I fell off the bed today. I fell off yesterday, too. I fall off every day, nowadays. I fall off and usually hit my head on the cherry wood bedside table. I always hit it in the exact same place every time and now there’s a pointy lump on my head. There’s some bone jutting out of it. The bone is so sharp that even touching it opens a gash in my fingertip.
I wear a snap-back hat when I go out. It doesn’t fit my head so I just drape it over the bone jutting out of my head. A black youth passed me the other day and said that it was “dope” and that he wanted to start wearing his hats like that. I thought he was trying to mug me at first, but then I remembered not to be a racist. He complimented me and it felt pretty “dope.”
I walk with swagger now. I like to think the lump is giving me powers. It might be siphoning invisible confidence waves from the air. It catches them and pumps them into my pre-frontal cortex where it is turned into arrogance and sent straight to the tip of my dick.
Women love that lump. I am a pussy monster where, before, I wasn’t even a pussy fawn. Every time I go to the bar I’m the one that has to pick and choose. I am in power. I take off my hat for them and they say, “Can I touch it?” And I say, “No, baby, it’s dangerous.” And then they say, “Did you just call me baby?” And I say, “Yeah, I did.” And they smile and stare at the lump on my head.
I took one of them home the other night (like I do every other time) but this one was different. She had a forked tongue and ice-blue eyes and started singing backward while I was thrusting from behind. She screamed at me, said, “Crack my cervix in half.” I didn’t think I could crack a cervix, but I tried. She licked the bone and cut her tongue in four. Now it’s more like a dinner fork than a fork in the road. She said that I was “almost ready.”
Sometimes the lump stings. When it stings, I hallucinate. I saw a man in my bedroom the other day. He was dressed in a suit and tie and had two sharp and twisted bones jutting from his forehead. He limped over to my bedside, clutching his abdomen in his hands, and said, “You’re almost ready.” He looked sick. I said, “Ready for what?” I knew I wouldn’t get a real answer, since he was a hallucination, but I wanted to humor myself for a bit before I spiraled into a self-analytical anxiety.
He also said that he’d seen me in the hat earlier and that it wasn’t dope — it was “Hella dope!” Then he turned away and crawled into the tissue box on my nightstand, the one that — if you held a black light to it — would be ghost white. What a cool thing for a hallucination to do. I felt like he was mine now… truly mine.
Today I woke up with two lumps on my head. I didn’t fall off the bed. The second one grew almost overnight. It might be a reaction to the first. Either that a new kind of disease. I can just imagine the press I’ll get when I show everyone I’ve got two of them. The headlines will be astonishing. “Man with two lumps on head fucks yet another high school dropout.” The hallucination guy visited me again. He put his hand on the second bone and cut it right in half. It split his hand without him even applying pressure.
Then he started sucking on it. I’d never received a blowjob half that voracious. By the time he was done, his whole head looked like it had been lowered, for a few seconds, into a wood chipper. I touched him. Not a hallucination. Real. I heard a voice like it was right inside of my ear canal.
“You start Monday.”