Episode 14: Voices- Birthday Gifts

Episode 14- Voices

Grant’s 33rd birthday loomed. He thought of Jesus’ death. He lacked the accomplishment of the Savior, but knew his time to rescue was approaching. He hoped he wouldn’t be crucified for his forthcoming actions. The Voices’ nefarious plan scarred his forehead with thorns, as he wasn’t entirely aware of its round shape and weight.

Have faith, dear Grant. We know what’s best.

The female voice soothed with wine and honey; she rarely appeared, but he appreciated her now.

He was trying to piece the puzzled plan from the following stray elements: 6 days of saved pills (his and Jenkins), Ninety- nine spiders (four of the original 103 had eaten each other last night), and a letter from his sister saying she’d visit on his birthday with a specially smuggled present.

She’s bringing you whiskey Grant, but it’s not for your consumption. We have a plan. Accept the gift.

Grant hadn’t spoken to Susan since his admittance into the hospital. She loathed “Horizon Dawn” and blamed Carol for his breakdown. She didn’t believe in schizophrenia; he was an eccentric artist and functional alcoholic. Susan enjoyed enabling him and detested sobriety; he was more talented and prolific when drunk. She insisted his “Voices” were spirit guides from Medicine Wheel Shamans. Her theories rested upon magic and tarot readings. All he needed was a sweat lodge, some crystals to cleanse and a visit with his animal spirit. She would most likely manifest in the lounge with jingle bracelet, flowing skirt, burning sage and granola snack; she would be intoxicated.

You say it’s your birthday
Der ner ner ner der der
It’s my birthday too, Yeah.
Der ner ner ner der der
Took took took
Der ner ner ner der der
You say it’s your birthday
We’re gonna have a good time.

Grant had been saving pills for a week now, just as the voices directed, and their lack in Jenkins’ system was becoming more evident. Where he felt clarity, as the voices tuned into his brain crisply, Jenk’s mania overwhelmed the tiny room. He bounced and flittered jittering anxiously, yelling lyrics with frenetic air guitar and floor work. He taught himself to do the worm; his chin bloomed with deep purple bruising from the endeavor. Grant tried to explain the physics of break-dancing on a 300 pound frame, but the flabby man was determined and eventually successful after day four. The orderlies almost strapped him down on Tuesday assuming he was deep in seizure. Grant waved them away, “It’s ok guys, he’s learning the worm. His new obsession is 80’s music.”

“New obsession? Good luck, Man. Stay clear of the closing doors and watch your fingers.” They scoffed and closed the door pointing and snickering openly at the crazed floppy fat fish.

Dort singen's: "dreh' dich nicht um, schau, schau, Der kommissar geht um! Er wird dich ansch
au'n

“Christ, Jenkins! When did you learn German? I can’t understand you.” Dr. Jill began experimenting with Jenkins IPOD last month adding different 80’s bands. She asked Grant to take note of his lyrical communication choices. He had a new penchant for anything European.

“How many spiders are left?”

99 Düsenflieger Jeder war ein grosser Krieger

You have plenty. The time is coming very soon. Ask Jenkins to take his box to session this afternoon. Your sister will be here in five minutes. Leave now. We have a task for you on the way to the Lounge.

Grant donned his slippers and padded down the empty hall.

Third door on the right. Go in.

A pair of jeans and a non-descript orange polo shirt lay on the bench of the empty orderly changing area. They were his size.

“Where do I put them?”

There’s a paper bag in the closet. Take the shoes and the boxer briefs in the second locker to the left. Go to the sink. Open the mirror and take the tooth brush.

“They’re going to want to look in my bag.”

Trust Grant. Faith. It’s your birthday.

He exited the room undiscovered and calmly waved to the ladies behind the desk.

“Hey Grant. Your sister is here. She’s in the Lounge. Happy birthday.”

Susan carried an enormous bouquet of Gerber daisies and no whiskey. Her eyes held pity as she scanned his robe and slippers.

“I fucking hate this place. Look what they make you wear.”

“It’s rather comfortable. Underwear optional.”

“You always had a nice ass. I can say that; I’m you sister. I take pride in these things. You’ve been blessed by the Universe with hotness. You look like shit. When was the last time you got laid?”

Grant’s eyes widened, “They don’t let us do that in here; I suppose I could have my share of ass, but I’m partial to vagina.”

“Enough witty banter, Douche McCrazy, here.”

She shoved the heavy bouquet into his hands. He felt the bottle surrounded by stems.

“You are one clever bitch. I love you.”

They spoke briefly of nonsense and her time at Burning Man and his dog Sparky and her hatred of Carol’s new boyfriend and Sally. They talked most about Sally. She missed her Daddy’s finger puppet shows and asked about him daily. Susan was checking in with her as the new boyfriend was “off”.

“Carol likes ‘um crazy. Hell, she stayed with you for six years, but this guy? Smith is violent. He threw a glass at her feet and yelled at her to clean it up, and she did. I don’t trust him.”

Don’t worry Grant. The plan is in place. You’re leaving tonight.

“Thanks Susan. Thanks for the gift. I really appreciate the flowers.” He winked and left the table with bag and bouquet. No one questioned his gifts as he sauntered back down the hall to his room.

“We’re leaving tonight, Jenk. Bring those spiders to your session. We’re going to break that psycho before he hurts my Sally.”

P.S.Y.C.H.O.S. they gotta say yes to another excess
P.S.Y.C.H.O.S. das Mittlemaß der Dinge ihr einziger Stress
P.S.Y.C.H.O.S. they gotta say no to an average show
.S.Y.C.H.O. logical means it ain't not what it seems