Slow Motion
- a short story by John Clare
A forced swallow, a near-gag quickly under control, and he inconspicuously
drops the empty vial in a trash bin by the mall entrance. 15 to 20 seconds,
he was told. Relax. Relax. Remove your hands from your pockets. Straighten
your tie. Take a deep breath. Count from twenty. nineteen. eighteen. seventeen.
His eyes are becoming rough and dry. sixteen. fifteen. fourteen. Already he can
feel an expansion in his chest and tension in his jaw muscles, and look at that...
aren't people moving in a strangely hasty manner? Why yes they are. It's starting.
The piped-in music and the conversations and the mall-noise, it all spins with
a rush into incoherent clatter. A busy buzz vibrates between his ears, rising and
rising until squeezed away with a pop, leaving only thick, fluid silence in its wake.
A woman at least twenty yards away suddenly races up to him in comical fast-motion,
stops directly in his path, and disappears.
This is Midtown Mall at double speed. Triple speed? Quadruple speed? Are they
really moving this dangerously fast? No, of course not. I've slowed down. He should
be concerned, maybe even frightened. But his mind is for the moment both blissfully
calm and delightfully expansive, while all around him people dart from one spot to
another, insect-like. They stand for a moment, quivering as guitar strings, then flash
on down the mall, or into a store, or to another spot where they perch before flitting
away. They're hummingbirds, all of them! He swims through the rippling silence in
rapture. The visual chaos is infinitely entertaining and substantially impossible
and he lets it wash through his eyes. This is incredible. Incredible!
* * *
He thinks back to what Luciano said at the bar last night. Temporal Resistance
he called it. Tymers. Better than Crystal, much more than Tripping. Try to think of
it as an alteration of now-time perception rather than a visual hallucination. Imagine
watching the world race by while you walk around it all untouched.
"And high?"
"Oh sure. Definitely high."
"And things will be going on around me at a different speed? Like fast forward?"
Luciano grinned at him over his beer. "Something like that. But much more. It
frees your mind, man! The time-sense distortion creates a perspective that let's
you float over your problems. You can get outside yourself." He winked. "And get
into others."
"What - telepathy? Really?"
"People at work describe it more like an enhanced empathic sensitivity. I guess
that's part of the rush. I mean, there's a little voyeur in everyone, right?"
* * *
Detached. That's how he feels. Unanchored, but in no way frightened,
confused, or (God forbid) alone. So far, Luciano is right on all counts. Times are few that
something perceptually artificial can make him feel quite this good. Somewhere inside the
familiar anxieties are out to lunch. He can identify their empty chairs: this is where Career
Concerns shares a desk with Greed, each fiercely competing with Inadequacy for attention
or a raise. Absent are Self Esteem and Creativity, to no one's surprise or apparent concern.
And there in back is the empty window office where Loneliness makes claims of Management,
but is rarely in control. He's intimately familiar with all the extremes in his life,
while unhappily comfortable with the intricate roles they play in the daily routine.
Only now, on tymers, they are distant and silly concepts of a distant and silly person.
A woman appears to his immediate left, head busily bouncing from
shoulder to shoulder as she strains to see around him. She has shopping bags in both arms
from Keifmans, McSwany's, and one or two others he can't pick up on. He thinks -
Hey lady,
you can't fly hanging onto those things! He wants to grab her and let her see the things
he sees. He wants to
- Shop! Shop Shop Shop! It's already quarter past Noon! Straighten
your hat! Should I eat in the mall? This new blouse is beautiful! Damn these pumps hurt!
They don't match the blouse! New shoes? Yes! I really should be carrying my Spring Purse,
such a pretty blue! Why, that'll match my new blouse! Which way did I come in? I hate that
dirty midtown garage! Oh, look at her! Don't let her know you're looking at her. LOOK AWAY!
Is the card shop on the first floor? Jon's birthday is next week, isn't it? Well, I'll
do that later. What will he think of the blouse? Now which bag is it in? The hell with
what he thinks! Is that a shoe store over there? Well is it? Why won't this guy get out
of my way...?
She turns and zips past him, racing out of control for the shoe
store on the other side of the mall. He feels the whiplash of her thoughts as they
withdraw. Snap. The disconnection was just as startling as it was when her thoughts
came as pureed words to his inner ear all at once and uninvited. For a brief moment
he simply doesn't know how to feel, then quickly rises with the high he felt only
seconds before. The simple surface of her mind still bubbles in his memory. What an
amazing, crazy little woman she is!
* * *
Luciano is perhaps his best friend, in as much as he can define or
allow friendship. They would drink together, and get high together, and by his reasoning
if you get high often enough with someone then he must be a friend. Either way, Luciano
is no dummy. He contracts out to Pauly Pharmaceuticals, and he knows a lot about the
New Drugs.
"Have you tried it yet?" he asked him that evening.
