The Wendigo

6

It was a little dive with a couple of pool tables and some regular tables and a few booths by a window and a long, dusty bar. About a half dozen other people were in the place. Two played pool, three sat alone at the bar, one sat in a corner booth and scowled at his laptop as he nursed a beer. The entire room was brown. Even the things that weren't brown were brown. The place was the physical manifestation of brain fog. Clay was choked by doubt. Doubt choked him. He felt foolish. Alone together in their little bedroom, it was easy to push away the skepticism of his loved ones. The world outside didn't exist; the world inside barely existed. Liminal was the word. Outside of space and time. He had experienced the feeling before. His psychiatrist said it was a symptom of PTSD. It usually came to him during harsher periods of depression and paranoia and rendered him alien to his own life. He had never existed outside of space and time with another person before; it felt glorious. But now, sitting across from his best friend and holding his boyfriend's hand as the two of them laughed and chatted like old friends themselves, he was in that liminal space by himself, assaulted by his own thoughts like punches in the dark. He had imagined the three of them together for years. Tessa liked Kenny; Kenny liked Tessa. It went better than any of them could have expected. Why did it feel wrong?

Tessa was mid-laugh, crying out: "I swear to God, it was like my soul left my body and my body melted into the floor and... Remember, Clay?!"

"What?"

"When I did acid the first time?" she said casually, "I asked Clay to be there so I didn't freak out and jump out the window."

"I would want you there if I did acid," Kenny told Clay.

"I get that a lot," said Clay.

"So what's Chicago like? I've never been."

"It's amazing," Tess said, "There's always something to do. And I was land-locked my whole life so the lake might as well be the ocean."

"We should go up," Kenny told Clay.

"Yeah!" Tessa cried, "Spend the day at a museum. Go see a show. Sign a lease on an apartment close to me. I dunno. Possibilities."

"I'll get the next round so you two can talk about me," said Kenny.

"So thoughtful," said Tessa, "But I can say it in front of you. I really like you."

"I like you, too."

He gave Clay's hand a squeeze. "And I like you." He planted one right on his lips. As he pulled away, he nibbled at Clay's lip. The tiniest sting of a bite.

Once he was out of earshot, Tessa gave her appraisal: "He's great. You did good."

"I know," said Clay. It was snippier than he meant. Tessa didn't notice, or she ignored it.

"Your mom met him yet?"

"At the hospital, briefly. She likes him."

Clay glanced at the bar where Kenny was charming a redheaded, lead-handed bartender named Bambi. Tessa explained she would always add a generous splash more liquor if your tip was generous enough.

"I was reading about all those people," said Tessa, "I can't believe that. I mean... It's horrible. He's so lucky."

"Yeah, he is."

Doubt. Stabbing. Tearing at his chest like existential heartburn. A creeping wave cascaded down his jaw and neck and rolled down his back. His eyes became heavy and frozen in place.

"What's wrong? You're going foggy again."

'Going foggy' was Tessa's phrase for his tendency to lose contact with the world. 'Thousand-yard stare,' 'dissociation.' 'Going foggy' was as accurate as anything else.

"I don't know," Clay said, "Just the shock of everything, I guess."

It was a lie. The crash itself he had gotten over quickly. It was something else that was bothering him, something deeper.

"How are you handling it?"

Clay did not know what that meant, but he knew it bugged him. Even though he knew it probably shouldn't.

"I don't really have time to think about it," he said, arching his eyebrow in a lascivious manner.

"Okay, I get it. Kenny's a sex-machine. You don't have to rub it in."

"There's something not right... I mean, I don't know what it is."

"You seem a little..."

"What?"

"Unwell. Like before."

"Paranoid?"

"I just think you're... maybe you don't know how to just accept a good thing. I think this is a good thing for you."

"You didn't think it was a good thing before."

"I didn't know him before."

"You knew me," Clay said.

Tessa's eyes narrowed. Her natural smile turned pert and sour. She did know him, they seemed to tell him, and that's why she was worried. Clay seethed.

"Here we go," Kenny said, setting down some refills. Cocktails for him and Tessa, a ginger ale for Clay. With his meds, he didn't drink often and would cut himself off after one drink.

Kenny and Tessa chatted away the rest of the night. Clay looking out the window, pissed at the world, pissed at himself.

Kenny offered to drive home. He had a license but no car and was looking forward to getting behind the wheel again. He was more than capable, but the anxiety of letting someone else drive his car made Clay uneasy and borderline nauseous in the passenger seat.

"She seems... fun," said Kenny tentatively.

"She is," said Clay.

"How long have you guys been friends?"

"Eight years or something."

"She seems to know a lot about you."

"She thinks she does."

"Did she like me?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good."

Kenny reached over and put his hand on Clay's knee. His nausea spiked.