“Hey Mista, you needs to git up an git goin’ now. Dis route is done fo da day, mon.”    

I can barely open my eyes my head hurts so badly, so I try just one instead. Light dives in and assaults my senses. Inside my skull, an overflowing silverware drawer spills out unto the tile floor.

“Mista man, aye not gonna ah’sk you again! Dis my lunch time mon and I don’ have time ta play.”  

I unfold my arms and try and use one to lift myself into a sitting position.

They are numb. Tingly. Burning.

I finally manage to brace myself up on one elbow and I squint out at the man addressing me.

Long dreads decorate a dark round face. He smiles and his teeth are blinding sunlight. 

“Das mo like it. Now come on den ya lush. Get yoself all da way up and outta here.” He shakes his head and his dreads bounce from side to side. “Drinkin in da middle a’da’day….geeesssch.”

Am I in Jamaica? I’ve been there before. I want to tell him. I was there with…someone? A young woman. We bought pot from the locals and then ate everything we could get our hands on. I want to tell him this so he will be cool to me and leave me alone. Or maybe help me. I don’t know which I need more. I want to open my mouth and call to him and tell him I am not drinking but…was I?

Firecrackers exploding in coffee cans.

I manage to lift my chin above the ripped and graffiti riddled seat in front of me and confirm my suspicion that I’m on a bus. To where?

I close my eyes again…I need all the energy I can muster…just to force the words from my brain to my mouth:

“Where am I?” It comes out in a dry, throaty hangover whisper. 

“You be at da end a’ da line, dats where you are. Dis route stops here mon. Now get on out wit ya, ya here! Befo I caw da cops!”

I rise on newborn colt legs and stagger toward the front of the bus. A cursory investigation reveals I am the lone passenger and I have no luggage. Not a bus for long travel then. A city bus? What city?

I stumble down the steps and out into the humid afternoon air. The movements and shrill sounds of high-pitched voices from all around me cause my heart to thunder and my head to vibrate. My head is a volcano. I feel the lava dripping from my nose and I reach my hand up to suppress its flow.

Blood red. My brain is threatening eruption. I need…need…

****, I don’t know what I need. Something. I can’t think straight. 

I look up and see a sign that says ‘Chicago.’ I am in Chicago?

I check in my back pocket and find no wallet. A quick search of the rest of my pockets turns up two quarters, a dozen or so pink pistachio shells, a balled up piece of white paper, four pills and a shiny penny.

A bus comes wailing to a stop a few feet from the curb, the doors open and out pours a symphony of stomping and chomping, jostling and impatient passengers.

I place my hands to my temples.

Barking dogs after midnight. 

First things first, I have to kill this blistering headache. The pills. I pray they are for pain.

I look around for a drinking fountain. I need to get these drugs in me Godspeed. 

Nothing. Just a bustling bus station in the front and a train station in the back.  I see coke machines, however I do not have enough change.

I scan the immediate area again and spot a half empty bottle of diet Dr. Pepper lying on its side underneath a bench. I shuffle my sore body over to the bench and plop down on it. Bending to pick it up is like having my head squeezed in a vice. But I get it.

Yes, that’s it…I remember Jesus!

I was in a church. I was praying…talking to Jesus. Thanking him for...all the good things in my life? No. For taking care of my family? Yes…my family. I have a family. I have a…

“MOM…There he is…there’s the superhero guy!”

I crank my eyes open on rusty hinges and stare out into the screaming day. Through the brightness a shadow appears before me. The name Hunter comes to mind…?

“Desmond! It’s not nice to point!” A short curly haired blond woman scolds the boy.

“I’m terribly sorry for my son’s manners sir.”

Hoping she will escort the kid away before his shrill voice invades my ears and interrupts my drugs again, I somehow manage to curl the corners of my lips up ever so slightly.

Effective because she smiles back. Ineffective because she takes it as an invitation.

“It’s just that, well…what you did was so amazing! I admit, I’m just as excited as Desmond to meet you.” She sticks her petite hand out in a friendly offering.

What I did? Superhero?

I struggle to raise my shaking hand up to meet hers. In fact, I realize with a start that my whole arm is shaking uncontrollably. She recognizes this and her smile fades. She probably thinks I’m an alcoholic. Or a drug addict.

Hell, she may be right.  

“Can I have your autograph mister?”  

“No! Dez…let’s not bother the nice man any more. Come on now.” She yanks the boys arm as she backs away.

A laugh escapes out my mouth and it hurts. 

Annoying car alarm at 3:00 in the morning. 

I am feeling a little better though. Enough to stand. Enough to move. Enough to realize I have to take a piss.   

I locate a bathroom near the far wall next to the train entrance. I slip through the door. The stench is rivaled only by death itself.

Death? Why does that strike a nerve?

There is no one else around so I stand as far back from the urinal as possible while still being able to stream in with minimal splashing. I close my eyes and delight in the relaxing sensation of relieving my swollen bladder. I note with extreme caution that my headache has subsided to a prop plane Cessna engine while listening to Zeppelin with headphones.

I smile. This headache would cripple anyone else. But not me. Not after what I’ve been dealing with so far. 

****, I am a superhero!         

As I shake the last few drops out it occurs to me that I still do not know why I am at a bus/train station. And with no wallet? And some pretty strong painkillers in my pocket. Thank God.

I zip up.

God. Jesus…Yes, the Church! I was at the church praying…and…

I move to the sink to wash my hands. 

…talking to Jesus. And then, I left and…

I catch a glimpse of someone standing in front of me and I gasp. I thought I was alone. My left arm immediately cocks back and my fists ball up into striking form.

The person in front of me’s right arm cocks back and his fists also ball up into striking mode. I notice with mild alarm that his knuckles are beat up. Dried blood caked on his hands and up his arm. He’s obviously been in a fight recently.

Instinctively I rise unto my toes, preparing to strike. I squint my eyes to try and appear menacing.

The person apes me.

I inch forward hoping he will back down.

He inches forward...

And a startling realization hits me...he is me.

I lower my arms and so does my reflection.

It’s a mirror.

‘Oh sweet Jesus.’

That is what I look like? It suddenly becomes so clear. Of course that’s me. How could I ever forget me?

But I’ve been fighting? Why? Who? And where was I.

In Chicago. Oh yea. But why? Do I live here?

I stare at myself there, eyebrows pressed in tight, expressing deep concentration. My eyes, pale blue. Dried blood around my nose. At least a two, maybe three day growth on my cheeks and chin.