"Saturday. I did half a vial at the basketball game. It was a
good trip, but I think I planned it all wrong. I mean, everyone I touched was too
involved with the game. And I was sitting down, you know, so even though the stadium
was sold out, I could only hit on the people sitting next to me. And that kind of
sucked cause they all came into my head at once."
"Did you go alone?"
"No. I went with Sue." He frowned. "That was stupid too.
She was sitting right next to me."
The statement brought an immediate and discomforting
acknowledgement, to which "Oh," was the only reply. They continued to drink together,
in silence, watching the Thursday crowd through the reflection of the full length
bar mirror. He recognized only a few and should probably offer a wave or a reflected
Hello. Or not. He said, "Are you going to do it again?"
"Most definitely. Like I said, the high was fantastic. A totally
feel-good thing. It's just that next time I'm going to plan on better surroundings
where there are lots of people moving around me, like the airport, or the bus station.
Or maybe a girls school."
He smiled with Luciano's little joke, and then the thought
came - or Midtown Mall?
* * *
Already the Shopping Lady is a fading memory, an entertaining albeit
trivial experience. Still, he's convinced in his choice with the mall. Where else but
noon at Midtown would he find the diversity of sight and interaction he and Luciano were
discussing? Maybe if he hadn't swallowed the tymers just inside the mall entrance. Maybe
if he -
- So bright! So many Big People! She's behind me, isn't
She? If I turn around - yes, those are Her hands. Pretty pretty red at the ends of Her
hands. I feel kind of funny down there. Why did I stop...? I want to ride! There's a
Big Person in my way and he won't move! I feel more funny now... I don't like it. I
don't... oh... oh... oh... Ohhhh! Eww-w-w that feels warm and I don't feel funny anymore
I feel good. Does She know what I did? She's behind me, isn't She? If I turn around -
yes, those are Her hands... pretty red. It's cold down there now and I don't like it I
don't like it at all! Doesn't She know I don't like this!? HEY! WE HIT THE BIG PERSON
AND I DON'T LIKE THIS FEELING ONE LITTLE BIT...!
As abruptly as he left the woman's thoughts moments ago, his mind
pulls out of the baby. Snap. There's a moment of dislocation as he realizes he is in
fact not a baby, and there's a distant acknowledgment of being bumped in the back of
the leg by the baby carriage now pushed well in front of him. He barely has time to
regain his happy equilibrium when the child's mother moves into his path. She's in her
late twenties maybe, with short, auburn hair and brilliant green eyes, small high breasts
and the most beautifully inviting smile. He can actually taste her sweet thoughts as
they curl into his own, and he wonders if throughout this trip whether his heart were
still beating.
- Ohmigod I actually bumped right into this guy! Oh
man I'm really sorry! Is he mad? No he's cute. Did I startle him, how's my baby...?
She suddenly tears herself out of his head with electrifying,
maternal strength. The force of her departure is unnerving and empty and he
immediately wants her back. A second only while she comforts her baby and then
those sparkling images return to tickle his mind -
- right on the back of your leg! I thought you were
moving you looked like you were moving and you really are cute. Long hair. Nice suit.
What's wrong with you? I wonder what he thinks of us - me? What's wrong with this guy?
I'm talking to you! You're not even looking at me. Oh Christ look at your eyes just
another Stoner and I thought you were cute...
Snap. She spins her back to him. Her baby and her wind their way
into the crowd. Gone. His disorientation and sense of loss is instantly overwhelming.
He touched her, she was beautiful, and now she's gone. His chest aching and in slow
motion he opens his mouth with a sad, voiceless cry.
Though for only a moment. That familiar wave of tymer-induced
excitement rushes back to lift him far away from discontent into welcome wonder and
inspiration. A far happier perspective now embraces his heart. He touched her, she
was beautiful - and what a terrific thing to have happen!
* * *
"I thought about taking tymers while having sex," said Luciano.
"You know, swallow them just before you know you're going to come."
"Or before she does."
There's a thoughtful hesitation. "Huh. That hadn't occurred
to me. It should work better that way, shouldn't it?"
Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder why Luciano thought
the way he did, why he always seemed so happy with himself, and why he was always
dating some woman that let him treat her like dirt. Appearances aside, in this
respect he was actually quite different from his Italian friend. There were times
he'd ache for a woman he'd never met, and annually fall in love with someone who
wouldn't or couldn't love him back. It all seemed rather pathetic, really, and made
for a difficult self-image. It wasn't his whole life, of course. But it was an
inextricable part of it.
* * *
He giggles inside thinking how me must look to anyone who
takes the time to notice his strange slow motion behavior. How long has this trip
gone on? One minute? Two? Ten? Funny that he honestly hasn't a clue and truly doesn't
care. Do I look funny to you? Hah! Just imagine how you look to me! If two people
were on tymers at the same moment, would they notice any change in the other? If
that person walked by right now could they shake hands and compare trips in
their minds?
