A Viral Menace to Society

[Editor’s Note: The following is the official transcript of an IRL (In Real Life) internet livestream which occurred on April 1, 2020. The entirety of the footage has been wiped clean from all Social Media platforms, and if any website has it uploaded for viewing, it is immediately taken down. Due to obvious legal reasons, not only has the name of the person filming the stream been changed, but the location of where it occurred in the United States will be left blank. I would like to thank the parents of the IRL Streamer who have given our publication permission to publish this transcript. They only had one condition: name their son “Idiot.”]

IDIOT: Hey, there mother******, it’s your good friend, ***** here. What’s up, playa’s? I’m just going to wait in my car here for everyone to arrive in the chatroom before I do this sh** here. 

(Idiot waits for about 10 minutes while listening to music on his car radio.)

IDIOT: Okay, we got a lot of people up in this chat. I see there’s just over two thousand of you here watching now. Cool. Okay then. This here I’m about to do is the great new internet challenge people have been doing since this stupid Covid lockdown started. The Old Normal Challenge. What it entails is simple, I go into the grocery store while livestreaming without wearing my mask, and ignore anyone who demands I put one on. And if anyone wants to donate some big coin, I’ve got my speaker on full blast, so whatever you put in the chatroom will be heard by everyone in the store. Now, come on and follow me. 

(Idiot gets out of his car. The camera faces him as he walks across the parking lot to the grocery store entrance. He passes through the automatic doors, and immediately starts walking up and down random aisles. The camera still faces him.)

IDIOT: (whispers into the camera) Well, well, I’ve walked by a few people — all wearing masks — and so far no one has said sh**. Looks like I’m going to have to up the ante in this bit**, and show you guys I got the cojonese. 

(Idiot gets near an old married couple browsing the frozen meat section. He edges himself as close as possible without them noticing, then fake-sneezes on the wife’s shoulder. The wife gasps in panic.)

HUSBAND: Hey, you f***er, don’t do that sh**. Where’s your damn mask?

IDIOT: My what? 

HUSBAND: Your mask, stupid. 

IDIOT: Mask? It isn’t Halloween, old-timer. 

HUSBAND: I’m getting a manager, you little bastard. 

(The old married couple walk away in great haste.)

IDIOT: (giggles, and whispers into the camera) That was fun. Come on guys donate, you can say some sh** when a worker gets to me. 

(Idiot moves down the aisle where the cereal is. Idiot then notices one of the managers coming toward him. He turns the camera to face the person.)

MANAGER: Sir, did you just sneeze on someone? 

(Idiot says nothing.)

MANAGER: Where is your mask, sir? You need to be wearing a mask. And you can’t be filming in the store with your phone. Not the whole time. Wait, are you doing that livestream crap? 

(Idiot says nothing. Then the speaker mounted on his shoulder sounds off a loud beep.) 

DONATOR: (in a robotic voice) Attention! C-FOUR has been successfully activated. Bomb countdown in ten seconds starting now!

(The Manager immediately turns and starts sprinting down the aisle.)

MANAGER: Everybody out! This crazy f*** with the backpack has got a f***ing bomb! Get to the nearest exit! NOW!

IDIOT: Holy sh**. Dude, I hope you donated a lot for that. I guess it’s time to leave. 

(Idiot starts walking to the front of the grocery store. When people see him they scream and sprint straight to the exit.) 

IDIOT: Man, if this place didn’t look empty before. Now it looks like the apocalypse just started ten days ago. I’d take some candy, but I don’t want to add theft to my conviction if I get arrested for this sh**. People, start donating for my bail money if I get cuffs on me. 

DONATOR: Here’s my two cents for your creativity.

IDIOT: Two pennies? I’m not asking for your thoughts. I know you gave more than that. Funny. 

(Idiot makes his way to the parking lot. He moves the camera around for his followers to see. It’s empty of people, but a male customer can be heard.) 

CUSTOMER: (distant) He just got out of the building, officer. He’s right there.

IDIOT: F***, a cop is already here. I’m gonna duck out of here. Where did I park the car? 

POLICE OFFICER: (distant) Stay where you are. Don’t move. 

IDIOT: Don’t worry, man, it was just a donation. My backpack just got my equipment for my live—

(The sound of gunfire from somewhere.) 

IDIOT: Hey, f***! I don’t got a bomb, you idiot. It was a donation! 

(Idiot ducks near a car.) 

IDIOT: Okay? It’s all fake. It’s just the Old Normal Challenge.

(More gunfire this time. Idiot takes off running to his car. Multiple more shots are fired at him.)

IDIOT: Sh**. F***. What the f***? Stop shooting! I don’t—

(More gunfire. Idiot makes it to his car, gets in, then starts engine.) 

IDIOT: Okay, everyone, looks like this is going to change into a straight up f***ing police chase. 

(Idiot begins driving through the parking lot. He removes the camera from the selfie stick and mounts it on a holder on the car’s dashboard. There’s distant gunfire heard outside over the sound of the roaring engine.)

IDIOT: Goddamnit, pig. Just don’t hit my tires. Okay, everyone start with the damn donations. Looks like not only for bail at this point, but a Johnnie Cochran lawyer. Probably a whole damn firm of them. How many of you are watching? 

DONATOR: Looks like almost twenty thousand watching.

IDIOT: All right, a new record. This’ll be worth it. Wow, more cop cars have shown up. 

(Sirens are blaring from outside the car as Idiot drives faster. The sound of tires screeching as Idiot attempts to maneuver through city streets.) 

IDIOT: Oh, f***. I could get out of this. It’s possible. But I could end up being a wanted man. So donate big time so I can be an on-the-run fugitive from the law. I can livestream from the woods — I got the equipment. Just don’t rat me out everyone, or you’d miss all the fun.

(There’s a crash so loud the sound is almost permanently lost, but is still good. The footage gets shaky, but miraculously the camera remains on the dashboard. The car was hit by a police cruiser from the side, which caused Idiot’s car to roll four times before landing on it’s wheels. Idiot is slumped out of frame for a moment, then his head rises. Blood is flowing out of his nose and mouth. He looks weak. He spits out some blood before speaking.)

