Dark Side

        I didn't really know the AV guy at work all that well, so I really didn't feel much when he suddenly moved to West Virginia, other than a slight puzzlement, since I had never known anyone to move to West Virginia rather than away from it. All I knew about him was that he had a dog and taught workshops on how to wield a light saber.

        I'm surprised when one morning, a few weeks after his departure, I find myself dreaming I’m in the front seat of a convertible with Chris at the wheel -as you probably know, almost all AV guys are named Chris- driving like a maniac along the narrow country roads. I'm terrified, and yell at him to slow down. He laughs.

        "Are you drunk?" I ask.

        "Painkillers," he says with a grin. "Oh look, there's that artist I hate," Chris points to an old man standing with some other people in the front yard of a house. We speed towards them, screeching to a halt at the last moment. Chris backs up and lurches toward the old man a few times.

        When we finally stop, the old man approaches my side of the car. He leans over me and digs his thumbs into Chris' eyes, swearing "I'll teach you to mess with me and my family, you little bastard." Chris' eyes bulge and start to run out of his sockets as the old artist's thumbs dig deeper and deeper. The old man finally yanks his thumbs out, ripping off Chris' eyelids in the process.

        Walking to work a half hour later, I smile at a woman walking her tiny dog. “What are you laughing at, motherfucker,” she yells. 

        All day I feel anxious and unsettled, so after work I decide to run some pleasant errands, none of which I manage to accomplish. To cheer myself up, I have dinner at one of my favorite places, but the usually good service is bad and the food is fine but not that great. 

        On the bus ride home, I feel all the anger and jealousy and rage I've been suppressing lately begin to stir. My skull burns with the knowledge that everyone in my life has a partner or owns a house or, usually, both, and that I'm going to be fifty this year and will probably never have either of those things, or any sort of success with my art, and how unfair this all is, because after all I'm a good person who works hard and deserves good things as much as anyone, more so than many of these assholes in fact, and why am I such a fuck up that I can't seem to meet my very basic needs or be content with what I have or even get a decent fucking meal,

        These toxic thoughts bash themselves against the walls of their cell, desperate to escape. I don't let them out though, just sit with them and hope they wear themselves out like a child throwing a tantrum.

        I had left my phone at home, and when I get back to the apartment, there's a voicemail from a number I don't recognize.

        "Hey bro I don't know who the fuck this is or how you got my girlfriend's number and how you set up a voicemail on her phoone but if I find out, I'm gnna find you and I'm gonna hurt you."

        Knowing I should probably wait until I was calmer, I immediately send a text to the person. "Hey bro you have a wrong number. I don't appreciate being threatened by a stranger."

        An hour later I get a text back.

        "Yeah well my wife was strong armed robbed at gunpoint and they took her phone and now all of a sudden her phone number is linked to this voice mail which this voice is your voice"

        All ll I write back is "That's really strange. Hopefully the authorities will straighten this out."

        I can’t figure out if this is some kind of scam or just a genuine wrong number from a sociopath. I consider reporting it but decide to just wait and see if anything happens. I’m not so much frightened as angry. I am of course responsible for my own ugly state of mind, but I understand why people believe there are dark forces at work in the world, when it seems like no place is safe, when the threat of violence seems to be everywhere: screaming at you on the street, reaching through your phone, lying in wait for you in your dreams.