The Specimen by Michael Brand

I forgot who I was. I’m fluid as smoke; I spiral inward to my mind. To delve deep into the dark voids to unearth truths, secrets, and images is what I do best. My mind is the most important part of me, the experiences crystallize. I float it seems, in the warm, comfortable dark of a seed shell. Rich, throaty voices push against the membrane. They call to me, “dream of me.” Each is an eye that cracks open; un-winking they watch, they plead to me, “dream, dream, dream of me,” refusing to be thumb shut. Time is immeasurable here; there are no season shifts.

There is a light. It tears me from my profound mystery. It rips me from where it all started. Muffled and quick, it speaks severities; it speaks my name. “Brent… Brent,” splashes me in the face.

Then I remember who I am. Where I am the light is harsh. I’m confronted by Alison sitting on her bathroom floor with her legs crossed, a magazine opened in her lap. She asks me, “What sign were you born under?”

“…What sign?” I manage. The images still swim in my pool; I still rock in my seedpod.

“Astrological sign…” Alison says, “What’s your birthday?”

“The second of November,” Daphne answers for me. The three of us lounge in Alison’s bathroom, the only room that has heat in this freezing January. Daphne lies in the tub. Her legs hang out over the edge; they resemble the roots of an upturned tree in the dark colored stockings she wears.

“November second is All Soul’s Day.” I add.

Alison looks down into the shiny new magazine. “Scorpio,” she announces and looks at me. Her lips split into a smile that makes me uneasy. One of those disturbing smiles where the lips hug the gums to showcase the teeth, a Disney villain smile. “Isn’t Blair a Scorpio too?”

Whose Blair, I think.

“I don’t know,” Daphne answers back.

I look over at Daphne and envy her. I wish I were the one in the tub, or any tub for that matter. I imagine myself in a Parisian tub, eating bonbons and drinking expensive champagne. Or maybe some Hawaiian grotto, or the blue, storybook waters of Vienna. I see myself in one of those fired clay tubs in Cairo or Zanzibar, lying there until the bubbles fade and the water-cools; anywhere but here.

I light a cigarette as Alison reads Leo first, Virgo second, and Scorpio third. Alison and Daphne light up also.

“There’s a party at Kyle’s Friday.” Daphne’s voice washes over me.

Another party? They’re all the same party really; they blend together and I can never tell one from another.

Alison re-crosses her legs and slips off her pink heels. “Didn’t Kyle sleep with Blair?” she accuses.

“No,” Daphne blows the smoke to the ceiling, “That was Travis.”

“I thought he slept with Jessica?”

“Slept with her too… and Lauren”

“I hate that bitch.” Alison grimaces as she pictures the dazed, disgraced face of the enemy.

I put my cigarette out and light another; it’s one of those chain-smoking nights. The bathroom already fills with smoke, stinging my eyes. I look over at Alison, still disgusted, looking at other horoscopes of people I just might know. “Hey,” I say, “When do you work?” I attempt a subject change.

“Friday morning. So when did Travis sleep with her?”

I can’t help but feel blown off. I take another drag and learn he slept with her two months ago. Two months ago was my birthday, a shitty one, a twenty-two year old one. Like twenty-two means anything to anyone anymore. Bleak, gray November was my birthday and I spent it alone drinking in a darken room, melodramatic and pathetic. It was the culmination of my year.

Alison and Daphne still discuss the bedmates of Travis and Kyle. I’m not paying any attention. The thickening smoke and the pale, sickroom green of the bathroom walls makes my head spin, and I wonder, ‘How did I get here? How far have I fallen?’

Just this past summer I was in Key West. I went to summer parties, had crab cakes and lobster bisque with college friends who went away to live out dreams. I laughed. I toured Key Largo, I scuba dived even though it terrified me. On my last day in Key West, I went for a swim with Zeke. I remember thinking, hoping, for the waters to purify me. Zeke and I swam for so long, then I stopped kicking my legs and let myself be spit out on the hot sand exhausted; the water sloshing around me. I lay there, facedown, until Zeke came and sank down next to me. There was something alluring and relaxing about that week. Then three month passed and it was November second and I was vomiting up birthday drinks. There was no magic now, only night cocooning itself around me and my secrets.

“Brent, you have to go to Kyle’s Friday, you have to, you have to.” Alison said, her head nodding and playing that villain smile. “There’ll be lots and lots of liquor.”

As if I needed to know that.

