Porta Pot by Evan Bollinger

Author:Evan Bollinger [Bollinger, Evan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-01-05T00:00:00+00:00

***

We never finished.

I told Mark that I had to go, and I was gone. He stood on the courts, head tilted and watching. I snuck a glance, maybe two, before heading into my car.

The chill of the air no longer seemed to be pressing against me. If anything, it was trying to break out of me. Thoughts swirling, I slammed my foot to the accelerator. I had no idea where to go or what to think or say. Part of me, a primal spirit, wanted to scream, maybe tear through the nearest house and unleash the anguish upon a hapless victim. The other part, I suppose the intellectual counterpart, was doing its best to make sense of it all.

Would I see Mark again? Had that even been Mark, the person I had talked to after coming back to the porta-pot? Who would believe me if I told them? Did I believe me?

There was a history of mental illness on my father’s side, I knew. Something about a cousin who lost his wits around 20 or so. Smart guy I had been told—brilliant, in fact. Then one day, boom. He was seeing things, hearing things, looking at the sky and mumbling to planes.

I hadn’t seen the kid in ages, barely knew him at all, really. But still, the more I pondered, the more I wondered about the blood we shared. We were family after all, and it was by the horrific mystery of the human genome, that families shared in that darkness.

You’ve picked a strange night to go crazy I thought, as I stared out the window. The trees were whizzing by and my brain was nearly cooked.

Was I schizophrenic?

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