1
The Persistence of Delusion It proves quite difficult to still a mind attached to a body that is constitutionally restless, a fact Leon Nowak realized within his first five minutes in the urinesoaked holding cell of Chicago’s 11th District Police Department. This particular station, dedicated to policing the ultraviolent East Garfield Park neighborhood, was not somewhere a typical young man would hope to be spending his Friday night. Then again, Leon Nowak was not your typical young man, and though his body was coursing with fear, part of him was grateful to at least have a warm place to stay the night. In attempting to focus on his breathing and remember the words to the meditation his sponsor had taught him months ago, however, he ended up expending so much willpower that he was only making his stillballed fists shake worse. In fact, he hadn’t stopped trembling since he had finally been cornered almost a full hour ago, in part from the physical abuse he had endured at the hands of the officer who had been chasing Leon’s using buddy and their dealer who had both managed to get away, but mostly due to the heroin withdrawals that were growing too painful for him to ignore any longer. “Dear Holy Spirit”, he exhaled, squinting his eyes against the sweat beginning to drip down his forehead, “I am hopeless and powerless over my current… predicament.” His eyes blinked open. It isn’t true. This whole situation could have been avoided if not for a few simple decisions that have been entirely in my power. What good will it do at this point to turn my problems over to God (whatever that even means)? If He’s so allpowerful, it shouldn’t matter whether I’ve “offered myself” to Him or not; it’s all part of his plan either way, right? Well where does that leave me? Is it also part of his plan for me to be a piece of shit smackaddict and turn my back on Him? It’s all a bunch of bullshit – there’s no supernatural old man in the sky calling the shots, and even if there was, he’d have no interest in helping me. “God of your own understanding”, that’s a load of shit too. What if my understanding of God has better things to worry about than removing me of character defects and manipulating me into getting sober? Maybe the God of MY understanding wants me to do whatever I want: booze, sex, and everything else included.
2 MY God wants me to be in happy, not in pain from depriving myself. MY God wants me to be free. Leon failed to see the irony of his existential crisis: he was disenfranchised by the conception of God he felt was being pushed upon him while simultaneously using his personal conception of a “higher power” to justify his addiction. This type of inner conflict was quite typical for the 23yearold college dropout, just a glimpse of what some might consider his insanity, which could best be described as a subconscious desire to do what he consciously knows to be in his absolute worst interest; a constant battle between the id and the superego magnified by a million. There were times when Leon considered this, usually during one of his brief stints of sobriety, although the idea that his subconscious was trying to kill him only drove him into a greater state of anxiety, and before long he found himself coping again the way he understood to work best. How did I get here? It was a question Leon found himself asking with increasing frequency as of late. Through realizing that he did in fact have a serious substance abuse problem, yet continuing to use in spite of this knowledge, Leon had discovered a way to accelerate his his own demise. From the evident deterioration of his mind and body, to the increasingly sketchy characters he found himself associating with, to the decreasing quality of the places he found himself waking up, it was becoming clear that his options were thinning down to drastic change, jail, or death. It was only a matter of time before he was released from holding; the longest they could detain him was twentyfour hours without charging him and it didn’t seem like they would even do that. Technically all they had on him was the noncriminal amount of marijuana they had found in one of his jacket pockets, though based upon the unofficial questioning he had been subjected to on the car ride over and during his fingerprinting, his dealer had become something of a person of interest. “So, how did you first meet Mr. Avery?”, the beady eyed arresting officer, Deputy Chief James Charles asked, as if they were discussing a mutual friend. Casual wasn’t
