It might help you understand if we get this straight. I wasn’t bitten by anything, and I didn’t flip the wrong switch, or trim the tail of the dimwitted squirrel with ancient rusty scissors…
I slept on the sofa and woke up in hell.
It’s a little like an emergency room. Boring, overlit, full of people who don’t look at each other. Because if they did, they’d have to decide who needs the doctor more.
The vending machine looks promising but all the candy hangs undescended.
Where is the person in charge? Where are the people in white coats? Or, after a while, I’d settle for an army. I need someone to kick. Not that chubby lunatic, he’s growing nettles in a flowerpot. And not that child flipping a quarter over and over, without checking the odds.
The atmosphere in here is terrible. I really hope hell has an outside.
A fire alarm occurs to me, so I pull it.
A chestnut occurs to me, so I chuck it at a businessman’s chest and he vanishes. I try it again with the nun. Some tricks only work once.
Where’s the door, I ask the nun.
What’s a door, she says.
What about stairs, any stairs?
We used to have those.
What happened to them?
You have one good picnic and it all goes to shit, you know?
Nothing else happens. I was hoping, I realized, that three questions would make something change. Maybe they were not the right questions. Maybe there is some other procedure I need.
I go and kick the vending maching. A pack of cinnamon gum falls down. Gross. But there’s nothing for it, I chew.
And goddamnit, there, in fact, is an open door. I spit out the gum. Don’t want to overshoot the mark and end up closing it.
A soldier is sunbathing on the hood of a tank.
I ask him doesn’t the metal get hot in the sun?
Everything is the same temperature here. Don’t be sad though, it could be worse. The other hell is unbearable. That’s the one that knows what you want and gives you something painful instead. Here it’s just—
Boring?
You’re just catching us at siesta time. The television will come back on.
Then what happens?
Everybody dances!
Wait, did you say hell?
Of course. Bien sûr.
Ok, ok. That’s what I thought. Is it, like, a permanent thing? My being here?
Hmm. How did you get here?
I fell asleep on my sofa.
Oh, wrong bed? You’ll be fine. Temporary. Someone will take you back home. Probably soon.
You mean I’ll wake up?
You’re not asleep, I told you, this is hell. But it was voluntary.
Voluntary!
You picked the wrong place to sleep.
It’s not like there was a sign to tell me that.
There never is.
Should I get rid of the sofa?
It’s usually a one-time thing.
Usually.
Yeah, you should probably get rid of it. Or maybe burn it. You should be more careful where you sleep. Look, you really want to be out of here before the dancing starts.
Why?
Well it gets pretty steamy some days. Not days, we don’t really have those, it’s a figure of speech. But sometimes the dancing gets steamy and then you’ll want to fuck people and you won’t leave.
Is this like mythology how you’re not supposed to eat things in the underworld?
No, no. It’s all still voluntary, but the fucking is so good, you won’t want to leave.
I see.
I’m a little worried for you, frankly, not to upset you. But I don’t see anyone coming to get you and it doesn’t usually take this long.
That is in fact quite upsetting.
The soldier climbs down into the tank and comes out with a skateboard.
You can take this.
Is it automatic or something?
No, no, it’s always a straight line back out. Just go straight.
For how long?
Hmm. Not sure. I’ve never done it.
Have you ever watched anyone leave?
Goodness no, that’s not allowed. We have procedures.
What if you drive me. In your tank. In a straight line.
I don’t want to end up at your house.
You might like it. I have a disco ball.
Tempting, but no. Just take the skateboard.
I’m scared.
You can always stay. I just think you should decide before the dance party. You want a free-will type decision. Not a horny decision.
Or an indecision decision.
God yeah, not that. You’d regret that. We try not to create regrets here. The thing is though, while you’re not deciding, while you haven’t decided yet, time stops passing. For you. But not where you live. Is your electric bill on autopay? By now you’re definitely going to have a hard time getting rid of the smell.
What smell?
The rotted food in your fridge.
I see.
So, clock’s ticking out there.
I really want a nap.
Look, it’s your life. You can nap in he tank, skip the fucking, and go home later when everyone you know is dead and your electricity has definitely been turned off.
Maybe I’ll flip a coin. There was a kid in there with a quarter.
Don’t go back in there. That’s for people who can’t figure out how to get out.
But I did.
Never works the same way twice.
I really hate cleaning my fridge.
Countries have invaded other countries for smaller reasons, though still usually related to electricity. Nobody at home you’ll miss?
I think if I left I’d miss you more.
I’m not the same person every day, day being a figure of speech again. None of us are. You won’t be either.
Will I remember each of them?
Who?
The person I was yesterday, etc.
Only the good parts.
That seems great!
You’d think. But you always have these nagging feelings. Like something bad probably happened. Look, if you don’t go back soon, your cat will be dead.
No cat.
Dog?
No dog.
Your house will go into foreclosure. You really should go.
I think I get it now.
You do? Which part.
How the real issue is we never stop having this conversation.
Well, sort of.
Sort of?
We have a different one every time.
What about the dance party? And the fucking?
Uh, no.
Now what?
Good question.
I’m going to go for a skateboard ride. Will you be here when I get back?
Yes. I might look different, but I’ll be here.
Do I even have a bed. Did I?
No.
This is awful.
That’s always the last thing you say.
The soldier waves.
I’ll see you when you get back. I always hope.
Hope what?
That next time you come back you’ll remember me.