I was folding sweaters at my job in the mall the next day, Thursday. It was one over-priced sweater after the other and in every color. Worse of all, they made me wear the damn things. But I fold them, the blues, the blacks, the browns, the greens; some argyle or striped or solid. The cashmere ones fitted on mannequins in the window display.

I start to fold the grays when I notice Jessica, who slept with Travis, walks into the store. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of pink heart-shaped sunglasses. I know she’s spotted me, no bother to turn away, so all I do is mutter ‘god damn it’ under my breath.

“Hey, it’s been awhile.” She says and pulls off the sunglasses and tucks them away into her purse.

“I know.” My head down focused on folding.

“Where’ve ya been?”

“Around.”

There’s a long pause. I think she’ll walk away bored, but no, she stands there determined to say something.

“What do you do?” her lips are the color of pomegranates, but I don’t see them move.

Struck, all I can manage is, “Huh?”

Jessica repeats her question. I think its so odd sounding coming from her. I see the dyed blonde hair, the red nose, and coked-up eyes. There’s a faint spermy smell radiating off her skin. It would be too easy to condemn her on her appearance, but, what do I say? I fold sweaters? Work a cash register? Smoke way too many cigarettes? Drink, vomit?

“I fold sweaters,” I decide on and run my fingers through my hair. I shrug.

“Oh, that’s cool.”

As I finish the grays, I move on to red. Jessica perks up, “Hey, so, are you going to Kyle’s party tomorrow night?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You should. I plan on getting some pills off of him… and then fucking him…”

I look away, not sure if I should bring up her sleeping with Travis or not.

“So you need to come, you know why?” I glance to her with curiosity, “It’s because you seem so sad and lonely.” In her voice, there was no accusation or shame; she was just calm. “You do, you work at a place you don’t like. At parties, you always look bored or unhappy. You scowl your way through things, whey even?”

My brows rise, how could someone like her be saying thins like this to me? “Don’t be ridiculous,” was all I could say. I move to another table, one of women’s blouses.

“Hey, do ya wanna have dinner sometime?”

The dumb idiot clasps my hand. In an instant I catch my reflection on the opposite wall of the store and I remember I am Scorpio. I see the hulking, bristled exoskeleton, the curving hypothermic stinger; mandibles, claws, all of it is embodied.

I slide my covered hand away. “Not any time soon, I think.”

“You sure?” Jessica moves closer, “You can call me if you like, you have my number right?”

“Yes, I do.” I lie. I feel the red blush my cheeks.

“Well, I’ll see ya around then.” She fishes out the heart-shaped sunglasses out of her purse and puts them on. Before she makes her exit, Jessica smiles at me, tilts her head.

I fix a glare on her. It seems to be saying, “No, don’t come any closer.”

After Jessica’s left, I go back to displaying sweaters for purchase. I gnaw the corner of my lower lip. I chew it until it’s too much to handle. I don’t realize until one of my co-workers, a short Russian woman, comes up to me. “Hey Brent, I’m going on my break-Oh… you’re bleeding…”

I get to my apartment at half past ten. Without hesitation, I head straight for my liquor cabinet. My liquor storage consisted of the space under my sink. One side held the unopened bottles; the other held the empty ones that I hide right before I emptied ashtrays and misted the place in a floral scent whenever my parent were coming by.

Tonight seems like a whiskey night. So, I pour myself a drink and gulp it down. After five years of drinking, the whiskey still burns. I lose the tumbler and take the bottle to my bedroom. There I strip off my pants and pull the stupid sweater over my head.

“I love whiskey,” I say to myself as I swallow a few more mouthfuls. They burn, my eyes tear; I almost can’t take it.

I throw my self on the bed, snuggling with my bottle, drinking sips followed by gulps. After what seems like minutes, but in reality must have been an hour, I say to myself, “I think I will go to that party tomorrow… I mean, why not? I was everyone’s favorite last year, why can’t I be that now? …I can do it again.” I take another drink. “My personality is incredibly magnetic, why should it only be subjected to idiots? …I was something great, I can do it again. I can do it again.”

I pull myself up, the bottle with me, and swing open the closed door. Upon opening it, I immediately snatch down my work sweaters from the hangers, tossing them to the side and out of my way. I giggle to myself as I almost slip in. I pull my everyday clothes into better view.

“Let’s see now,” I mutter as I yank the cord to the overhead bulb in the closet. It sends a malarial yellow glow to my skin.

