BEATING 2000
He clicked off his flashlight and asked, quite pointedly, “son, you on drugs?”
Several officers stood like statues around the dramatic scene at daybreak.
“Oh sir, absolutely, 100% on drugs sir yes,” I admitted.
Ok so when you’re caught move onto plan B.
Also, at least try to have one great plan.
Now of course if you’re stupid or impulsive or whatever else stops people from making a great plan then sure, yeah, a good plan will do, whatever, but ONLY in a pinch.
And then of course two viable backup plans. Not fer nothin but this might be a good time to look up the word viable. Just saying.
Anyways…
The EMT looked at me as if I was a child and asked, “what are you under the influence of right this moment?”
Before I could answer an officer, let’s call him Officer Douchebag, perhaps a fresh cadet, asked if any of the drugs were left and said, “Ima be searching the car, anything left over we should know about? You seem to be in the mood to tell the truth, or you’re too stoned and stupid to lie.”
“No massa sir massa the drugs are all gone sir please sir cept my apologies for robbing you of a dramatic daybreak drug bust at a heavily trafficked gas station.”
I felt triumphant.
Officer Douchebag was displeased. He made a displeased face.
The homeless man eating the Austin Chronicle cackled and gave me a thumbs up.
Ego boast.
“Rob us?” The officer struck an oddly conciliatory tone and said, “I’d say we have an entertaining scene already, wouldn’t you? Ok the breakdown: we have a 26-year-old who drives a 1997 intrepid and had a hallucination in a 7/11 about a dancing chocolate doughnut and then stripped down to his boxers for the good of the nation. That about sum it up? Oh, wait it doesn’t! First you went into the restroom to put on your cape which,” Douchebag pretended to be looking around and the others mimicked him like apes, “which fer the life of us we cannot find.”
“Stars and stripes sir.” I saluted.
“I’m sorry?” Officer Douchebag shocked I held my notch.
No notch droppage.
“My boxers. Stars and stripes. America baby!
*******
Almost there. Need more.
No you don’t!
Pause!
Time out!
Freeze!
Whatever you want to call it just hold the phone and let’s take a beat here and put some shit into context.
My name is Adrian Mohammed Khdeir-Alvarez. It’s a lot I know.
My parents broke all kinds of oppressive ‘traditions,’ or whatever. At least that’s what my mom says. They had tons of sex out of wedlock for starters. She’s a Latina with swag and suffers no bull shit and is Catholic. Very Catholic. And my dad…isn’t.
Look over my shoulder. See it?! Yeah, that’s me sitting in my boxer shorts on the curb outside the 7/11 on Oltorf and 35.
I worked up the nerve to say some words out loud and I’ll concede it wasn’t a cerebral moment but with everything frozen he was the only person to ask.
“Say while they’re all standing still can I bum a smoke?” I asked, wondering who he was.
“Sure, kid long as it gets us talkin, I mean it’s your show” the detective-looking man said. He had an old school mentality with a Columbo-style look.
“So what’s yer name?” I asked.
“Jasper Hollinsworth.”
“I’m-“he cut me off.
“Please don’t it’s an earful. No offense it’s just early and frankly yer weird and I’ve got a hangover like you wouldn’t believe,” he lit a cigarette and rubbed his temples.
“Bad huh?”
“Spewing from both holes my Mexican Mohammed…both holes indeed.”
“Jesus! you just shared all that, the entire world is frozen around us in suspended animation and my name is too weird fer you? Ima be honest its gunna be hard to know where the boundaries are for you sir.”
“Eh well you do a job for 30 years and uh,” he exhaled, “loses some of its bang. Besides you say boundaries like this is gunna take long. It won’t. It can’t.”
Jasper lit another cigarette and adjusted his fedora.
“So Mr. Hollinsworth-“
“Jasper please call me Jasper.”
“Ok Jasper, are you a detective? A lawyer? A cop? Like a specialist?”
“Yes.”
“Yes to which thing?”
Columbo lookalike assessed the situation and then looked at me with a stern expression like he was a disappointed teacher, mentor, or even worse, my dad.
“Let’s get down to the brass tacks kid we only have 2,000 words to work with and you look like yer,” Jasper looked at me head to toe and grunted a grunt of disgust, “well yer a fuckin mess. You smell. Also, I don’t like you.”
“Why even add that?”
Columbo-lookalike shrugged.
“Look you called a time out to reality to work all this out and add context, whatever the hell that means, so here we are.”
Columbo lookalike felt for me.
“Ok look, so you said you took drugs. Are you an addict? What’d you take? When did this all start? Do you tango with day old doughnuts routinely?”
“No. I mean yes. To the drugs. Whatchu mean about doughnuts?”
“Forget it we’ll circle back,” he said, writing in a tiny notebook.
“Am I going to jail?”
“Settle down would you please I mean look this isn’t the crime of the century you’re just a lowlife loser.”
“Wow. Just wow.”
“Wow, rich lexicon,” he mocked.
“Why are you even here?”
“A much better question is why are you? In your, umm, condition?”
I had to be dead. To be sure I decided to walk into traffic. Only nothing was moving. I walked over to a hotshot looking business dude frozen at his pump. He was playing pocket pool when I called time out. So, there he was pumping gas while foundling his dick and balls. All while wearing a $3,000 suit. Think of all the hands he’ll shake later!
