anyone.
“She was seven years old, by the way,” the doctor was gleeful. “Should you care to know.”
“You son of a bitch—” Jason spat the words at him. The giant rushed forward but he managed to blurt out “you too!” before the cellophane stretched taut across his face, cutting off his breathing. He felt his balance thrown off as his feet were raised above his head and the water splashed over the cellophane, across his face.
He gasped, sucking in plastic, struggling, the giant holding him tight by the sides of his head.
…a happy place…
He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t hold his breath forever. My god, they were going to kill him…
Think of a happy place
Eleven hours and twenty-four minutes.
It took eleven hours and twenty-four minutes to drive from Rochester to their town in North Carolina. Every month Jason and Jack drove down after their last Thursday class and spent the weekend with the girls. No Rain was still in rotation on the top-40 stations. Whatever doleful qualities Jason had attributed to lead singer Shannon Hoon’s voice and lyrics no longer bespelled him.
He met Aspen’s older sister. He met the mom and the mom’s husband.
He made slow, sweet love to her. As they moved rythmatically back and forth together, he gazed down on her, entranced. Her beauty stole his breath. When they were done he lay atop her, his weight braced on his elbows as though she were some fragile keepsake that might shatter.
She was warm under him. His leg hung over the mattress. He raised his foot indolently and lowered it, tapping his big toe, the carpet muffling the sound.
She stroked his hair where it fell across his forehead. I love you, she said to him. He touched the side of her face delicately. I love you too, he told her.
He kissed her, tapping his toe against the floor.
The sound of someone rapping their knuckles against steel bars and beat boxing roused him.
“Hey…” Jason sat up and looked around his prison. Nothing had changed. “You there?”
The voice that answered wasn’t female and it wasn’t British.
“Yeah, I’m still here, man.” The way the guy said man , it sounded like main . Sounded like a black guy.
“You—you know me?”
“What kind a question that, main?”
The stone floor under Jason’s feet was cold. He sat on the edge of the cot, forehead in hand, his arm bent, fist resting on his thigh. He sat that way for some time while the other man called out to him.
“Yo—don’t let him in your head, main.”
Jason looked up. “Don’t let who?”
“ Maaaaiiinnnn …” the knuckle rapping stopped for a moment before resuming “…don’t make me go and say his name. You know who.”
“Dr. Kaku.”
“Dr. fuckin’ Coo coo is who.”
Jason smiled in spite of his situation.
“Don’t let that motherfucker in your head, yo.”
“Don’t let him in my head…”
“Eggs-actly.”
“What’s going on here?”
“You were quiet for a while.” The man continued to drum a rhythm with his knuckles. “Know what I was doing?”
“No.”
“I was thinkin’. Know what I was thinkin’?”
“No.”
“ Wanna know what I was thinkin’?”
“Go ahead.”
“One song, main.”
“One song?”
“One song can change your life. Change my life .”
“Change how?” Jason leaned against the bars of his cell. From the proximity of the other man’s voice it sounded like he was too. “What do you mean?”
“One song let me do shit I meanin’ to do. You get one song out there, it’ll open doors.”
“Like what? What do you want to do?”
“Oh, I ain’t gonna say that here…” Jason looked across to the blinking camera, imaging the other man doing the same as he spoke “…all I’m sayin’, I need a chance. That’s all.”
“You that good?”
“I’m good enough. You think half them niggas out there gettin’ props on what— talent ? N’ah. Dey shit so heavily produced—these niggas can’t rhyme.”
“No?”
“Hell no. Dey got
“She was seven years old, by the way,” the doctor was gleeful. “Should you care to know.”
“You son of a bitch—” Jason spat the words at him. The giant rushed forward but he managed to blurt out “you too!” before the cellophane stretched taut across his face, cutting off his breathing. He felt his balance thrown off as his feet were raised above his head and the water splashed over the cellophane, across his face.
He gasped, sucking in plastic, struggling, the giant holding him tight by the sides of his head.
…a happy place…
He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t hold his breath forever. My god, they were going to kill him…
Think of a happy place
Eleven hours and twenty-four minutes.
It took eleven hours and twenty-four minutes to drive from Rochester to their town in North Carolina. Every month Jason and Jack drove down after their last Thursday class and spent the weekend with the girls. No Rain was still in rotation on the top-40 stations. Whatever doleful qualities Jason had attributed to lead singer Shannon Hoon’s voice and lyrics no longer bespelled him.
He met Aspen’s older sister. He met the mom and the mom’s husband.
He made slow, sweet love to her. As they moved rythmatically back and forth together, he gazed down on her, entranced. Her beauty stole his breath. When they were done he lay atop her, his weight braced on his elbows as though she were some fragile keepsake that might shatter.
She was warm under him. His leg hung over the mattress. He raised his foot indolently and lowered it, tapping his big toe, the carpet muffling the sound.
She stroked his hair where it fell across his forehead. I love you, she said to him. He touched the side of her face delicately. I love you too, he told her.
He kissed her, tapping his toe against the floor.
The sound of someone rapping their knuckles against steel bars and beat boxing roused him.
“Hey…” Jason sat up and looked around his prison. Nothing had changed. “You there?”
The voice that answered wasn’t female and it wasn’t British.
“Yeah, I’m still here, man.” The way the guy said man , it sounded like main . Sounded like a black guy.
“You—you know me?”
“What kind a question that, main?”
The stone floor under Jason’s feet was cold. He sat on the edge of the cot, forehead in hand, his arm bent, fist resting on his thigh. He sat that way for some time while the other man called out to him.
“Yo—don’t let him in your head, main.”
Jason looked up. “Don’t let who?”
“ Maaaaiiinnnn …” the knuckle rapping stopped for a moment before resuming “…don’t make me go and say his name. You know who.”
“Dr. Kaku.”
“Dr. fuckin’ Coo coo is who.”
Jason smiled in spite of his situation.
“Don’t let that motherfucker in your head, yo.”
“Don’t let him in my head…”
“Eggs-actly.”
“What’s going on here?”
“You were quiet for a while.” The man continued to drum a rhythm with his knuckles. “Know what I was doing?”
“No.”
“I was thinkin’. Know what I was thinkin’?”
“No.”
“ Wanna know what I was thinkin’?”
“Go ahead.”
“One song, main.”
“One song?”
“One song can change your life. Change my life .”
“Change how?” Jason leaned against the bars of his cell. From the proximity of the other man’s voice it sounded like he was too. “What do you mean?”
“One song let me do shit I meanin’ to do. You get one song out there, it’ll open doors.”
“Like what? What do you want to do?”
“Oh, I ain’t gonna say that here…” Jason looked across to the blinking camera, imaging the other man doing the same as he spoke “…all I’m sayin’, I need a chance. That’s all.”
“You that good?”
“I’m good enough. You think half them niggas out there gettin’ props on what— talent ? N’ah. Dey shit so heavily produced—these niggas can’t rhyme.”
“No?”
“Hell no. Dey got
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