“Black makes me look slimmer, but no, I’ll look like I’m goin’ to a funeral.” Grabbing the dozen black tops, I throw them one by one over my head. “Not red, makes me look splotchy.” The red sweater from my mother falls into the shoes at the bottom of the closet.

In between, I drink freely from the bottle. “Not blue, not gray,” my voice cracking as I push each garment away or toss it somewhere behind me, “no white… too virginal.”

Then, I see the one piece of clothing that makes my eccentric smile fade. “There… I see it, green.” I hear peals of laughter. “I’ll wear green. I’ll look absolutely vernal.” I take it from the hanger. It was one of my older shirts, a forest green polo with a tiny animal stitched over the heart. I lay it over the back of a chair.

I hum to myself, I take up the bottle for a drink amid the heaps of shirts scattered around me. I laugh before it goes black.

I wake up the next morning spooning the empty bottle. After a few moments lying in bed, getting accustomed to the throb in my head, I get up and place it with its empty brothers under the sink.

Late that night is one of Kyle’s infamous parties. I put on the green shirt, deciding I will be lively. I leave the rejected shirts lying chaotic on my bedroom floor.

Daphne and I drive together to Kyle’s studio on the outskirts of town in the country. It’s a secluded farmhouse, Victorian in style with a turret, sitting on a slight hill. The paint curls and chips off the old wood. Surrounding the lonely house is the thick dark mass of forest. Light blazes from the house, bringing into view frozen ground where I can imagine corn to grow. As I tread up the walk, the lawn glitters with frost.

Kyle answers the door. “We were wondering when Daphne and Brent were gonna get here. Everyone’s waiting.” Kyle’s hair is long, Jesus-like. Behind him, Alison comes scurrying up with a glass of something colorful and pulls us into the warmth of the house.

“Where’ve you been?” her eyes are lidded by and obscene peacock-blue eye shadow, she glances at Kyle as he moves away deeper into the house, “So, everyone’s here. Get a drink.”

Daphne and I make ourselves vodka drinks in the pale-lit kitchen and move through the dim hall, at the end of which we see the movement of bodies. We come out into a massive den. Everyone is here; about thirty people walk around or huddle together in groups. Each is a demigod with his or her own myth, and I seem they all brandish a blue plastic cup filled with alcohol.

Alison’s willowy figure merges with the undulations of the sea of human beings, presumably toward Kyle, the kind of this assemblage. He stands against a far corner surveying all possible conquests. On each side of him is a member of his inner circle.

Though, I am too engrossed with the scene that obstructs my steps. From the ceiling, hung by transparent wire, are dozens of painted cardboard fish sculptures. In the center of the room is a large figurine of a woman, nude, with pacifiers for nipples and a womb with a sheep in it. Next to it is a nude male figure with a lollipop for a penis. Paint splashes on the walls, bits of writing on them. Over the speakers, “Hungry like the Wolf” blares.

I say to Daphne, “This place is crazy.”

At that moment, a strange guy hears me and says, “Yeah isn’t Kyle so smart and awesome?”

I look over at Daphne and laugh; she just turns away, pushing her red hair behind her ear. I face the guy whose apparently higher than a kite again and say, “yeah, sure.” He walks away nodding his head. 

She locks my arm and we head into the crowd. We mingle with Blair, Ryan, Veronica, and whoever we come into contact with, while periodically going back for more drinks. The conversations revolve around trivial subjects like who’s sleeping with who and what drugs they’re on. Who spent the night in jail on Christmas? Blair says Ryan’s gay because he refused to have sex with her. Veronica has slept with her Chemistry professor to pass the class. All the while I sense my springtime demeanor nullify. It seems too harsh for it to survive in this climate. I get bored of listening to Blair give reasons of why anyone wouldn’t want to sleep with her, so I leave Daphne behind. I fear my inner death-arachnid will unearth, so I make my own rounds, mandibles exposed looking for something to love.

On a couch is a girl I’ve never seen before. She holds a Polaroid camera and is taking pictures of all the people. She quickly snaps my frame and the camera ejects the picture. I pull out my pack of Camels and light one.

“Call me Echo,” she states matter-of-factly as he fans the photo. Once I appear, she makes a face and tells me that I don’t photograph well. She hands it to me and I put it in my back pocket. A little shaky, I almost fall over, I lost track on how many drinks I’ve had, but I recover. She finds a better subject in the two guys sitting next to her making out. “Yeah… that’s it,” she whispers to them.