“Don’t even think about it!” Jasper ordered.
“What?” I asked.
“Anything inappropriate or exploitative. Goosing that lady’s ass, keying rich dude’s tesla, all of it. Tell me what you remember. We’re already halfway out of time.”
I could swear I saw my friend Rajai in the crowd.
“I’m a writer who doesn’t write,” I blurted out. Embarrassed.
“Writer’s block?”
“Yeah. I think.” I was distracted.
“You try prompts? Search the world wide web?”
“Yes. Yes, I did those things. But there’s a contest and I have to show them all something.”
“You took a gap year, didn’t you?” Jasper asked out of the blue.
“A few,” I said, confused, sweating, “does that matter?”
“Naw it’s just a bad idea my daughter did the same thing.”
“And?”
“She ended up workin a pole down at Titties in the City.”
“Jesus sir I’m sorry,” I said while picturing my last lap dance there. Was it his daughter?
“For what it’s worth I hear it’s like, I mean it’s better than others. Not like I know firsthand.” I said, and Jasper looked at me with disgust.
“Yeah right whatever my kid worked a pole but I’ll tell you what she never half assed anything,” Jasper caught the words as they were spoken and I pulled a muscle trying not to laugh, “anyways she got ideas for stories and worked the lunch crowd.”
“So she graduate or like what’s the story,” I asked, seriously wanting to know, “did she, I mean like is she writing stories? Doing her thing?”
Jasper threw his cigarette on the ground and said, “she hanged herself with a guy’s tie. Just another John. So, there’s only a few grains of sand in the hourglass. We can have tit talk another day.”
I was disgusted with myself. Just the thought.
“I started slow with some shrooms. My buddy Scuba Steve said to micro dose to help me think,” I confessed.
“Scuba Steve huh?”
“Yeah scuba.”
“That’s fuckin stupid and unoriginal.”
“Ok,” I was getting pissed.
“Look there’s no uniform answer. There’s some basics, you know they call them axioms or precepts. I forget which. Perhaps both. My point is Scuba Steve? Some characters should be place holders, but the others have to be regular-ish. Take risks, put you characters in tenuous and precarious situations. I mean that happens in life, no?” Columbo lookalike laughed and coughed a phlegmy cough.
But he wasn’t completely wrong. Right?
“Are you a teacher?” I asked him. I was growing anxious with only a few hundred words left.
“No and you’re wasting more time so continue.”
I bummed another cigarette.
“Ok so I did some of the stuff the…ah the,” I drew a blank. Complete darkness.
“Shrooms,” Jasper helped.
“Thank you yeah those and tried to dream about my story. It’s like it’s in there but I can’t channel it to paper,” Jasper was reading a half-eaten copy of the Chronicle.
“Are you even listening?” I asked, irritated.
“I absolutely am!”
“Really cause it looks like yer reading Jake’s breakfast.”
“Jake huh?”
“Yeah and yer an ass. Give it back. It’s not yours and its wasting time like you love to point out so often.”
“You could tell me more about this Jake I bet. I mean not his real name of course but of course…”
We shared an awkward laugh that was akin to when someone writes ‘lol’ in an awkward text.
A placeholder.
“How’d you know? I mean fer all you know I come here daily and know him.”
“If you do who cares? Ok so shrooms and no masterpiece in 2000 words or less. What next?”
“Well the deadline is tonight at midnight,” I said wondering how long time would stay still.
“So what? Sample platter?”
“I mean basically. I did some meth and then things were sailing right along. I was writing. Then, right when I’m in the zone, full effect, I get this sensation. Like I felt like I was infested with bugs in my skin so I took a few Xanax to even things out.”
“Whoa kid, that’s overkill. Literally. No more drugs.”
“I know…so is that it? I’m dead?”
“I didn’t say that stop being a crybaby I just meant that’s quite the smorgasbord.”
“Yeah, not exactly wine tasting I know.”
“You’re a real piece of work you know that?” Columbo-lookalike got within an inch of my face and looked very distressed. “Wine tasting? Jesus.”
“I’m sorry. All I want is to figure one thing out. Do one thing right,” I said, growing desperate.
The stillness of the city was mesmerizing.
“Don’t apologize its ok. But we have about 200 words.”
“Ok we got this.” I said, feeling motivated.
“I don’t like you.”
“Can you stop saying that?”
“Stop wasting your own time and maybe.”
I wanted to choke this man, but he was all I had. He arrived out of nowhere and looked unassuming enough to be a secret genius. Maybe the insults were part of the process?
“That’s twice now,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Twice I’ve seen my buddy Rajai in this crowd.”
“Probably related. So what was so important to write that you had to take so many drugs?”
“I tried everything, lots of great writers were drug addled wild cards and they wrote beautiful things. Others are so talented it just sorta flows.”
“Naw c’mon that’s not true. It’s a grueling process I’m told. Comparisons can help and hurt so walk that tightrope as carefully. Or just avoid it and never take a chance. That’s what most people do anyway.”
“I just feel like I’m against the clock. Beating down my thoughts. Ruining them. Beating 2000.”
“For you it’s good practice. Less is sometimes more. With limits you gotta make sure every word has value and packs a punch. You need practice, not drugs. I gotta go!”
“Adrian.” Many voices. Blurry faces.
Rajai stood over me, “Adrian, he’s up, holy fuck you were out. Cancel 9-11 we’re ok.”