Talking to Darla
He stared up at the white ceiling; the halogen lights burned a white that hurt his eyes, so he closed them.
“Darla did you ever think one could be the center of the universe?” It had been floating in his head for awhile now.
“Is this one of your hey-everyone-I’m-important thoughts?”
He just stared up at the ceiling with his eyes closed. The blanket felt soft, a rough wooly softness.
“I would say that because you hit the topic dead- on, really not aiming for subtlety there are you.”
“Think of this thought. We can only see the world in our own eyes, everyone else can only be seen as a third-person character at best, no matter how much you known them, because it’s all through your own eyes”
A hesitant silence, he waited to hear voices, besides his own breathing.
“You know what I had always loved about you Darla?” Darla said nothing “You’re a great listener, there are times when I can just throw a textbook at you and you would just take it”
He opened his eyes; the light was still too bright. He closed his eyes; all he could hear was his breathing.
“Darla? You still there?” He felt his breath quicken.
“What?” he sighed “I thought you liked me because I listened to you.”
“Yeah I do, so shut up and listen. Could it be possible that I am the center of the universe, not like the second reincarnate in this world God doesn’t exist, but if he does he is to exist for me. So the scope of the world is just like a game that was shaped for my upbringing and life and everyone, family friends, acquaintances, are just non-consequential, all there to serve as interaction in my life. So that would be the definition of humanity, no just human, just me.”
“So if you’re the bleeding king of the universe, how come, you fucking broke who lived in his girlfriend’s apartment?”
“See you’ll notice all the guys who are famous, the entrepreneurs all started small, with barely a nickel in their pocket but with hard work and smarts they embody the human spirit. If I was born the son of a rich man I’d be a idiotically ironic little hipster, hardly the great thing that embodies the human spirit, now would I.”
“You’re a 29 year old man, who is unemployed with a bachelor of history of arts, broke, in his girlfriend’s apartment. Need I say more, or does the truth hurt too much.”
“Hey, that just is part of my theory, everything in life no matter how bad is bad so you will learn to grow up and be a better person. Anything no matter how bad, no matter what.”
“Even as bad as killing your girlfriend?”
He flinched, his eyes squeezing harder into wrinkles.
“Oh shut up Darla.”
He opened his eyes into slits, the shear of light burned. He shut them for a moment, and then he started flickering his eyelids, the burning ebbed until he squinted at the room he was in. There were no windows, and the only door was shut. If it had any gaps he couldn’t tell the room itself was too bright.
He turned his head to the right to see the surface of a desk. Its light whitish surface was clean except for a small picture frame. There was a picture an outline of two people but the light reflection obscured it.
He reached over, but couldn’t. He tried, but still couldn’t. Looking down brown straps held him down, crossing over his body and arms. He tried moving his legs, he couldn’t, brown straps held his legs down. He began flexing his fingers, stroking the wooly softness of the blanket. He closed his eyes again.
“Darla?”
He could hear is breathing, nothing else.
“Darla are you still listening to me?”
“Yes, I still listen, David.”
“Thanks Darla.”
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