Search for Saturnight's Day (pt. 2)
-2-
click here to read pt. 1
“Wanna get astronomically high with me?” the neighbor asked.
Mardoon stood in the neighbors apartment. Behind him, a hallway leading to the unlocked door through which he’d exited the residential corridor; before him, his neighbor, reclining on one side, propping himself up on his left elbow.
Mardoon, whose first thought was that’s what you called me over here for, responded “Astronomically?”
Just moments ago, Mardoon recalled, it had been morning. (Hadn’t it?) But now, long shadows crawled up the walls, obscuring the neighbors face. Thin, long candles stationed sporadically around the apartment in candelabra squadrons acted as sentinels. These were the only sources of light—the windows had been blacked out. This constructed night of the neighbor’s apartment was darker than dark; as if the darkness he saw was not just the un-lit portions of the room, but anti-lit spaces against which the light itself seemed a sort of passive shadow.
“Yes sir.”
“Seems you’re already most of the way there,” Mardoon assessed the neighbor’s bloodshot eyes and the unmistakable reek in the air.
“Perhaps the part of me that isn’t there yet is the part that matters.”
“I don’t smoke anyway, you know that.”
“Yes you do. We have before.”
“That was a long time ago,” Mardoon admitted.
Internally, though, he did not recall smoking weed with his neighbor. The “long time ago,” he supposed, must have been quite awhile. But, his THC-addled memory never reliably served him. That was, he recalled, why he had stopped.
Mardoon sat beside the neighbors feet which rested on open end of the chaise longue. A rich velvety fabric. An audible creak in the wood.
“You don’t mind?” he asked.
“I,” he began, drawing out the ‘ah’ of the /aɪ/ diphthong, jaw relaxed, “never mind.”
“But, perhaps, you do,” He added. The neighbor leaned forward, reaching for the massive bong on the hexagonal coffee table. Mardoon watched as the glass piece followed the neighbor’s hand, moving effortlessly back toward him. The mouthpiece lined itself up with the the neighbor’s lips, and its bud-filled bowl caught the flame of the lighter he held in his opposite hand. The flame trembled against the darkness. For a moment, the neighbor lowered his shroud, and Mardoon caught a glimpse of the fire reflected in his eyes.
“‘Fickle little thing,’” said the neighbor, “I think, is what one is supposed to say.” Then he let the flame go out.
Mardoon enjoyed the smell. Burning flowers. He considered asking the neighbor to pass: lifted his hand to gesture. Then, another incomprehensible thought—Licht fesselt; Dunkelheit befreit. He didn’t speak German, but he figured this was the Germanic Spirit, sternly ordering sobriety. He reconsidered: his hand scratched an itch.
But, mid-scratch, Mardoon realized he could not recall his neighbors name. He did not want to appear rude by asking again. They’d lived next-door long enough that Mardoon ought to have remembered. The consequences of if he had, in fact, just taken a rip played in video-format in his mind: he’d excuse himself from the room, his mind consumed by the realization that he’d been unable to recall his neighbor’s name; I need to grab something, he’d say, from home, he’d add, it’ll only be a second, but of course, instead he’d sprint down the hall to the mail room where he’d locate his mailbox, to the right of which would be his neighbor’s; then he’d look at the name-tag below the unit number, remembering right at that moment, to his horror, that it only listed the first initial and last name, a terrifying inscription of F. Lastname; whereupon he’d begin to scheme up a way to mask this formality: referring to his similarly-aged neighbor as Mr. [Lastname]. Alas, he could not, and thus was so relieved that instead, he was just sober. Sober. Sober and couldn’t remember his neighbor’s name. Then something small and fluffy caught his eye.
“Who’s that little guy?” Mardoon asked, identifying a little white rabbit who appeared at his feet.
“She’s my pet rabbit,” the neighbor said, “I love her.”
“I love her too,” Mardoon said. And meant it.
Her little nose twitched; tall, perky ears moved independently of one another, attempting to isolate sounds and plot them in 3D space; a tiny chest heaved, breathing—as all rabbits do—rapidly and incessantly. She isn’t afraid, is she.