IDIOT: Hope you guys enjoyed The Old Normal Challenge. 

(Idiot then passes out.)

DONATOR: Here’s 4.20 for your funeral. LOL.

An Early Midlife Crisis and The Angry Raccoon

As a good mother would ask their naughty son, "If everyone were jumping off a bridge, would you do it too?" I pondered this question the day after my 35th birthday and reminisced my father telling me at around 11 years old, "You can't make a living playing video games unless you make them as well." Wow, how times have changed in less than twenty-five years where I see young people becoming millionaires before hitting 20 years old before they can enter a bar and buy themselves a beer. I'm behind in the times, and I know it. If only the internet were what it is now when I was 15, my life would be different.

Is it jealousy? Honestly, yes. The thing is that by the time I got into my early 20's in the latter half of the early 2000s, I became a naughty child-adult, getting myself into using substances both legal and illegal (well, the illegal one is now legal in my state, but I digress) and partying like the world was going to end in one fine, painless flash. So my interest in playing video games dwindled into basic nothingness, and the fact that my Playstation 2 broke, and the original Xbox would no longer work soon after didn't help. The fact is, I gave up gaming before I even realized there were possibilities at making a living at it in front of an audience.

Two days after my 35th birthday, with a few beers in my belly, I decided to get my old Nintendo 64 out of storage in my father's garage. "Maybe I'll start one of those Twitch channels playing Super Mario 64," I thought. "Are kids these days even interested in watching a new old fart like me play it?" As I didn't bother answering these questions, I made my way to the garage's carport where my father housed the camping trailer. Behind it was a shelf he had built to house all the containers with all my various childhood goodies. I got a ladder that was hanging from the wall, stood it up, and took the steps to the shelf which had enough room on its surface for me to step onto it. As I stood bent over, moving the containers around, looking in each one to find where my Nintendo 64 was, I heard a growl. I said aloud, "Quiet, Bella," to my dog who I thought stood on the ground below looking up at my butt, wanting a treat. Then I heard another growl, and then an angry bark that kind of sounded like a pig. I immediately turned to yell at my precious Bella, but no one was there below. She wasn't around. The bark sounded again, but this time almost sounded like it came from a bear. It came from the corner of the shelf. I craned my head and saw what the sound was coming from: a fat, pregnant, angry Raccoon.

I was too drunk to panic. Too drunk to move at that moment. There are moments in our lives where it is better to be drunk than sober. If I were sober, I may have fallen off the shelf and broke my back, or screamed, moved fast towards the ladder, startling the nocturnal beast which may have caused her to bite me. But instead, all I felt like doing was playing my Nintendo 64 -- all I could think about was finding all the stars in Super Mario 64. So I simply said to the Angry Raccoon, "Look, I don't want any trouble, Little Bowser. Keep your little princesses, and have a wonderful family life. I just want to find my stars." I don't know why I used those words, but I do know the Angry Raccoon didn't attack me and let me go my way.

Am I Here? (In a Cursed Dream) [SAMPLE]

...with bloodshot eyes - and not a smidgen of THC in my body to be high - my mind was not thinking of one idea, but maybe hundreds, not heading in one tangible direction, but in far too many to count. Things in reality molded without changing, with its laws, rules, and concepts contorting not by my command, but randomly distorting due to my own distorted perception. This is not a tale of a terrible disaster, more like it's a self-destructive journey where everything is gold as I see it, and I feel completely and wholeheartedly superb while all those around me feel panicky, and maybe even scared for their lives as I attempt to find those who will guide me to my ascendence above all else in my messiah mindset. I don't know when it exactly began. Nobody who suffers a psychosis ever does; it just happens. For me, the problem was that it most likely started well before I even quit my job, a gradual build up where no spark is needed, and is more like a slow burn of a candle that is able to last nearly a year. Who the fuck knows. It's different for everybody, for every person, regardless of whether they suffer from a brain disorder or not, are like snowflakes, spending their whole lives falling from an indifferent sky, forming into something unlike their brethren surrounding them, and when they melt, they'll evaporate and start all over again when it gets cold. A lot of people don't like to think of life and death as being what I just described, but it basically is, and it's up to each individual to either deal with it, or pretend it's not true. Anyways, I guess you can say a psychosis is the peak, and mania is its slow ascendence. Though I had felt great, my time with Summer, losing my virginity, and then some (wink, wink) was part of that mania, and to be honest that time with her I'll never regret, because being in love and making love is worth it, no matter who blows their bullshit criticism in my face to my ears. I don't care. It was awesome. Even smoking all that weed was worth it, because I was happy. Doing those drugs at Comic-con and then in Las Vegas was fucking beautiful. I got to perceive the best as well as the worst of human interactions. I mean, shit, that Cowboy Billy in that Presidential Suite at the MGM Grand with his wife and four other prostitutes, and the sight of that pitcher filled with... never mind, I need to speak of the peak, the psychosis. The ones who get the most attention in the public eye - because of the media bloodhounds - are the ones who think they're the devil, or some kind of werewolf, and murder a family member, or eat a stranger, because they get it in their heads the Zombie Apocalypse has come, and they.... well, you catch my drift if you're sober. I call that the Monster Complex Psychosis, or maybe the Beast Mode Psychosis. The fuckers who suffer from those get media attention like a secretary giving a blow job to the President of the United States. I mean, it's unimportant, holding no aesthetic or conscientious building of one's own character, just bullshit tabloid entertainment for the masses who are bored out of their minds. But my own psychosis, which actually is what occurs in most cases, was what I personally call a Messiah Complex Psychosis, because I basically thought I had figured out all the worlds problems, and I found the signs in the details of my own family history, as well as misconstruing familiar and general associations which led me to believe I was the reincarnated savior of the planet to finally bring true peace to the modern era. So basically when I pass by a schizo on the street rambling on and on about the end of the world, or how the Easter Bunny stole their booze on a Saturday afternoon, I'm surprisingly proud to say, "Been there, thought almost like that," and calmly continue walking.