3 really Officer Charles’ style, so his attempt at nonchalance came off instead as emotionless, giving Leon the impression that he was much creepier than he was friendly. Unnerving him even more was the man in a gray suit pacing in the adjacent room, clearly unconcerned with hiding the fact that he was listening to their conversation. “Who, Sam? Uhh, we went to school together, met him there.” “And what school was that exactly?” “Westinghouse” “George Westinghouse College Prep?” “Yes, sir.” “Did you graduate from there?” “Yes” “Uhhuh, and what year was that?” “2010” His heart rate began climbing. “Interesting… Westinghouse Prep, class of 2010.” His cold, emotionless eyes were now boring into his own, tearing at the edges of his soul. He could feel the abnormal pumping of his blood in his neck now. “I must’ve missed you at the ceremony”, he sang, baring a few rotten teeth for what must have once been considered a smile. “Oh, yeah I was actually in Wis – ” “Listen kid, I don’t have all night for this, so quit shittin’ me. I used to work Westinghouse and I’ve never seen you before in my life, not to mention the fact that it says right here,” he jabbed at the manila folder he seemed to be reading his questions off of, “that you graduated from Clemente. So I’m gonna ask you again: How’s a nice kid from Wicker Park get mixed up doing deals with Vice Lords out in East Garfield? You know what happens to white boys like you who think they’re one of the gangsters, don’tcha? You must know you’re no tougher or smarter than the last burnout on the news just last week with a bullet in his neck. So what I want to know is what you had to do exactly to earn the respect of our mutual friend Sampson Avery, who I’m guessing you know has quite the mean streak in him?” “I sold some shit for him…” whispered Leon.
4 “You sold some what?!” “I sold some weed for him!” A half truth. Leon had, technically, sold the occasional sack of weed for Sam, but only after he’d known him for some time and was actually just making the delivery as a favor. How he had managed to earn the trust of Sampson Avery was an entirely independent story. “Marcus! You in there?!” Still no answer. Leon lowered himself back down to level ground and searched the face of his comrade, Eddie Moore. “I’ll try the doorbell one more time, just to be safe. Not trying to get shot or arrested today, feel me?” “I don’t know man, maybe we should just go. Is this really worth?” “How can we know if we don’t check?” This was ironclad logic as far as Leon was concerned, which he demonstrated by turning his back on Eddie and walking right up the front steps and ringing the doorbell once more. The plan so far as he could tell was flawless: If somebody came to the door, or the window through which he had been yelling, they would just ask for “Marcus” (the fictional friend who they would say they knew lived in that building, “but maybe they had the wrong apartment number”). If no one came after minutes of shouting, then it was safe to assume that no one was home, and Eddie would push Leon through the wideopen window that had caught his eye as they were walking through the alley in the first place. Then it was just a matter of speed and stealth, and not getting so carried away searching the apartment that Eddie wouldn’t be able to warn him if someone were coming. “Coast still clear?” “Yea, but Leo…” “Come on, lift me up.” Leon instructed him as kindly as he could while still maintaining his assertiveness. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick…” and with that Leon was climbing the wall and pulling up as hard as he could to wriggle himself into the bedroom while Eddie pushed his foot with as much force as his gangly arms could muster. Though he didn’t realize it, it was at this moment exactly that he committed his first felony; Leon Nowak was now a burglar.
