Don’t bring back anything but these.”

He drops a razor, soap, shampoo, and a huge tub of Vaseline on the ground. Grabs the list and runs. I’m scaring the hell out of this kid. He does not like it when grownups shit themselves.

I call out after him.

“I’ll be in the goddam river!”

Y turns the corner.

“Hey! Is there a river?”

It’s not quite a river. A stream. A crick. A mom nursing by the slide. A couple small bridges. Some trees. Big willows. Back up there there’s poplar. Birch. Manitoba maple. Lots of scrub. Don’t know what I was picturing but this ain’t it. Can’t live in a fuckin’ birch tree.

I salute the mom from a distance. It’s something I’ve picked up. Saluting teen moms with rape babies. The banks are landscaped and have good dropped shoulders so I can sit out of sight. I kick off my shoes and work the pants down. Just gonna lay all this under rocks and rub myself on the grass like a dog. There is strain on my rib cage. My lungs are pulling shallow. Pain hits again. Cold, waxy sweat rubs off solid in the grass. I am really fucking sick now. Hands and feet buzzing. Peripheral neuropathy. Feel like heavy socks and gloves. Could be unrelated. Who knows? If this is a cascade then I could have minutes. Shit.

I lie still on my side. I can feel some light on my naked body. Bad light is still bad light. I should cover up, but I’m dying.

“Shit! Shit! Hey! Talk to me!”

That’s Y. I must have drifted off. I’m shivering. He sits me up. I can’t stop shaking. There’s shit soaked into the grass around me. White vomit on my arm.

“What do you want? What do you want?”

The stroke egg is strobing. Y shoves the box into my hands. He brought everything. I thought I said…

“Just take something!”

Hard to read. My eyes feel dry and sticky.

“Oxycontin.”

Y flips the bottles around in the box.

“Here! Here! How many?”

I can feel a thick python separate my lungs.

“Six.”

I eat them like peanuts. Make a paste. Hold it sublingually. That’s the way. By the time it’s in my throat I can feel my toes curl a bit. A warmth in my eyes. A harmonica.

“What else? What else?”

“Diazepam.”

Y digs.

“Nope. None.”

“Shit. Ok. Lorazepam.”

Y pulls out a long thin bottle.

“They 1s or 2s?”

Read it, pal. Read.

“2.”

“Ok. Then four.”

I hold them under my tongue till they disappear. Lorazepam leaves the system after about eight hours. They’re tougher in large doses than diazepam, which sits in you for a good long while. My arms turn to pillows. My shoulders into smooth falling sacs. I close my eyes. I greet the egg. It is my old friend. No one has seen you. No one knows what you are. You are mine.

“Better?”