Girls do tend to do that. You know, making hormonal mountains out of innocent molehills.”
Oh no he just didn’t! In one simple breath, he called me illogical and insinuated that he thought all girls were illogical. And overly emotional. And hormonal. If he weren’t already dead, I would have strangled him right then and there. Nothing got me more heated than being told I wasn’t being logical. Nothing. Misguided as he sometimes was, though, he was one of my best friends. I took a deep breath, bit my incredibly logical tongue, and nodded affirmatively. All the while I was thinking to myself, someday those comments were going to come back to haunt him. Again, no pun intended.
Clay settled back into his chair and began throwing out potential causes for Zach’s recent behavior. His first suggestion was that Zach was on drugs.
“I’ve seen the nicest people turn into monsters because of drugs. My own best friend killed me while on a wicked high of some kind. But then again, this is Zach we’re talking about. He’s like the poster child for the Boy Scouts.”
I barely entertained that suggestion at all. After the death of his grandpa, Zach had sworn off alcohol altogether—there was no way he would skip right past the Miller Light and head straight to the crystal meth. We both knew him well enough to dismiss that theory right away. We bantered back and forth, never quite finding anything that would explain away all of the abnormalities I’d seen in Zach since his return from California. Once it seemed that we were completely out of ideas, Clay came to a logical conclusion.
“Then the only explanation is that there is more than one thing wrong with him. Two things combined to make him one big bitchy mess.”
“I don’t know. It could be.” I was desperate for answers and this was the closest we’d come to figuring any of it out. “So his extreme fatigue could be due to illness, but what about the fact that he’s dreaming about another girl? And going on and on about some stupid dress he thinks I own?”
Clay sat deeply in thought for a moment. How could I tell that he was thinking deeply? Because every time he thought harder than he normally would, he would get this look on his face—one of someone bearing excruciating pain. It was almost painful to witness. Like I was envisioning the hamster wheel inside his brain. And that wheel was slowly electrocuting the hamster. I was about to tell him that I was done discussing it for the night. I wanted no part of animal torture even if it was only in my vivid imagination. That was the exact moment that he resuscitated the hamster and became a momentary genius in my opinion.
His epiphany was so monumental that he couldn’t contain himself. Clay jumped out of his seat and shouted out his revelation.
“ZACH. IS. POSSESSED!!” He then threw his hands proudly into the air like he’d kicked the winning field goal at the Super Bowl.
While I knew from past discussions with Rita that possession as most people defined it wasn’t possible, I realized that Clay was quite possibly onto something. And two words came to mind. Misty. Landrum.
Misty had tried every diabolical trick in the book to steal Zach away from me but never came remotely close to succeeding. She was in a terrible car accident the night of graduation—an accident that killed her boy toy du jour, Kody Kirk. Misty survived the crash but with massive injuries and a definite need for plastic surgery if she was ever going to be her Barbie doll self again. I looked at that wreck as karma. But knowing her, she would look at it as an opportunity. Could it be? Could Misty have died during reconstructive surgery then latched her leechlike spirit to my Zach? Oh no she just didn’t….
Without even telling Clay
Oh no he just didn’t! In one simple breath, he called me illogical and insinuated that he thought all girls were illogical. And overly emotional. And hormonal. If he weren’t already dead, I would have strangled him right then and there. Nothing got me more heated than being told I wasn’t being logical. Nothing. Misguided as he sometimes was, though, he was one of my best friends. I took a deep breath, bit my incredibly logical tongue, and nodded affirmatively. All the while I was thinking to myself, someday those comments were going to come back to haunt him. Again, no pun intended.
Clay settled back into his chair and began throwing out potential causes for Zach’s recent behavior. His first suggestion was that Zach was on drugs.
“I’ve seen the nicest people turn into monsters because of drugs. My own best friend killed me while on a wicked high of some kind. But then again, this is Zach we’re talking about. He’s like the poster child for the Boy Scouts.”
I barely entertained that suggestion at all. After the death of his grandpa, Zach had sworn off alcohol altogether—there was no way he would skip right past the Miller Light and head straight to the crystal meth. We both knew him well enough to dismiss that theory right away. We bantered back and forth, never quite finding anything that would explain away all of the abnormalities I’d seen in Zach since his return from California. Once it seemed that we were completely out of ideas, Clay came to a logical conclusion.
“Then the only explanation is that there is more than one thing wrong with him. Two things combined to make him one big bitchy mess.”
“I don’t know. It could be.” I was desperate for answers and this was the closest we’d come to figuring any of it out. “So his extreme fatigue could be due to illness, but what about the fact that he’s dreaming about another girl? And going on and on about some stupid dress he thinks I own?”
Clay sat deeply in thought for a moment. How could I tell that he was thinking deeply? Because every time he thought harder than he normally would, he would get this look on his face—one of someone bearing excruciating pain. It was almost painful to witness. Like I was envisioning the hamster wheel inside his brain. And that wheel was slowly electrocuting the hamster. I was about to tell him that I was done discussing it for the night. I wanted no part of animal torture even if it was only in my vivid imagination. That was the exact moment that he resuscitated the hamster and became a momentary genius in my opinion.
His epiphany was so monumental that he couldn’t contain himself. Clay jumped out of his seat and shouted out his revelation.
“ZACH. IS. POSSESSED!!” He then threw his hands proudly into the air like he’d kicked the winning field goal at the Super Bowl.
While I knew from past discussions with Rita that possession as most people defined it wasn’t possible, I realized that Clay was quite possibly onto something. And two words came to mind. Misty. Landrum.
Misty had tried every diabolical trick in the book to steal Zach away from me but never came remotely close to succeeding. She was in a terrible car accident the night of graduation—an accident that killed her boy toy du jour, Kody Kirk. Misty survived the crash but with massive injuries and a definite need for plastic surgery if she was ever going to be her Barbie doll self again. I looked at that wreck as karma. But knowing her, she would look at it as an opportunity. Could it be? Could Misty have died during reconstructive surgery then latched her leechlike spirit to my Zach? Oh no she just didn’t….
Without even telling Clay
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