5 He began with the basics, grabbing whatever jewelry he could spot: about three necklaces, a handful of rings and earrings, and an oldfashioned style lighter that looked like it could still work. Next, he started going through drawers, pocketing only an outdated iPod and a digital camera before Eddie was hissing at him to hurry up. “I just got in!” laughed Leon as he left Eddie alone with his anxiety and walked into the dining room that was central to the house. “MARCUS, YOU HOME DOG?” He looked back through the bedroom door to try to shoot Eddie a glance intended to reassure while gloating, but Eddie was too short and too busy looking out for a potential witness/reason to bail to meet his eyes. All of a sudden the gravity of the crime he was in the process of committing hit him, alleviated only by checking each room as fast as he could to make certain he was in fact alone. Outside of the bedroom, however, he could find almost nothing of real value to steal. He wasn’t going to walk out the front door carrying a television, and nothing in the kitchen was that nice that he could’ve gotten any money in exchange for it. He was hoping to find some cash, and began thinking about where he would hide it (if he had any), when some strange sense of intuition guided him to the bathroom (and it wasn’t the need to piss, though he did so anyway without flushing just to fuck with whoever’s house this was). He smirked at himself in the mirror, feeling a sense of power like he had never felt before. He had been in friends’ houses when they were out of town before, but this was something else entirely; he wasn’t just here to get high. Or was he? As Leon Nowak stared in the bathroom mirror it occurred to him that the person who lived here was probably elderly: besides the tattered look of the sheets in the bedroom, not to mention the musty smell of the whole place, he had noticed a Social Security check lying on the kitchen table. It was by this bit of sleuthery that Leon concluded that it would be a brilliant idea to pull the mirror open and see what kinds of goodies were hidden inside. Aspirin, Pepto Bismol, BINGO. Script bottle for Oxycodone HCl, 30mg. He pulled the cap off and poured just one of the pills into his hand, closing the cabinet as he did so. He examined the “M” inside a square before looking at himself in the
6 mirror, popping the pill into his mouth and down his throat in one quick gulp, and saying to his reflection through a grin, “Well Leon, welcome to prescription drug abuse!” They had hardly made it two blocks, gasping for breath from the combination of the sprint away from the scene of the crime and their screams of laughter at what they had just accomplished, when the Oxy started to kick in and Leon was overwhelmed by a level of ecstasy he never before knew was even possible. He could barely stand he felt so good, and immediately wanted to just lie flat on the cracked cement of the alley and fall asleep smoking a cigarette; it was like having a million orgasms at once in every cell of his body. But for some reason he kept what he had done from Eddie. He showed him everything else he had found, and even promised to split whatever money he made selling it, but the pills were his. As the months progressed, so did his disease. He never did end up selling any of the stuff he took that day, for it all proved to be too valuable as tradable commodities in the pill market. It wasn’t long before Oxy was too expensive and he had to switch to Norcos, or what his guy called “Watsons”. When he did have money he’d take whatever he could get his hands on, from Vicodin to Fentanyl to Oxycontin (if they were lucky he’d get some “Ladies”, the rare 80mg dose) to Opana. The only people he ever used with were the guys he bought it from; it was as if he had learned about and joined a secret society, and the fact that not even the people closest to him had any idea what he was doing made it all the more special and him more unique. Unfortunately, this secret society wasn’t free, and before you could say “pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization” it was Christmas Eve and the connect wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone. “I’m just not hungry!” he snapped, shoving himself away from the table and knocking over an empty wine glass in the process. “GET BACK HERE AND SIT! DOWN!” his father bellowed, appalled. “Just let him go…” contradicted his mother with a lazy wave of her hand in his direction, her head lolling slightly in the opposite direction. “Real nice. Merry Christmas.” He ignored them both as he stomped out of the room, determined to escape. He had just
