Intake Interviews

The room was small, barely large enough for the large plastic counter and a few stools. Everything was red, everything. Even the air had a faint red tint. Having a conversation with the disembodied voice that seemed to be coming from behind and above the counter didn’t strike me as the least bit unusual.

“You can’t want to stop wanting,” the voice said. “You just stop.”
“I’m trying.”
“That’s why you can't.”
“I know,” I replied. "I need to stop trying to stop wanting,”
“No, that won’t work. Try the trackball," the voice said.

Rolling the large plastic ball beneath the palm of the hand seemed to have a calming effect for some. I stepped to the end of the counter, placed the palm of my hand flatly on the smooth, red surface of the ball, and began to roll it back and forth with a circular motion.

Others had done it. Some right beside me. You could tell when it has happening. Someone blurred, surged skyward, faded, dissolved into the atmosphere, accompanied by a sound that was felt more than heard. Some returned and some didn’t. Those that did said they had no control over whether or not they came back. If you asked where they went, they didn’t know. If you asked what it was like, they couldn’t say.

I’d been close more than once, felt myself converging, diminishing, disappearing. I’m there I'd think, and that would end it.

I was back. Drifting impulsively from prospect to prospect. Enticed by a face in a corner, a mouth, a well-formed breast, vanilla, cream, honey, the highlights and shadows along the inside of a thigh, a pomegranate."