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I.
Do you want to vanish, slip across dimensions, into a different world? Shut your eyes as tightly as possible. Control your breathing--alternate inhales and exhales every 5 seconds ... inhale, exhale ... inhale, exhale ... inhale, exhale ...
II.
The helicopters scream from the sky like high-tech birds of prey. On the deserted rooftop, there's no place to hide. I spread my arms wide. Dull thuds reverberate on the pavement. Dozens of Rubik's cubes bounce around my feet. One of the pilots says through a megaphone: "Don't be alarmed. We've solved them all for you!"
III.
Some magazine wants to interview me. I say, ”OK, but you'll also have to interview my dead parrot.” Knowing my penchant for absurdity, they agree. I answer all their questions as thoroughly as possible. They seem disappointed. "What about the parrot? We haven't heard a single response from the parrot!" I guess I should have seen that coming.
IV.
Try to imagine what it would be like to wake up with absolutely no memory of who you are, where you live, what you do every day. It's impossible. Too many details, slivers of life, remain. Even a blank page has form and dimension. Otherwise, it's just nothing. And you wouldn't want to be that. Would you?
V.
vivacious
vampire
trust fund
Amway
Mensa
pagan
astronaut
gelatin
Botoxin
OxyContin
Dexedrine
silicone
blonde
brunette
red-head
breathing
(These are terms I use to search dating sites.)
VI.
Darting in and out of the narrow passageways in a feeble attempt to flee from the diving chopper, I hail a taxi and scream, "Drive! Go! Go!" The radio squawks nonstop. I can only hear the dispatcher's side of the conversation:
"Is anyone available for a pickup at 101 St. Mary's Street? Any cabs around St. Mary's? Okay, 403. 101 St. Mary's. What, sir? Say it again, sir? Where's St. Mary's Street? Don't you have your street guide? Look it up. St. Mary's ... that's St. Mary's Street, sir. It's in your guide. Look at the map in your street guide. Look on your map or I'll give the job to another driver. That's right, St. Mary's. Number 101. Buzz the bottom buzzer and the lady will come down. What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. What! How can you not know St. Mary's? It's a major thoroughfare. That's 'thoroughfare' sir. Look it up. Look up "thoroughfare" in your dictionary, then you can look up St. Mary's in your street guide. What? You don't have a street guide! Look ... I can give the job to another cab, sir, doesn't make any difference to me. You should have a guide. A street guide. That's THE book. The book that will tell you where to go, that won't lead you astray. The ... WHAT?! Jeeeesus ... Oh, all right, all right. Take the right after Western Boulevard. That's right. R-I-G-H-T. You're there now? Good. That's okay, then. WHAT? Say again? Say it again, sir? She's not there? You're sure it's St. Mary's Street? You're certain about that? And you buzzed the bottom buzzer? Well ... buzz again! Try using a little ingenuity, sir. 'Ingenuity' ... you can look that up, too. Cab 403, what the hell's your problem? The lady said she was waiting downstairs and you never showed up. The lady. At 101 St. Mary's Street. You must have been at the wrong address. You must have taken a wrong turn. If you were at the right place, you would have seen her. She said you took so long, she came downstairs and was waiting. She's not invisible, 403, she's not some kind of ghost! If you'd been there, you would have seen her waiting. We're gonna have a talk when you get in, 403 ... just you and me, a nice long talk ... What!? What's that, 403? You're there now? You found St. Mary's. It's a miracle! Get out and ring the buzzer, 403, ring the buzzer and pray the lady appears. St. Mary's ... you've found it ... Hallelujah and Amen!"
We've been driving for 20 minutes by now. The cabbie smokes an absurdly thin, sweet-smelling cigar. Above the slanting telephone lines, the rotors pound like thunder.
VII.
You tell me you search dating sites by just one term: Insomnia.
"I haven't slept more than two hours a night in the last 15 years! I just got my private pilot's license! Are you going to finish your dessert?"
On the way out, I look at the sky. It's overcast and quiet, with vague cloud shapes churning...
"That one looks like a dead parrot!"
I ask what you mean by that. You answer in a vague way, "Just lost in thought. Never mind. I live right here, on St. Mary's Street! Don’t you just LOVE Monty Python?"
VIII.
When the magazine interview comes out, there's a Rubik's cube on the cover, with my face in every colored square. That's the price of fame.
IX.
Back at your place, I ask, "Have you ever imagined what it would be like to wake up with absolutely no memory of who you are, where you live, what you do every day?"
"That's impossible," you say. "Too many details, slivers of life."
I nod. "Even a blank page has form and dimension. Otherwise, it's just nothing. And we wouldn't want to be that. Would we?"
"Close your eyes," you say. "Try to regulate your breathing. Inhale ... now exhale ... "
X.
I'm on the roof. The cab driver's there, sans cigar.
"I was trying to vanish," I say. "To slip across dimensions, into a different world."
He shakes his head and tsks, tsks, tsks. "Yeah, Mac ... I know what you were doin'. But I willed you back into existence.” I shrug and he holds out his hand. “You owe me fifty-seven dollars!"
I give him three twenties and tell him to keep the change.
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