7 begun to scrape the entirety of his dinner into the garbage when his mom shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes squinted practically shut. “I just don’t understand…” “Don’t understand what, Mom.” “I… I just don’t understand.” She frowned and shook her head at the ground. “Well, I wouldn’t expect you to how you are.” He yanked open the dishwasher and stabbed his plate into place. “And how is that?!” she demanded, tears welling. “Well, you’re clearly drunk again, so I’m not gonna waste my time on a conversation you’re not going to remember!” He made to cut across to the door, but his dad beat him to it. “And where do you think you’re going?” “Are you serious? Get out of my way, Dad.” “No! It is Christmas and we’re going to spend it as a family!” “You know what? No. Go ahead!” negated his mother once again. “If he doesn’t want to be a part of this family, why should we force him?” “Honey, No. We can resolve this.” “What is there to resolve? Mom’s wasted and I’m fucking out of here.” “Your mother is not wasted…” “What?! Are you out of your mind?! What planet are you living on?!” “It’s fine Joe; he’s right! I’ve had a few too much to drink.” She stared off into space for a moment before tossing her hands up and adding, “It’s Christmas!” “Can I go now?” Leon faced his father, focusing every ounce of contempt fueled by the physical agony of opiate withdrawals at him. “If you’ve made up your mind that you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself and want to ruin Christmas…” “OH I’M THE ONE RUINING CHRISTMAS?! MOM GETS TRASHED, YOU PRETEND NOTHING’S HAPPENING, AND I’M THE BAD GUY! YOU DEFEND THIS BITCH AND LIE TO YOURSELF ABOUT WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON, BUT ALL YOU’RE DOING IS HELPING HER KILL HERSELF, AND I BET THAT’S
8 SOMEHOW MY FAULT TOO? WELL FUCK! YOU! BOTH!” Leon tore the door his father was standing in front of open, knocking him forward in the process, and slithered through the sliver of an opening he had made for himself. He was so overcome with vitriol that he didn’t even notice he was missing his coat until he was two blocks away, two blocks closer to his dealer’s house. “Answer your fucking phone…” Leon moaned as he paced up and down in front of the brownstone building. Another twenty minutes passed before he worked up the nerve to just try the buzzer. Thank you, God. He was walking up the stairs now, feeling the withdrawal melt away. Just a few more minutes and it’ll all be over. We’re right there, Leon. He knocked on the door to apartment K15 and waited. The door open a crack. “Oh shit, it’s you. You can’t just show up here.” They stared blankly at each other for a few seconds. “Come in, though.” Ray McDoyle, though not the brightest, was the most reliable of the addicts Leon bought off of (which wasn’t really saying much). “Listen, I’m all out of Oxy right now, but I got something else.” They stepped into the main room to a scene any normal person would find disturbing, but to Leon was the type of situation he had grown accustomed to. There were two gentlemen nodding off on either end of a peeling couch, the room’s only furniture, while another man was sitting crosslegged on the floor holding the hollow tube of a pen in his mouth, a lighter in one hand and a piece of foil bearing a bubbling, smoking, black goo in the other. “Awww fuck, I’m not smoking that shit.” “Door’s that way.” Ray gestured with his eyes. But Leon knew he wasn’t going anywhere. There was no way he was going back out onto the street without getting high, feeling the way he did. He had to get well. “As long as you don’t use three days in a row, you won’t get addicted.” An interesting theory, that so far as Leon or anyone he knew was aware, nobody had ever succeeded in proving; no one had ever not used on the third day. Barely a month had passed before Leon had to use every day, and the days he didn’t were torture. The steps in front of Ray’s building became his second home, as he often found himself chainsmoking half a pack just waiting. Some days he would end up driving all over the city just so they
9 both could pick up sooner, whether it be Cicero or Lawndale or even Englewood; if someone killed him they’d be doing him a favor he figured. He had already committed suicide just without the commitment. As long as he could get Heroin, nothing else mattered. Once while making a quick trip to Garfield Park, one of the guys who would usually take a balloon out of his mouth full of the stuff and never say a word, spat out what was apparently his last bag and asked Ray for a ride. Not knowing how to handle such an unprecedented situation, he said sure, so Leon obliged. The boy, no older than Leon, wanted to get dropped off downtown in the loop, so they swung by Ray’s place first and dropped him off. They sat listening to the radio in silence until, as Leon merged onto the expressway, he said “You know that guy’s been ripping you off, right?” “I’m sorry?” “That dude, homie we just dropped off. He’s charging you double.” “No shit?” “Yea man, anywhere in the city black is selling for ten a point. I don’t know how he’s got you paying twenty.” He shook his head and looked out the window. It was starting to snow. “Next time you wanna pick up, why don’t you just call me.” “Shit, alright, thanks man.” “Yea, no problem bro, it’s a fuckin’ struggle out on these streets you feel me, so you help a brother out time to time ain’t nothing for me to get you back.” They sat in silence for another fifteen or so seconds. I hope he just means me giving him rides by that… “Yo, so what’s your name?” “Sampson, but call me Sam.” “So what you’re telling me is that Sampson Avery is your pot dealer?” “Yes.” The shakes were getting harder to subdue, and Leon was now openly pouring sweat. It had been nearly twelve hours since his last hit, and the only thing preventing him from total meltdown was the knowledge that the minute he was out he