I move on through the sea. The speakers play another 80’s song. I see Alison talking with Kyle and decide to join them. Kyle’s explaining his vision of the nude female and male statues. I nod my head not really interested in his way of thinking. I finally say in a drunken sweetness, “What are they made of?” it might as well have been and insult. Kyle stares at me confused and doesn’t answer my question. So I say, “What’s that one mean?” I point to a painting of a snake biting its tail.

Kyle glances at it over his shoulder, “Oh that one? It’s about the natural cycle of life. The snake is a regenerative creature, it sheds its skin. It biting its tail symbolizes the cycle. There are seasonal cycles; there is menstruation, the cycle of life. It’s a whole process of elimination, making way for the new to grown and live. Always turning in on itself, going over and over.”

“Oh,”

“Isn’t Kyle smart?” Alison interjects. Kyle whispers something in her ear and pulls out a pill. I heard of them, he calls them white goodnights. He offers one to Alison, she accepts. He offers me a pill; I take it and say I’ll save it for later. I slip the chalky white goodnight into my pocket. How kind he is. He whispers something else to Alison. She nods and they walk away.

I lean against the wall. It’s splattered with red paint, making it look like a slaughterhouse. I realize my cup’s empty and head back for the vodka supply with a frown plastered on my face.

I stopped counting drinks at six. I can’t imagine what number I’m on now. But, I pour myself another, making sure the vodka overpowers the orange juice. I take a taste, it seems good. I light a cigarette, blowing smoke from pursed lips with every step.

I make my walk back to the designated party area, when I notice a guy walk into a room and then step back out. He turns to me shocked faced. “You shouldn’t go in there.”

“Oh,” I had no intention of going in the room, but, “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, a, Kyle’s in there… with Alison.” His face blushes, embarrassed at the tangle of Alison and Kyle he saw.

“I see…” I cast my head down, just to mimic him.

“It sucks because I wanted to get a pill from him…” He trails off, obviously a little drunk.

I brighten up and pull out the white goodnight. “Here you can have mine.” I present it to him and he takes it.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

I look at the stranger hard, but the light coming from behind him obscures his face making him a silhouette. All I see is the shine off the square jaw and that his hair is brown. I bore holes the size of saucers where his eyes are. He still is a stranger.

“No, I don’t think so…” I take a swallow of my drink, my eyes half-lidded.

“You sure? I think we met at Ryan’s party last month.”

“It’s highly possible. But I still don’t think I remember who you are.” I shake my head, waiting for him to admit something extraordinary.

“Hey, what are you drinking?” His voice is low and evocative.

“Vodka.” I take another drink, never leaving his eyes.

“Well, in any case, I’m Travis,”

Travis, the infamous Travis who’s had Jessica, Blair, Lauren, and whoever else was here. Suddenly I could see him a lot better in the low light.

“I’m Brent.” I smile and smoke.

“Well, hi Brent, thanks for the goodnight. I’ll see you around then.” He smiles and joins a group of drunk, former football players. “Ha,” I mutter. I slug back the whole drink and return to the kitchen for another.

I don’t remember being brought into this room or how long I’ve been here. My eyes are opened but fixate on nothing in the heavy dark that cloaks the room. A light comes through the venetian blinds, sending a series of orange bars across my chest. I lie on the floor and turn on my side. I feel the vibrations from the room below. It sends the pulsations through my body accentuating the drunkenness in me.

They must have brought me up here on the second floor to ‘sleep it off’ for a bit, but if anything I feel looser in my skin; I’m still drunk. These upper rooms are for couples to meet and be alone together. This is where they have sex. I double over and curl feeling the sickness in my stomach. I realize I’m not the only one in the room. Somewhere in here is a bed with drugged up people sleeping on it. I hear the bedsprings sigh. Feeling dirtied, I get myself up and feel my way for a door.

I hear footfalls on the ancient floorboards approaching the room I’m in. they are slow and clumsy, I hear the person stumble. I head toward the door, but the individual on the other side opens it.

The cruel light blinds me. I gasp. I see the intimidating outline of a man. Whoever he is, he enters the room with a demanding authority, shutting the door behind him. Grabbing me by the wrist, he pulls me toward him. I smell the stale beer breath he unfurls on me. I struggle against the overpowering heat from his chest, pressed onto the sweaty hair.

“Let go!” I roar, my voice hoarse, “Let me go!”

“No, no, I need you to feel this.”

