I stand outside for an hour ranting about the magicians at AT&T who develop ciphers and code to track fellow citizens who are becoming sorcerers. The following day, I sit in the community recreation room at my apartment complex talking to myself about god knows what. I don’t even remember. The security guard keeps finding me trying to catch a wink. He isn’t kind when he wakes me and pushes me on my way. He is, however, compassionate enough to walk me home, barefoot as I am, through the snow at midnight.
I’m so terrified of being harmed that I spend one night at a women’s shelter. Not just any shelter, mind you, but the place my mom used to work as a Director. I check in through the police station and then drive downtown for my voucher. Since my mom worked there a decade and retired, I know the location and am able to find the shelter with ease.
Once here, I check in to my room — a hotel-size accommodation with not one, but three twin beds and an institutional baby crib stripped bare of everything including the mattress. A fellow woman is already in the room. We sit outside and smoke and get to know one another. She, like me, seems to have some illness affecting her perception.
At 3 am and this weathered, fifty-something blonde woman is sleeping sideways on her twin bed when I awake. In some macabre dance, she is lifting her legs together toward the ceiling, inching them in, extending them toward the door, inching them in again and extending them parallel to the floor. I see this.
Bolting upright, I find my sweater and shoes, hit the door. All thew while, she continues to sleep soundly, softly snoring as some unseen force moves her legs.
There I sit for the remainder of the night, there in my car in the gated shelter parking lot, engine running, smoking, talking to myself. They have already found me… these magicians from AT&T who can enter your body and make you move as they wish. They were just giving me show through the woman with the puppet legs so I know I will never be free of them.