10 could retrieve the sack he threw behind the dumpsters when he heard the cops come screaming out of nowhere. All he cared about was fixing it, and if snitching on Sam got him out quicker, oh well. Besides, it’s not like I’m telling them anything they don’t already know. They know he’s in with the Vice Lords, so they can assume he’s moving weight. “They don’t have dealers in Wicker Park?” “I don’t live in Wicker Park.” “Says here you do.” “Yeah? Well I must’ve forgotten to update my info.” “You being smart with me?” “No, sir.” “Where do you live then?” Leon wasn’t prepared for this; he couldn’t think of a believable lie to save his life. “Well?” “The train,” he admitted, ashamed for some reason to inform this police officer who moments ago seemed to take him as an overprivileged perennial fuckup that he was in reality little more than a homeless junkie. Perhaps it was the fact that he had never been forced to state it out loud before this, that made it suddenly concrete, but everything all of a sudden seemed to come into much sharper focus for a few seconds: he was sitting in police custody answering questions about his heroin dealer, while debating in his head whether he would rather be released as soon as possible so he could score or that they hold him until at least sunrise so could stay somewhere warm for the night. But by sunrise someone’s gonna find that sack for sure, maybe even a kid on his way to school. Is this what they meant about life being unmanageable… “Checks out, that’s where that shit’ll take you, man.” Thanks for the wisdom, asshole. “So what else can you tell us about Mr. Avery, he selling anything besides heroin?” HEROIN? “Heroin?” Leon blinked stupidly, “Who said anything about heroin?”
11 “You’re sweating a hole through the chair kid, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you’re sick and we’ll get you out of here as soon as we can, I just need you to answer a few more questions, alright?” Leon stared at Officer Charles with a mix of panic and contempt. Had he just unintentionally snitched on Sampson and it ever got out that he did, he would be much better off in a jail cell. I hear they have pretty good H in county, anyways. No calling the guy and waiting hours for an answer, no waiting around in the cold for him to get home, all that song and dance is taken care of… “Alright.” “And don’t you lie to me again, ‘cause I’ll know, and it wouldn’t be hard for me to peg you with resisting arrest. You cooperate, we let you out of here on an Ibond, get you set up with a drugcounselor, maybe this all comes out as a blessing in disguise, sound okay?” “Yeah, okay.” His neck muscles were getting weak, giving him the look of a confused toddler who hasn’t quite grown into his head yet. “Does the name Melody LaBelle ring any bells for you?” Leon’s head snapped back to attention. The sensation of being yanked back in time nearly ten years to his first year of high school was more than enough to jostle his brain back into function. “After the crystal drops below the Curietemperature, a phase transition occurs in the substructure. Polar domains form in the crystal that can be observed indirectly as they scatter under a microscope...” “I don’t get it, why would you cut a hole in the bottom of the popcorn?” “Think about it: halfway through you’d get a buttery surprise.” Her eyes lit up as she realized what he was getting at. “Ewww!”, she mouthed with glee. “You’re fucking sick.” “Yeah, I know… so you want to try it, or not?”
12 “Hmmm, I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate it much.” She said, pursing her lips. “You didn’t answer my question.” Leon maintained his charming smile, but his eyes weren’t joking anymore. She looked up at him from the worksheet she was doodling flowers on. “You take me for that type of girl, huh? You think I just go around sucking guys off?” Leon’s smile faltered; this conversation had backfired on him entirely, leaving him gasping for words. “Uhm, no! I – that’s not what I meant!” “It’s okay”, she said, flashing a smile to put Leon at ease, “You wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. I know what people say about me. That I’m a slut? It doesn’t bother me; none of my business what anyone else’s opinion of me is.” “No, look, Melody I was only kidding. Obviously I don’t want you to suck my dick in a movie theatre full of people.” He choked back a snort of laughter at the thought crossing his mind: Why waste the money on a movie ticket when you could just polish me off in the bathroom? “Notice in this image of a DKDP crystal the rainbow effect produced by the various arrangements of the domains…” “Oh you don’t, do you?” She leaned in to him, smacking her gum as she spoke, “Maybe not in a theatre full of people…” Was this an offer? Leon was too lost in the pale green of her irises to notice that neither of them was laughing anymore, or that their chemistry teacher Mr. Robles was staring right at them. “Miss LaBelle, I suppose you would like to explain to the class what type of properties are observable at this temperature? No? Well perhaps you’d concentrate better if your seat were located away from the fascinating Mr. Nowak here…” Perhaps you’d have a job that didn’t suck ass if you were located on a planet where spineless fucking robots no one respects like yourself got paid more than a trashman to regurgitating the same couple chapters of an outdated textbook to kids who don’t give a shit.