Then I feel the unapologetic force of his lips against mine. He pries open my mouth. His aggression scares me… but I also find myself surrendering to it. It didn’t bother me what he as doing to me. I was giving him permission. Light dances behind my eyelids, when I open them, I see the lights.

He pulls me back for a look at me. My heavy head rolls back as if on a stick. I hear him take a panicked breath. I strain my eyes to adjust to the dark, to see who it is.

“Brent?” That voice? It’s confused, the tone begs for an answer, why?

“Travis?” I sense the word solidify on the cold air.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. I a, I’m sorry I-“

My eyes go squint and I feel my brows tense. I see the back of my hand collide with the side of his face. “Pig,” I hear myself snarl. Travis falls against the door.

“Hey, hey what the hell!”

“Get out of here!” he opens the door. I press my foot against his back, forcing him out onto the hall floor. My hands search the shadows and find a half empty beer bottle. I hurl it at him through the doorframe. It smashes above him, sending a shower of beer and glass shards on him.

I move toward him; Travis grabs my wrist. But I pull free from his weak grasp. “Don’t touch me!” My voice slurs. I see the undone belt around his waist. I jerk it from the loops of his jeans. I hit the wall as I set it free holding it up like a snake.

“Get out, get out, get out,” I yell whipping his body and his face with his leather belt. I know I’m hitting him, I just don’t realize the force I am unleashing on him. All I see is the blurring rush of my arms.

Then I collapse against the opposite wall, before I give him one more slap across his chest. “No!... no, no,” I pant, tears of sweat beading on my forehead.

I see Travis, he lays propped against the wall. His shirt unbuttoned exposing his torso. His blue jeans unzipped, revealing his underwear and a brief fan of pubic hair. The beer sinking in to make yellow stains. The stark light shows the glimmer of glass imbedding itself in his brown hair. Across his face and chest are long red lines with dark blood droplets beginning to seam. Countless red-pink marks surface and blend making it difficult to distinguish one from the other. His eyes roll up and look like hazel mirrors. His face is wet; he sighs.

I move over him into the bathroom, he vainly grabs at my ankle, I shut the door behind me.

I heard Travis weakly scratching like a cat on the other side of the door. He was slightly knocking at the bottom of it, imploring my name. but now its quiet, I assume he has passed out. No one has come to investigate the shouts; the couples in the bedrooms do not stir.

I balance myself, my head in my arms, over the sink. I bend to wash the last of Travis off my skin. I guess this makes me no better than Jessica. I’m in the same rank as that coke whore. I look up into the mirror, confronted by my face. And what a face. I study it, especially the hooded green eyes. I can’t stop looking into them, but I pull out my crushed pack of cigarettes and light one, and I resume looking into them; they mesmerize even though they’re puffy. I’m not unattractive, I think, I’m young, but my heart is old. Its stuck in the autumn of life.

“Fool.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.

I finger a button on my shirt. Then I run my fingers through my dark dusty hair. I pull paint chips from it one by one, but they break into smaller pieces, unmanageable to get out now. My fingertips stream across my jaw line, my nose, the paling skin encasing me. I stroke my neck. The lips play on the light; they crack into a smile but a sphinx’s smile that foreshadows death. Yes, what I see staring back at me is a notorious neuter machine. Come close only at your own peril. I terrify, my sting manifests. I take a drag and exhale at my image. “Fool,” I say again.

I feel sleep relaxing my body. I finish the cigarette and toss it into the toilet. I swoon and settle into the deep porcelain bathtub. I shut my eyes; I go beyond all the Alison’s, the Kyle’s, The Travis’s into something unrivaled. I succumb and fall unconscious.

There is a village of eyes. They surround me, independent from pairs. I lay exhausted, weak from my fall. Thunder sounds sending reverberations throughout my body. The eyes infused with knowledge. The dark comforts. I feel sensations that were familiar but seem like they haven’t been felt in so long. The clouds Descend.

Then there were hands. They are above me, feeling their way over my face. What a specimen am that they prod me, to know everything about me. “What is this most intriguing creature, peerless in comparison?” hands are brutal. They press every inward, trying to get in. a finger rests on my tongue like a depressor. The hands betray me.

I am startled into consciousness. Someone smokes near me, hums a little tune. Perhaps someone heard the distress call of the sinking ship. Excitement sets my heart alight. I turn my head over and roll open my eyes. I see twin versions of myself reflected in hazel mirrors.