Just then, a man stops next to him and rapidly checks his
pockets. He's tanned and clean-shaven, with a gray silk suit, black slacks, and
a wide paisley tie. Here I go -
- car keys? cigarettes? wallet? car keys? I
shouldn't have parked the Camaro next to that truck. Door dings oh shit shouldn't
have driven should have walked. Staff Meeting at 2:00. I've got time. Plenty of
time. Too much god-damn time. Isn't there a CD Store in this mall somewhere?
Should I go out tonight? Where should I go? The Pub again and again and again
and I want to go somewhere else. I don't want to go alone I want to meet someone
I want to get laid. Man I'm hungry. I hate eating this garbage Midtown food.
Well maybe some onion rings...
They move apart from each other and he grins at the trivial
troubles spinning inside the well-groomed Business Creature. Silly, surface concerns
about looks and image and filling up a day with too much time on his hands.
Somewhere though, deep behind the amusement and the wide-eyed rush of the tymers,
there's this grudging familiarity. But best not to think about that.
He slowly turns his head from one side to the other, thinking -
Who's next? People continue racing throughout the mall in that same jerky, fast-motion
pantomime. Standing next to a cash machine, a teen is staring directly at him,
scowling and unfriendly. No more than 16, street-wise, frightfully foreign. He
can't help but stare back.
Without warning, the teen hurtles across the walkway directly
into his face, grabs at his chest, nose to nose, eyes bloodshot and cold.
- sonofabitch! Who you looking at motherfuck?
Don't think I don't know... think I'm stupid think you're better than me - I know
you're tripping! Get out of here! Get away from me man...!
And the kid literally disappears, he moved so quickly. Snap.
He feels momentarily numb, confused. More to the point, he feels assaulted. So much
anger and pain jabbed into his head when they connected that he froze with shock.
To his worry, he finds himself consciously struggling to regain his missing feel-good
outlook, that Happy Detachment. With panicky brute force he grabs at the wispy
tendrils swirling in his head, connects, and escapes back into the high with relief.
* * *
"Look, I'm going to go," Luciano said. He emptied his mug,
got up, and pulled an overcoat over his shoulders. "I can get you a full hit
for $100, if you're interested."
"Oh I'm interested. We could go to the Airport like you
said, and both do it at the same time. And afterwards we can go over to my
place and get a pizza or a movie or something. Saturday, maybe?"
"No, I'm going to Toronto this weekend and I promised
Tammy we'd do some at the concert."
Tammy? Who was Tammy? Oh well. Not for lack of
invitation, but Luciano rarely came over. Instead of prying, he focused on his
idea about Midtown Mall and asked, "Well, can you bring me a half hit at the
office tomorrow morning?"
"Sure. And relax man, you're going to really enjoy this.
Trust me."
* * *
Even without the drug's effect, certainly Midtown contains a
dizzying display of diversity. Everywhere there are business people, shoppers,
security guards, street people. The young and old, rich and poor, happy and sad,
black and white. He inhales the colors and lights and the darting figures of speeding
city shoppers, all the while as he drifts in the expansive, silent influence
of the tymers.
An old man approaches at a curiously normal pace, and he smiles
realizing how slowly the old gentleman is really walking. He must be eighty at least.
Loose skinned and frail, leaning each step on a hardwood cane. They both stop,
seemingly fascinated with the other. Eyes connect and -
- Peter? No, Peter lives in New York but you could be Peter.
Such a fine boy. I'm going to visit your Grandmother today. Do you miss her as much
as I do? How is your mother, son? Did you watch Wheel of Fortune this morning? I
got all the puzzles today, you know! Do you remember when I took you to the Air Show
when you were ten? We sure had fun that day and I love you and - oh. Excuse me
young man. Excuse me...
They move apart. Without warning the buzzing begins in his ears
again, starting as a whine this time and building to a deafening roar. His balance is
momentarily lost and the sensation of falling fills his stomach. It seems impossible,
yet everyone is starting to wind down. The air is heavy now and they flounder through
its resistance. Amidst the thick confusion of his thoughts he realizes what has happened.
It's over. The trip is over.
* * *
The old man is still looking at him, that wizened gaze now narrow
and blank. There's nothing more to see in those eyes.
"Are you all right, son?"
His voice fails so he nods and turns away. An experimental step
exposes knots of pain in his arms and legs, but mostly in his legs. The physical
stress of walking high on the tymers must have strained his muscles. Perhaps next
time he should sit down. Still foggy, he remembers his disenchantment with the people
he encountered. Perhaps next time he should do it alone. Do it alone?
Next time?
He limps back to the mall entrance, stretching as he walks.
The pain in his legs begins to ebb when he realizes how much his chest hurts where
the kid pushed into him. Then he pats his coat pocket where his wallet should be,
but isn't anymore.
The End
Back to the Prelude - Go read "Divine Interface"
Home -
Photos -
Toys -
Katie -
Kristyn -
Contact