13 “You’re probably right Mr. Robles,” she sighed, still looking directly at Leon as she stood up, collected her things, and adding “Mr. Nowak is quite the distraction…” before strutting to the opposite end of the classroom, clearly aware of the eyes on her back as she strode. Both teacher and student stared dumbfounded at this demonstration for seconds longer than was appropriate for either before shooting each other a glare of mutual judgment and getting back to work. “What are we seeing an example of once the crystal has sufficiently cooled and is exhibiting a hysteresis loop in its electrical polarization?”, the worksheet in front of Leon read. What the fuck? How am I supposed to know this? Leon began frantically flipping through his chemistry textbook looking for anything about crystals or polarization, but found nothing remotely connected to hysteresis loops. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut so he could better fantasize about this class ending in – he glanced at the clock: it was 11:23 now, and his lunch period began at 11:38, so – fifteen minutes exactly, and about the joint rolled up in the glove box of his parents’ old Accord he would be sparking up well before noon. His eyes blinked back open to reveal Melody staring at him from the corner she was sitting in across the room, her arm draped across her collar and her hand hooked loosely around the opposite shoulder. Her lips curled up as Leon’s eyes met hers, while her fingers dragged across her chest and caught on the spaghettistrap of her tank top. Leon mimicked the exaggerated sultry smile, and began tugging on the collar of his own tshirt. What began as an attempt to tease however turned quickly into a warped version of Simon Says without words, as Leon quickly realized that she was now mirroring his every move. He bit his lip, she bit hers. He licked his top row of teeth, she giggled and followed suit. He spread his legs wide under the table, she spread hers, momentarily revealing the lacy, practically seethrough panties she was wearing before clapping her knees shut and chastising him with her scolding eyes. This continued for the rest of the class period, with Leon coming as close as one can to coercing his way into seeing a nipple, up until the final few minutes which Mr. Robles liked to take advantage of to belittle the class as a whole
14 for failing to meet his expectations (providing just enough time for the biological predicament Leon found himself in to resolve itself). After class Leon made a beeline to Melody in the hallway, marking the first occasion which he had approached her outside the classroom. Whether she was midconversation with the girls she was standing with, he did not know or care, as his reptilian brain commanded him to pull her aside and ask, “You’re really gonna get me all worked up like that and not show me anything?” Immediately upon hearing his own words he was filled with regret; who was he to feel so entitled? Yet the look on her face was one he hadn’t expected, like he had somehow made her of all people uncomfortable. “I – what? Well what’s in it for me?” “What’s in it for you?” Leon was racking his brain now, searching fervently for an answer. What could he possibly offer her of equal magnitude? “I show you mine, you show me yours?” He couldn’t believe his own ears. He had resorted to the earliest sexually explorative game he could think of, reminiscent of the dugout during childhood teeball where comparing penises was akin to a handshake. There was no chance this could work; why would she want to see his dick? “Okay”, she said with shrug, grabbing him by the hand and leading him down the stairs. Leon was still struggling to determine whether or not he was dreaming by the time they were walking past the security guards and out the main entrance of the school. Melody turned abruptly, walking along the front of the school and pulling him behind some bushes that, though not entirely discreet, would hide the two of them well enough. “You go first,” Leon reasoned, “that way mine’s more impressive when it’s my turn, if you know what I mean.” “I think I know what you mean”, she said. And just like that there they were: two boobs, in all their glory. Leon’s insides reacted with glee, but he had to keep his cool, so he merely raised his eyebrows and nodded in appreciation the way one might to acknowledge that someone else had just made a really good point. Should I just reach out and grab them? She wouldn’t be showing me her tits if she didn’t like me, but she does have a boyfriend… Maybe I should just ask! How do you ask a girl that, “Can I touch