It began with no sleep. I wasn't getting any during the last month of the year in 2008. Even when I smoked indica weed, I didn't fall asleep to dream, but I began dreaming anyway. Everything in life led to the existence of myself, every movement of mankind and it's struggle to leave the legacy that must survive the eternity that is the result of me being alive and conscious to live, perceive, learn, and create if I so chose to. I was once alive; I know this because when I went to the country where my father was born, and visited the cemetery of my grandfather, I found his brother's tombstone, my great-uncle whom was also named Olavi Pienen. Yes, I was once alive, but now over 80 years later, I survived to perceive what the world has become, and those born before me have made that same perception easier. All that was to be believed in at that time of my existence was imagined from the beginning because no one was given the answers. The answers are in front of you the entire time; those with imagination identify what those answers are because they're never given any. At one point that evening my friend Mario and I were smoking weed in my car before going to see a movie in Century Theaters. I sat there, barely feeling euphoric, explaining all my newfound revelations and realizations regarding what our reality truly is. He sat in the car, smoking the blunt slowly, listening intently, or maybe not listening at all, thinking about the girl he was about to meet up with. I was to go see another film entirely, then meet back up with him in the car. I was saying, "Yes, we're born into this, but if we were only born before everything was defined, maybe we wouldn't have been able to develop the memory to perceive, merely exist in it, and act on the instinct of survival and the simple, but pleasurable act of procreation." Mario put out the blunt in my car's ashtray, and said, "It's time. I'm going to meet her at the entrance. You?" I uttered, "Oh." Then said, "Yes, I'll walk down with you. Get my ticket for 'Transporter.' I'll meet you here when you guys are done." He said, "Cool, man." Then we headed to the movies. The problem was I began becoming paranoid. Though it was late in the evening, and not many people were around, I felt everyone's eyes looking at me. The people were real, of course, but mere momentary glances became fierce, concerned, and fearful glares right into my eyes. I looked away every time a person was doing this to me. The only normal people were the people working at the movie theater: the person behind the glass selling the movie ticket, as well as the one tearing it up after I entered inside the theater's lobby. I made my way to the theater room where the movie was playing, and I was overwhelmed with a sense that I was in total danger, that someone knew I was going to be in there, and when I was relaxed and enthralled by the movie's content, the person would shoot and kill me, and others as well before heading to the exit. I thought to myself, I've got to prevent this horror from occurring. And I figured if I wasn't in the theater at the preordained time, I wouldn't be the first to be shot, so the horror of a mass shooting would be averted by me altering what I was going to see in the theater that very evening. So I entered another theater that was showing the film Bolt that was about an actor dog who thought he was actually the characters he was playing in the film within the films. I don't remember one seen from that movie, because my brain exploded with thoughts. My eyes were always on the big screen, but I wasn't seeing anything other than what I was thinking. I came to the realizations that my world was fake, and everyone in it were actors, and not only were they helping fake the world I lived in, they were in fact protecting me from the blind evil in this world who spent their entire lives looking for me because I was the one to bring peace to this world by the great orations I were to speak in the near future to the masses who desired my revelations and realizations. That we are in fact, each of us as individuals are the center of the universe, and we are our own God, who produce our children's own ability to be their own God....blah, blah, blah. My eyes were wide, both white and bloodshot. The weed no longer had effect on me. Shit, imagine if I were on cocaine at the time, but luckily I had no interest in the white powder. Later, when the movie was over I was walking down the theater's hallway I heard Mario call from behind me, "Olavi, you liked it?" His arm was around the girl he was hanging out with. I replied, "It's all fake." I kept running my hand over my devilock flat atop my head. Mario said, "Yep, the dog didn't realize it." I then said, "Like everyone else on this planet." As I waited for Mario to stop talking to his lady friend I sat in my car listening to Slayer's Angel of Death on my car's stereo, I had suddenly come to the realization that horror was still possible in that theater, so I left my car and headed back to it. I found a place at the corner of the building, and as I lit myself a cigarette, I looked up at the building's address number displayed high on it's wall: 155. I thought, The number's equal eleven. I died on the eleventh day in August back in Finland almost eighty years ago. I must be alive now to prevent people's death here. I got my cellphone out, and dialed 911. After a few minutes I realized it didn't ring, and there was no answer. Then there was a beep on the other line, and it hung up on me...

A Stranger I Once Knew

                           “Together they stroke the silence.” 
                               ― John O'Brien, Leaving Las Vegas