After another moment the rabbit scurried off.
“You let her run free around the apartment?” Mardoon asked.
“I let you run free around the apartment. And I trust you way less than her.”
“Ha. Still, you don’t worry she’ll eat something off the floor?”
At that moment, Mardoon’s focus shifted to the reality of the floor. Now, Mardoon apprehended it: piles of clothes everywhere—not even organized enough to be called piles, but loose assemblages of clothes and clothing-adjacent items, denser in some areas and less dense in others. Bottles of nail polish, hair care products and hare care products, medicine bottles, books, candy wrappers, electrical cords, doll arms, jars, ashtrays, board game pieces, and coins—all of these contextualized this space.
He continued to survey. Objects—ancient Egyptian relics, modern abstract art, Norse artifacts—appeared in this space. Mardoon marveled. He noticed a small LED strip which existed above a door. Mardoon had seen folks line the perimeter of their ceiling with LED strips. But this was not that. This was a single, foot-long strip which glowed with a sterile, blue light barely distinguishable from the darkness that threatened its existence. Mardoon had not noticed it before, the LED strip, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever notice it again once he would look away. Beside the door, a clock which had since stopped also hung silently on the wall. It bore the appearance of a rabbit.
Mardoon felt an overwhelming feeling come over him. It, the feeling, gripped his heart and for a moment. A pin prick had stuck him. He was concerned for a moment, thinking maybe its serious and he had to go to the hospital. But it went away pretty quick, maybe indigestion, he thought.
“I have work tomorrow,” he said.
“So?”
“So, I can’t stay all day. I have a project I want to work on today.”
“It’s almost 10 o’clock. I thought we were gonna go out.”
“What? Did I really waste away the whole day here?” Mardoon stared wide-eyed at his watch. Its digital interface definitely read 9:40pm. And although the last time he checked it had been 8am, there was no doubt that now a little “p” preceded the “m.” The realization sunk in now: yes, he had indeed spent all day here with his neighbor. “But… we didn’t even do anything,” he said.
“Speak for yourself. You met my rabbit.”
“Right, but that was pretty much it, wasn’t it? You called me in this morning and now it’s nighttime?”
“Maybe you fell asleep.”
“Do you not know if I fell asleep? You’ve been here with me.”
“Why don’t you know? Just check your file if it’s worrying you that much. Or better yet, forget that. ‘Cause you know what would quell your worries? Is if we went. I suggested that already. Somewhere cool.”
“I told you, I have work. And since when do we hang out anyway?” Mardoon couldn’t remember spending more than a few hours on the aggregate here over the last few years. But he also couldn’t remember his neighbor’s name.
“Since the dawn of this new day apparently. And with the coming of tonights new moon, the time for something wild is now.”
“Isn’t that usually full moons that make people act weird?”
“Only because you can see the wildness under the brightness of the full moon. What’s worse than that which is unseen in the shadow of the new moon. No way to orient yourself and avoid the ghouls afoot. Ghouls who would jump at the chance to get someone like… me. And maybe you, but probably mostly me. You’re too…” he drifted, “fungible.”
“I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means.” said Mardoon, who knew perfectly well the definition of ‘fungible.’
“So you’ll come with?”
“Exactly,” said Mardoon, because right at that moment he felt another spirit telling him it was the right thing to do. But the last spirit it occurred to him in an incomprehensible whisper. Thus his assent escaped his lips, even though he wasn’t sure he agreed with it.
“Perfect, I just got to get ready. It’s a whole thing. You can watch. I’ll get you ready after me.”
Mardoon followed the neighbor on the way to the bathroom. He walked in the footsteps of his neighbor who used his feet to make a walkable trail amidst the debris—pushing the assemblages to the sides with long, sweeping steps. On either side of the trail Mardoon saw layers of bits and bobs, knicks and knacks, bones and skulls, plushies and beanies, and dolls and fingernails…
click here to read pt. 3