15 them?” Maybe I should ask for just one, that’s less pushy… But before he could muster up the courage to speak or act she was pulling her shirt back up and looking over her shoulder suspiciously. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Let’s see it.” Holy shit! My dick isn’t even fully hard, she’s going to think it’s small and tell every girl in school! There’s no way I ever get laid now! What have I gotten myself into?! “Well?” “Alright…” Here goes nothing… He took his time undoing the button and getting the zipper down, and even managed to squeeze in a couple pumps to fluff up his goods a bit before putting it on display for the first time. Then it was out, and he was just counting the seconds before he could put it away. Unless… Is she gonna touch it? Something else? Oh sweet Jesus, if I get my first blowjob behind this bush right now, I can die happy… “It’s… nice.” She said, examining his halfhard penis and avoiding eye contact. Nice? NICE?! What the hell does nice mean? She could’ve said a thousand different things, but NICE?! Wouldn’t I rather my dick be mean? I’ve never heard a dick described as nice before in my entire life. My dick’s not nice… is it? Leon looked down to see if his dick was, in fact, “nice”. I guess it is pretty nice! Or was she just being polite? I mean she didn’t say “it’s big” or “oh my!” or “Now THAT’S a cock!” How long has my dick been out, anyways? Is she gonna do something with this or not? She answered seemingly on cue. “Well, I’ve got class in a few minutes.” He took this statement as the indirect command it was intended to be: Time to put your dick away, Leon. She added, to alleviate the awkwardness, “See you tomorrow in class!” and cantered off. He was dumbfounded. He wasn’t sure whether to be elated or forlorn, so settled for a bit of both. He had just seen a girl’s boobs, Melody LaBelle’s no less, and she had told him he had a nice dick. He decided that this was a good thing, given how many adjectives she had to choose from; he could get by with a nice dick. Still, he was full of unfulfilled sexual energy, energy he didn’t totally understand, which was making him excited and angry and depressed all at once. Why hadn’t she wanted to go any further, and what had her in such a hurry to get to her next class; she was late practically every day in chemistry. Mostly he just felt confused, but as he began walking towards the alley where
16 he would normally meet his friends to go smoke during their lunch period, he was overcome with a sense of gratitude that today was his day, and he had a worthwhile story to tell. He pulled out his pack of Newport 100s, lit up the lucky square, and inhaled, thinking of how best to describe the first pair of boobs he had laid his eyes on just moments ago. Everything was alright. “Melody? What’s she got to do with any of this?” “I’m asking the questions still, so why don’t you tell me. Describe to me how you met Miss LaBelle?” “High school chemistry, she was my lab partner a few times.” Officer Charles looked up from his notes. “So you knew her well?” “I wouldn’t say well, she didn’t stick around long. Dropped out the same week she turned sixteen, never really knew what happened to her after that.” “Mister Nowak,” he sighed, allowing the folder to shut on his lap now, “I thought we agreed you were going to stop lying to me. Do you remember that? About thirty seconds ago?” “But I’m not lying! I haven’t seen her since I was a kid, what do you want me to tell you?!” “Do you know how easy it would be for me to switch the names on the baggies I’ve got back here in evidence? Maybe I found you with some rocks, if we start processing the paperwork now we could have you downtown by noon tomorrow…” “That’s enough, James.” The man in the gray suit had finally spoken up, and was striding into the room with purpose. “If this man really knew Melody, I’m sure he’ll want to help find her killer.”