He had shown up late to the meeting on purpose with the goal being she'd most likely notice him walking in, and possibly recognize him if that were at all possible at that particular moment in both their lives. Instead, while one of the group members was in the middle of their story of the week, she kept her head down, and only the group leader noticed him, gesturing him to sit in one of the many empty chairs -- all positioned in a circle, so everyone would face each other. The late bird was happy about this fact; he never liked AA meetings where struggling members were to go on a small stage, stand at a podium, and make some speech, because in his mind, shyness enabled a desire for inebriation. When everyone's forced to face one another, there's more possibility of securing sympathetic comfort. 
     As he sat in a chair across from her, the group member speaking was saying, "...all my friends support my sobriety, even protect me from the dangers of relapsing, but when they all want to party, I'm left alone, and it hurts. Well, I'll have to admit, the pain is getting less and less severe. You can say it's like a pinprick that's simply kind of annoying. And I hope it'll go away one day where I tell myself, 'I'm happy to be alone.'" 
     The Group Leader asked, "Do you believe the loneliness is helpful? As if it were a barrier between you and the act of self-destruction?"
     "Yes, I agree with that assessment," the group member said, "but I'm afraid that the comfort of loneliness isn't as strong as the bottle of booze, that maybe I'm not as tolerant of it." 
     "Let me ask you this," The Group Leader began to say, "What do you miss when you're lonely, the booze, or your friends?" 
     The group member was silent for a moment, looked down at the ground, visibly thinking, deciding what the true answer was. 
     Looking up again, he said, smiling and chuckling for a moment, "My friends, but I'm honestly coming to the realization they're really not my friends." 
     "But they still support your sobriety, right?" The Group Leader asked. "I mean, genuinely."
     "Yes, but they love to party," the group member said, "the booze, the pot, and cocaine if they could get ahold of it."
     "Maybe it's time to find new friends," The Group Leader suggested. 
     "I wouldn't know where to look," the group member admitted. 
     "Think of it this way, Hunter, for the moment you're free from the prison of self-destruction, you can go anywhere that doesn't involve drinking booze. You'll know where to go." 
     "I think I do. My name is Hunter, and I'm grateful for my ninety-fifth day of sobriety." 
     The six other group members applauded for Hunter, but the woman sitting across from the late bird was somewhat less enthusiastic, she simply looked down at the ground, and from what he could tell, she was either deep in thought, or nothing was on her mind at all. He stared at her, worried, but determined. 
     "Thank you, Hunter," The Group Leader said. "And congratulations on your ninety-fifth day of recovery. Now lets hear from someone else." 
     There was a moment of silence as the other group members looked around and waited for someone to start speaking. The Group Leader noticed most were looking over at the late bird.
     "How about from the newcomer," The Group Leader suggested, extending his arm out toward the late bird. "Please stand up, and introduce yourself, young man." 
     The woman sitting across from the late bird finally glanced up from staring at the floor and looked right at him as he stood up from his chair. She recognized him immediately. The late bird saw her expression change from gloomy to surprised. 
     Satisfied by the confirmation, the late bird addressed the rest of the group by saying, "Hello everyone, my name is Jay O'Brien, and I'm an addict. I'm grateful to be alive." He then sat back down. 
     "Hello, Jay O'Brien," the group said in unison. 
     "We don't use full names here, Jay," The Group Leader informed. 
     "Well, it's not my real name, if that helps," Jay said. 
     "I guess it does, Jay," The Group Leader said, chuckling. "So, what's your vice, young man?"
     "I must be honest, it's not an inebriant," Jay said. "Um, it's more of an internal psychological thing rather than a force that comes to mind from an external opportunity." 
     "I don't understand what you're getting at" The Group Leader admitted. 
     "Well, the thing is, sir, I'm addicted to suicidal thoughts." 
     "There's other groups for that, and therapists."
     "Of course, yes, I agree. And I do have a therapist, but I would never admit this to her."
     "Why not?" The Group Leader said, rubbing his chin, genuinely concerned. 
     "I don't want to go to the Mental Hospital again."
     "How many times have you been to the Hospital for your, what is it, depression?" 
     "Manic Depression," Jay informed. "Three times to be exact. The thing is I'm on medication for my mental health diagnosis, and am well balanced mentally, you know, but there isn't a day in my life where I don't have at least once moment where I think of offing myself. There's always just one moment, whether it be in the morning, afternoon, or just before I go to sleep where I think of the relief death can give me. I believe it's nearly no different than being triggered by stress to run to any corner store to buy booze, or call an old friend for a gram of heroin or cocaine, or getting that old stash of Oxycontin from an old back injury, hoping it hasn't expired. The difference is my problem doesn't have the result of relapsing and ending up in rehab, it's death by suicide, the ultimate end. You guys got time if you hit rock bottom, I wouldn't recover, just lay in a coffin." 
     Jay O'Brien stopped talking when he suddenly noticed how the others were looking at him strangely. 
     He said, "I'm sorry to rant like that. I didn't mean to be rude about your drug and alcohol addictions. I was just saying my addiction is like built inside me like a cancer that can't be removed, and if I touch it once, I'm gone for good." 
     "How do you get through it, man?" a group member asked. 
     "Ernest, please," The Group Leader said. 
     "I'm just asking, man, what it takes to get out of a mindset so dark like that," Ernest said to The Group Leader. He then asked Jay, "So, man, what does it take to get out of such a morbid trap?" 
     "You know how you AA people believe in a hire power to help you out about the things that are beyond your control and such?" Jay asked Ernest. 
     "Yeah," Ernest replied. 
     "Well, I don't believe in God, and I never will," Jay admitted. "I am of the understanding that death is permanent. So damn permanent that the relief I'm seeking by committing suicide won't be there, that I won't feel it, won't feel anything." 
     "That thought helps?" Ernest asked. 
     "Every damn day." Jay then addressed the rest of the group by saying, "My name is Jay O'Brien, it's been eight years since my last suicide attempt, and I'm grateful to be alive. I hope you all feel the same about yourselves."
     The group erupted in applause, some congratulated Jay. The woman sitting across from him even clapped, more enthusiastically than with the other group member who had spoken when Jay walked in late. 
     When the clapping died down, Ernest said to Jay, "Thanks for coming, man. That was truly refreshing." 
     "You're welcome, sir," Jay said. 
     "Okay now, everyone," The Group Leader announced. "Let's hear from someone we haven't seen in a while before the meeting is over." He gestured to the woman sitting across from Jay. "Sylvia, it's been quite a long time since I've seen you last. You're not talkative as usual, what's been going on with you?" 
     At first Sylvia seemed reluctant to speak, but she stood up anyway, and says, "Hello everyone, my name is Sylvia. I am an addict. It's been..." She paused, staring down at the floor, almost seeming to keep herself from crying, then finished with, "...about...twenty hours since my relapse." She immediately sat back down, not looking up at anyone. 
     Jay noticed the levity he had brought to the group drop back down to the somber mood it had been when he had walked in. Everyone's head seemed to shake and look down as if they just saw someone thrown off a bridge to their death. The Group Leader held his composer. 
     "Please tell us what happened," he said. 
     "I've been having trouble with relationships lately," Sylvia began saying, "and as a result I lost my job for being late, and not showing up without calling to let my boss know. I was fired yesterday, and instead of coming here, I called one of my friends I haven't seen since gaining my sobriety three years ago, and asked if he had any Oxy." She almost became visibly angry at this point, and tears began rolling down her cheeks. "He said, 'Yes,' and invited me over to his house. I crushed that fucking thing and swallowed it with half a glass of whiskey. I don't remember much after that. I don't think I drank anything else, or take anything else. Maybe I was up for a while, maybe bawling my eyes out or something. I woke up at my place this morning. Of course having no idea how I got there. When I got myself together later today, I came here. Sorry to let you all down." 
     "No, Sylvia," The Group Leader, "no need to apologize to anyone else but--" 
     "Myself," Sylvia completed for him. 
     "You remembered. So, when are you going back to rehab?" 
     "I no longer have adequate insurance. I can't afford it anyways, not until I find a job." 
     "I have all the information you need in finding free rehab facilities. There's always someone out there to lend a helping hand, Sylvia. No one's giving up on you. Does anyone in your family know about your current situation yet"
     "Not yet," Sylvia said, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Doing so made her realize Jay had left while she was explaining her situation. 
     "That's it for this evening, everyone," The Group Leader said, staring down at his rolex watch. 
     Before Sylvia left the Group Leader gave her six pamphlets of free rehab facilities he had mentioned. 
     As she exited the building through the only entrance she looked around for Jay. Outside the building were a set of stairs leading to the sidewalk, she saw Jay standing at the bottom on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette, leaning on a railing. 
     "Who did you name yourself after?" Sylvia asked. 
     Jay looked up at her, and said, "What's that?" 
     "'Jay O'Brien.' Where did you get that name from?" Sylvia began slowly walking down the steps. 
     "Jason O'Brien, the guy who wrote the novel 'Leaving Las Vegas.'" 
     "John O'Brien, not Jason," Sylvia corrected. 
     "Oh," Jay uttered. "Well, I stand corrected, Sylvia Plath." 
     Sylvia made it down to the sidewalk near Jay, and asked, "Got another smoke?" 
     Jay took out his pack of cigarettes and got one out for her. She took it. 
     She said, "Can I barrow a light?" 
     He handed her his Bic lighter. 
     After she handed it back to him, Jay said, "You know, the last time I was in the Mental Hospital back home, we got a visit from two AA counselors. Guess what their names were?" 
     "I have no idea, Jay," Sylvia said. 
     "Thor and Loki." 
     Sylvia and Jay giggled a bit. 
     "Bullshit," Sylvia said. 
     "No. I swear, I'm not lying. And guess who was Thor's sponsor?" 
     "Odin?" 
     "No, Loki, the one he was with."
     Sylvia broke out laughing, nearly dropping her cigarette. 
     "It was the strangest fucking moment the entire time I was there. I was coming down from a bad psychosis, and these two recovering alcoholics come in, pass out that AA book, and introduced themselves just like the people in AA meetings do." Jay put up his hand in an impersonation, "'Hello, everyone, my name is Thor, and this here is my sponsor, fellow recovering alcoholic, Loki.' I mean, shit, I thought my brain was still tripping." 
     "What the fuck were they doing in a Mental Hospital?" Sylvia asked. "Should've they been visiting a rehab?" 
     "My ward had some junkies pretending they were suffering from mental disorders to stay out of jail time. There was one day a cop picked up one of 'em. You can say he was caught getting high on his own supply to get in that place." 
     "No shit," Sylvia commented. 
     "Yeah. The morning before, while we ate breakfast, the fuck couldn't keep his eyes open, and actually admitted to coming down off some amphetamines to a staff member." 
     "Damn, Jay, you've really been through a lot, haven't you?" Sylvia said. 
     "Yep, but it's been a while since my downward spiral." For a moment he went quiet, thinking, then said, "So far, at least." 
     "What brings you here all the way from California?" 
     Jay finished his cigarette and tossed it in the street. He was quiet again, rubbing his chin, as if searching for the right words. 
     He said, "Well, if I was being honest, and I should be, I'm here for you." 
     "What?" Sylvia uttered. "I don't understand what you mean, Jay." 
     "I mean exactly what I just said. I'm here for you. To see how you're doing. To make sure you're doing all right." 
     Sylvia was at a loss for words at that moment as indiscernible sounds stuttered out of her mouth. Then she coughed uncontrollably. 
     "The fuck?" she managed to say between coughs. 
     "Do you need bottled water?" Jay asked. 
     Sylvia finally recovered from the coughing fit, tossed her half finished cigarette to the ground, reached into her pocket, and pulled out her cellphone. 
     "No, 'Jay,' what I need is a really good reason not to call the cops on you right now for stalking," Sylvia said, almost yelling, and taking a couple steps back from Jay. 
     "No, Sylvia, there's nothing sinister in the reasons I'm here," Jay said, taking one step closer to Sylvia. 
     Sylvia's arm shot up, palm facing Jay. "Not one more goddamn step, man," she snapped. "I can't fight well, but I can bight your fucking nose off! Now tell me why you came all the way up here to Oregon." 
     Jay raised his hands up, and said, "Okay, Sylvia, you win. Full disclosure. First off, I'd like to apologize for scaring you just now with this...I guess, strange development. Second, I found the things you were posting on Facebook quite alarming, so I decided to come pay you a visit while I was on vacation from my job. So, there, that's the truth. Look, I'm not some fucking demon, girl. Shit." 
     "How would you know what I post on Facebook?" Sylvia asked. "I never friended you." 
     "Yeah, you did." 
     "Oh yeah, when was this? I don't remember." 
     Jay thought for a second, then said, "About two years ago, I guess." 
     "Oh, fine, I barely remember accepting your Friend Request, but I'll believe that for now. Do you even remember the last time we talked, Jay?"
     Jay looked up, uttering, "Uh." Then it came to him. "Ten. That's it, I was ten, which would've made you--" 
     "Seven," Sylvia informed. 
     "Yeah, that's right," Jay affirmed. 
     "Do you even remember our last conversation, back then?"
     "Nope, not a clue. To be honest, I wish I did." Jay slightly shook his head in disappointment. 
     "Neither do I, Jay, and now as adults we talk as if we were the best of friends in High School." 
     "To be honest, I wish we were, Sylvia." 
     "Don't you find it kind of strange we're still calling each other by our AA names?" Sylvia asked, putting her cellphone back in her pocket. 
     "I think it's rather fun," Jay admitted. "Plus, that was my first AA meeting." 
     "How did you know I was going to be here?" Sylvia asked. "I never posted on Facebook about it." 
     "Because it's close to where you use to work, so I guessed it would be here, if you went to one." 
     Sylvia ran both her hands through her hair, then covered her face. "Fuck, dude, you're just weird," she said from behind her hands. 
     "If you say, 'Fuck off,' I'll just leave, okay," Jay said. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought it would be, I don't know, refreshing to you. To know someone was willing to travel a few thousand miles to just say, 'Hello, how are you?' But I could tell it's having the opposite effect, so I'll just go. It was nice to see--" 
     "No, Jay," Sylvia began to say, dropping her hands away from over her face, "it's fine. You're right, it is refreshing, and basically relieving that you're here. The truth is my friends here have been shady, because... well, I've been shady with them. Fuck." 
     "I know how that feels," Jay said. 
     "So did you drive all the way up here?" she asked. 
     "Yes," he replied. "Got in town yesterday afternoon."
     "How long you in town for?" 
     "About just over a week, then head straight for home, back to work." 
     "It's good to have a job to go back to," Sylvia said. "Wish I didn't fuck up." 
     "I've been there," Jay said. "Just remember, there's always a dish that needs to be washed." 
     "What the fuck is that?" Sylvia said, playfully disdainful. "I'm the fucken' waitress, bud." 
     "It's just a something my father told me when I lost my job for fucking up," Jay said, "but I wasn't fired from the good job, I walked out. Believe me, give it time, and it will get better." 
     Sylvia smiled, and said, "How you like it here so far?" 
     "Well, no Oregonian has cussed me out for being from California. So far so good."
     They both giggled in unison.
     "Um, are you hungry?" Jay asked. "Because I can eat an entire banquet right now." 
     "Of course." Sylvia pointed down the road behind Jay. "There's a Diner just five blocks in that direction. A nice, cosy mom and pop kind of place. A lot of cops eat there, so I'll feel safe." 
     "Okay, cool," Jay said, rubbing his tummy. "I need to shove some pancakes down my throat. Lead the way, girl." 
     "Can I bum another smoke?" Sylvia asked, holding out her hand to Jay. "I didn't get to finish the last one due to my close encounter with a panic attack." 
     At the crowded Diner they sat in a booth near the window.
     "Nice view of the intersection," Jay commented. "Never thought this city would look as crowded as New York." 
     After ordering their meals they sat in a moment of silence; Jay sipped on his orange juice, while Sylvia filled her cup of hot coffee with sugar and cream. 
     "Shit, girl," Jay uttered. "It's a quarter to ten at night, and you're drinking coffee?"
     "Other than cigarettes, it's a recovering addict's only vice. After three cups in a row, I can still fall sound asleep." 
     "No shit?" 
     "No shit," Sylvia said, stirred the coffee, and then drank a mouthful. "So, tell me your story, all about your ups and downs."
     "Ladies first," Jay said. "I was once not a gentleman, and it almost got me killed by sane maniacs. Never again." 
     "It's a new age, Jay. You do as I say. Plus, being second makes me feel all the more important. It's the reason you're here, anyway. To listen to me, hear all about what I've gone through with the bad relationships, the good and bad drugs. The flow of my tears, and the sound of my deluded cheers." 
     "Sounds like poetry," Jay said. "Look, Sylvia, we don't have to do catch up right now. I'm here for a week. We got plenty of time for that." 
     "Well, I need the time to find a new job, because I got rent, and I have got roommates who would be more than ecstatic if they were to witness my eviction." 
     Jay told her the story regarding his struggles with his mental health, and near death experiences. He spoke without pause for nearly a half-hour. During which the food had arrived, and they both ate their meals slowly. Sylvia intently listened, not out of politeness, but out of a genuine sense of interest and intrigue. The man really could tell a story which held the listener's attention almost as if both his hands were gripping the sides of her face to make her focus. 
     When he was done he said, "That was the short version, if I had to be honest. I've told my story before, in greater detail, to someone else. Your turn."
     "How the Hell can I top that?" Sylvia said. "I never...you know...I didn't...you know..."
     "Why would you want to top that shit? Fuck that. That ain't ever happening to me again. I'm too old for that anyways. I would've croaked like Chris Farley if I kept that shit up." 
     "Um, I don't know where to begin," Sylvia said. 
     "Let's just eat." 
     They finished. Jay had ordered himself another orange juice, and Sylvia stirred the cream and sugar in her fresh cup of hot coffee. Another prolonged moment of silence between them. Jay stared outside the window with a grin on his face. 
     "You like it better here than back at home?" Sylvia asked. 
     "I like being just about anywhere, including home," Jay stated. "If I didn't, I'd feel anyplace I lived would feel like a prison." 
     "I like it here, but sometimes I do miss home." 
     "Because of your family?" 
     "Yes," Sylvia said, giving out a long sigh. 
     Jay could see the despair on her face, and in the sound of her breath as well. 
     He said, "I'm renting a cabin a few miles north from here at Bear Lake. I was wondering if you wanted to join me."
     "Are you trying to get in my pants, Jay?" 
     "There are two separate bedrooms with locks on the doors. It's basically a cabin by the lake, far from other people, and a perfect place for you to detox. I already stocked it with plenty of food." 
     Sylvia scoffed, and asked, "You want me to go there with you tonight?" 
     "Yes," Jay said. "I think it'll be good for you, under your current circumstances."
     "Well, my current circumstances are I have no job, which means I can't pay the rent that is due in three days. So--" 
     "I'll pay your rent," Jay interrupted. 
     "Bullshit." Sylvia shook her head, not believing what she had just heard. 
     "How much is it?" 
     "Five hundred." 
     "That's it?" Jay blurted, shocked. "Where the hell you living?" 
     "In a house. I pay for a room." 
     "Damn, five hundred for a room, in a house. Back at home a room in a house is twelve hundred." 
     "Yeah, that's why I moved to Oregon." 
     "Cool. Cheaper than I thought. Music to my ears." Jay giggled for a bit, then said, "Done. I'll write a check." 
     "You're getting weirder and weirder by the syllable, bud." 
     "It's all for your own good, Sylvia. Now you have time to recover from your relapse, and more time to find a job after I leave. After I pay the bill here, we'll get in my car and head to your place so you can pack a bag, then head straight to the cabin by the lake. Ain't that so stereotypical, 'cabin by the lake?'" Jay giggled once again. 
     "I guess so," Sylvia said. 
     "As I've come to realize about life, simplicity is the most comfortable," Jay said, waving for the waiter to bring him the check. 
     Later, when Jay parked his car in front of Sylvia's place, Sylvia held her hand out toward Jay, and said, "Give me your driver's license." 
     "Why?" he asked, looking down at her hand, confused. 
     "I'm going to have one of my roommates take a picture of it with her phone, so in case I disappear, they can show it to the authorities of who I was last with." 
     "They can see me in person when I go in with you," Jay said. 
     "You're not stepping foot in that house," Sylvia stated. "You're going to sit in this car, like a good cab driver, and wait while I'm in their packing some clothes. I'm also gonna have a conversation with Alison about whether this is a good idea or not, while she snaps a pic on her phone. And she will do a background check on you." 
     "She a cop?" Jay asked. 
     "No. She works for the DMV. Come on now with that license." 
     "Fine, you win," Jay said, reaching in his pocket for his wallet, "whatever gains your confidence in me." He handed her his driver's license. 
     She took it, and got out of the car. Before closing the car door, she said to Jay, "I won't be too long." 
     Jay watched her as she walked on a brick path leading up to the front door. Midway to the door, she glanced back in his direction, then turned her head forward again just as swiftly, entering the house. 
     As he sat waiting in the car, Jay drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to pass the time before deciding to turn his radio on to find a station to his liking. 
     "What's with all this folk song shit?" he said to himself. "Where's the goddamn rock 'n roll? Fuckin' hippie town. They can smash windows at the Bank of America, but not bang their heads to some good, heavy shit." 
     He settled on a station where he listened to women singing about walking down to their grave. 
     "I can dig this," Jay said aloud. 
     The moment the song was over, Sylvia opened the passenger car door, and sat in the front seat, with a black duffel bag on her lap. 
     "All right, vamoose," she said, handing Jay his driver's license. "I just want you to know, I packed pepper spray." 
     "You should never have said that, because I could take it away from you while you sleep." 
     "Fuck off, dude," Sylvia said, a bit playfully. 
     Jay burst out laughing as he drove away from Sylvia's house. 
     Around twenty minutes later Jay's car was nearing the cabin at Bear Lake. 
     "Where's your closest neighbor?" Sylvia asked. 
     "I don't know," Jay replied. "All I know is where the cabin is. Just around the bend here, down a hundred-something yard driveway, and we're there." 
     As he parked the car next to the cabin, Jay said, "Comfy, nice, and quaint. Don't you think?"
     "Sure, I guess," Sylvia said. 
     "Wait until you see the inside." 
     Jay lead the way as he went up the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and entered. Sylvia hesitated behind him, her duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, looking around at the silent night surrounding the cabin, listening to the faint sound of the lake's water lapping against its shore. She then heard a light switch flick from inside the cabin. 
     "You plan to drown me in that lake, or sink my body parts in it after chopping me to pieces?" she asked, still staring out into the darkness. 
     "Enough with that shit, Sylvia," Jay said, clearly annoyed. "I may have barked a bunch of times in the past, and maybe have attempted to bite a few people, but I sure as Hell am not a dog." 
     Sylvia turned her head away from the direction of the lake out in the darkness, and looked up at him standing inside the cabin. 
     Jay continued, "Now, please, come on in." 
     "Okay then," Sylvia said, going inside the cabin. "No more murderer comments." 
     "Cool," Jay said, closing the door. "Well, do you like what you see?" 
     After having a look around, Sylvia said, "You were right, Jay, comfy, nice, and quant." She then pointed to something standing up against the wall, near the sliding glass doors. She asked, "Is that a real piano?" 
     "Yes, of course. Do you still play?" 
     "Yeah, I do." Sylvia stared at it with a grin on her face. 
     "I'd ask you to play me a tune, but I seriously want to go to bed right now. If you want a sandwich, or something, food is in the fridge. Down the hallway there, my room is on the right, your room on the left. I let you have the one with a perfect view of the lake from the window. The bathroom is just through the door at the end of the hallway. So, make yourself at home, and goodnight." 
     Jay made his way to the hallway, and just before he opened the door to his bedroom, Sylvia asked, "Why are you doing this?" 
     Holding onto the doorknob, Jay stood silent for a few seconds, then said, "Ask me in the morning." He opened the door, entered his room, and closed the door behind him immediately. 
     Sylvia clearly heard him lock the bedroom door. 
     For ten minutes she had a look around the place, in the kitchen, opening the fridge to discover Jay had not lied about stocking up the cabin with plenty of food, then she sat on the couch, noticing there wasn't a television, but two shelves full of novels, both paperback and hardback. She got off the couch, went to the bookshelf which was knee-level, knelt down, browsed through the selection, finding one of her favorites: A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. She stood up, and sat back down on the couch. What she finally realized after sitting for a few more minutes alone in the living room area of that cabin was how calm she felt. She raised her hands before her eyes to see how they did not shake, and felt nothing but a sense of soothing warmth overtaking her hesitation regarding this strange situation she found herself in. 
     She stood up, grabbed her duffel bag, and went straight to her room, locking the door behind her as Jay did to his. 
     Her dream that night was both uneventful and unfulfilling; from what she could remember, all she was doing was sitting in a shitty bar, staring at her reflection in a mirror behind a row of liquor bottles, there long glass necks obscuring her view. She didn't know if she were crying, or too drunk to shed a tear. 
     The natural light coming from outside her window woke her up. It was a cloudy morning, but she had to admit, Jay was right, the view was truly amazing. She got out from under the covers, went up to the window to get a better look. She took a deep breath, then heard sounds coming from outside her room which clearly were the sounds of someone making breakfast. 
     Jay looked up as Sylvia appeared from out of the hallway wearing a gray t-shirt, and sweatpants. He was putting the final touches on two plates of breakfast by laying down two sausages on each, alongside scrambled eggs, hash browns, and beacon. 
     "Good morning," Jay said, cheerfully. "I hope I didn't wake you." 
     "No, you didn't," Sylvia said. 
     "Sleep well?" 
     "Yes." 
     "I didn't know how you liked your eggs, so I made scrambled."
     "Scrambled is cool." 
     "Cool." Jay put the pan back on the stove. "Let's eat." 
     "I usually have a cigarette and coffee before I eat breakfast," Sylvia informed. 
     "All right." Jay covered their breakfast plates with empty ones, poured two cups of coffee. He asked her, "Cream and sugar, right?" 
     Sylvia nodded. 
     "There's a park bench set up near the lake," Jay said, handing her the fresh cup of coffee. "Wanna sit there while we both enjoy a coffee and smoke?" 
     "Yes, of course. That'll be nice, Jay." 
     "Follow moi." 
     After they lit their cigarettes, they sat in silence for many minutes admiring the scenery, sipping on their hot coffee. 
     Jay broke the silence by saying, "I made the right choice coming here. This is one damn beautiful sight, even if it is a cloudy day." With the hand holding his cigarette, he pointed towards the direction across the lakes calm water.  "See that? The cloud cover's low enough to make those hills over there look like they can reach all the way to Heaven." 
     Sylvia said nothing in reply, but nodded in agreement. 
     "Maybe we can go on a hike to those hills before those clouds rise," Jay said. "And if my fat-ass can manage it, trek up to the top of them, and see if the sight of Heaven is worth it. What do you think?" 
     "Why am I here?" Sylvia asked. 
     Jay was silent for a moment, then said, "Unlike that guy in the AA meeting, I am getting too old to be staying alone in a cabin by a lake on my vacation, and you're the only one I know in this town. Matter of fact, the entire State of Oregon."
     "Don't you have any friends?" Sylvia asked. 
     "Of course I do," Jay replied. "But if they came up here with me, all they'd want to do is get drunk, and stay up until five in the morning. Unlike me, they haven't come to the realization that they're too old to still be doing that shit. If my two buddies came up here, the likelihood of either of them drowning in this lake would be in the ninety-percent range. So I prefer you instead of them. And it should be most beneficial to your current situation regarding that relapse you had the other day. Opiates are a bitch of an itch to not scratch."
     "I didn't have a relapse," Sylvia admitted.
     Jay frowned, and said, "What? You're telling me you lied to those people."
     "Yes. I did." 
     "Why? Isn't that against the rules of AA?" 
     "Well, yeah, but I did tell the truth about calling one of my old Oxy connections. I just didn't go to his house when I told him I was gonna. I came to my senses, and just stayed home, crying about losing my job." 
     "That's great you didn't really relapse, but don't you think it's a little bit fucked up you said you did. You could've just told them the truth." 
     "Don't put me on no guilt trip, Jay. Like being addicted to suicidal thoughts is a real thing, anyways. That ain't a real thing."
     "It is for me." 
     "Yeah. Okay. When was the last time you thought about offing yourself then?" 
     "While I stood outside the AA meeting smoking a cigarette after hearing what you said happened to you -- or should I say 'almost' happened to you. I was standing there thinking to myself how easy it would be to come back here to the cabin, and walk straight into this lake. Then I heard your voice, and..." 
     "And what?" Sylvia asked.
     "And now we're here, sitting on this damn bench enjoying a cig and coffee. Most people want a lot more in life, but I'm satisfied with this." Jay took a long drag of his cigarette, swallowed a big gulp of coffee, then exhaled the tobacco smoke. "Now, that feels fucking good. Really good." 
     "I don't deserve to be here, Jay," Sylvia said. "I don't deserve kindness from anyone." 
     Jay noticed tears began welling from her eyes. 
     Sylvia continued, "I have a tendency of pushing my good friends away." 
     "It's only the good ones that tend to stick around," Jay said, grinning. "If they stay away when you push them, then they aren't even friends, more like leaches." 
     "I'm telling you, Jay. I don't deserve--" 
     Jay interrupted, "No one deserves anything, but everyone deserves forgiveness, either from somewhere, or out of nowhere."
     "What the Hell does that mean?" Sylvia asked, frustrated. 
     "It means that us being almost complete strangers are here for each other," Jay said. "I'm here to help you survive life's negativity, and you're here to play me some tunes on the piano, or go on a hike with me to the hills leading to Heaven over there." 
     "Or you're trying to woo me to be your wife," Sylvia said, smiling with tears rolling down her cheeks. 
     "In a week? Life's not a fairy tale, Sylvia. Plus, I got a lady back home. She's vegan." 
     "Yuck," Sylvia blurted. 
     "True love holds no prejudice."
     Sylvia giggled, and wiped away her drying tears with the back of her hand. She said, "Since we're no longer strangers, why don't we call each other by our real names... Olavi?" 
     He smiled, and said, "It's good to see you again...Valerie. Please, play something on the piano after breakfast, that would just be awesome to hear."