Otis

It was a good thing this panic attack happened on a Friday night. Looks like he slept most of Saturday away. His papers hadn’t magically graded themselves, nor did the snow amount to much.

He did muster up enough energy to call Chet, to thank him for caring so much. He knew that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was call Chet. And like wise he would do whatever he could for his best friend. He did ask Chet about the key. Oscar had given him one but Chet had left it at home.

The knob to Oscar’s front door started turning violently. When Oscar’s brother realized he couldn’t get in by force, he knocked. “I wasn’t gonna stop but ma made me.” He pushed past Oscar into the house. “Ma’d be here if’ that rude friend of yourn would’ve come got her.”

“Why didn’t you bring her? You live with her.” Oscar thought after he spoke that he shouldn’t have said that. It was one of many things as a Christian he knew he needed to work on.

“You know I ain’t got no money.” Oat threw himself down into Oscar’s chair. “Plus,” he drew a sharp breath through his teeth. “I’s nailin’ the misses.”

“If you are going to sit down, I would prefer you do it like you have some manners.” He picked up his glass and took it to the kitchen.

“Bro, you know what you need?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

Oscar and Otis were as different as night and day. Oscar found himself wondering if they really did have the same parents. He envisioned he belonged to the milk man. But that wasn’t the case. He was turned more like his father and Otis more like their mother. The ten years difference between them was noticeable to everyone that knew the both of them. Oscar tried to keep that group very small. But growing up and living in a small town didn’t make this easy.

“You need fucked. Ah good lay do you a ho heap ah good. Pussy got a cos, Doris. Ain’t much to see but ain’t all tits the same in the dark?”

“How many times do I have to ask you not to use that language in my presents?” He sat on the couch gazing out the window.

“You need a woman.”

“That is such a red neck thing to say.”

Otis laughed, “I’m red. Good ole boy sum say.”

Oscar leaned back into the soft cushions of his couch. The smell of Otis’ cheap cologne, sweat, and beer was causing his head to throb. “The only time you ever come over here is when you want something, what do you want?”

Piece of work

Everything was moving in slow motion. Neither the splinters nor the bullet ever hit the floor. He watched them move, an inch seemed to take years to travel.

A crashing noise pulled Oscar’s attention back toward the door. It swung open, again in slow motion as a boot appeared just above the swinging dead door knob. A boot he knew belonged to Chet.

When he woke, he was in his bed. Chet was sitting in a chair in the corner working on a tablet.

“Hey sleepin’ beauty.” Chet grinned.

Oscar hadn’t found his voice. All he could do was shiver.

“My friend, your mother is a piece of work.” Chet groaned. “Hmmm, I know you have told me all kinds of stories about that woman but you never really understand until you experience it first-hand.” Chet noticed Oscar shivering. “I turned your electric blanket on. I’m afraid to turn it any higher.”

Oscar closed his eyes and tried to imagine that warmth he felt from his dream. Those legs and arms wrapped around him; the warmth from her body heating his. Her body. If only there really was a her. When that didn’t work, he tried the loving light of Jesus all around him. Holding him as only a father could. It must have worked because he was fading into sleep.

He woke to the sound of a scanner squawking. He followed the noise to his living room; where a deputy was watching a repairman fix his front door.

“Hey Oscar, the boss said when you get your wits about you to call him.”

Oscar nodded. So this hadn’t all been a bad dream. Some of it was very real.

It wasn’t long before the deputy and the repairman left. The repairman gave Oscar a new set of keys to his front door. He even cleaned up the mess left by the destruction of the old one. Oscar had to remember to give Chet a key. He thought he had to the other door.

Everything in the living room was just as Oscar left it. The glass of pop was on the coffee table along with two weeks worth of papers to grade. His blanket was wadded up in front of the couch where he had fallen. This was amazing, and very frightening. What if this happened again and Chet wasn’t near? How long would it have been before he came around? If he came around at all?

This was the first time that he had a panic attack over a dream. He had dreams much more real than this one. He couldn’t figure out why it was different. In a daze, he sat on the couch. A panic attack in his sleep. Heavens, how that scared him.

Dream to panic

He was outside in the snow. His senses were flooded with joy. He stretched his arms out allowing the snow to hit every inch of him that it dared. The urge to strip off all his clothing over took him and there he was lying naked in the snow.

A voice called to him. It was a sweet sound filling his ears; whispering his name. Or did it? He rose up out of the snow, looking all around. There was no fear in him that someone would find him lying there. It was curiosity that compelled him to try to find the voice. After he realized he was hearing things, he closed his eyes and laid back into the snow. A warm touch froze his heart. As he looked around, he saw a knee on either side of him. The experience was intoxicating. He had never been drunk but could only imagine this was what it felt like. His vision was blurry and his head was spinning.

Warmth crawled up his back like he’d never known. He relaxed allowing the flood to overtake him. That touch. Where was it coming from? Did he really even care? He lay back as deep as he could. Enough to know he wasn’t on the ground. His ears pounded to the beating of his heart. Louder and louder. He couldn’t breathe properly. Each gasping breath was filled with the sweet taste of honeysuckle.

That touch. Those hands. The pounding in his ears became louder and louder still.

He opened his eyes to the silence of falling snow. There on either side of him were those knees. The warmth crawled up his neck. What was this? He moaned as he laid his head backwards. Every fiber of his body was on fire. Each snow flake melted before it reached him.

The pounding resumed in his ears. However, this time it was different, stronger, and more desperate than before.

He clutched his chest as he gasped. His lungs and throat burned. There was that pounding again growing stronger and louder. This time the pounding sound was riddled with panic.

At some point, Oscar rolled off the couch and into the floor on his hands and knees. The gasping for breath turned into gagging. He realized the panicked pounding he heard was someone at the door. Answer the door, his mind spoke but his body couldn’t move.

He heard a loud bang. A peace of metal flew in the house followed by splinters in all directions from the wood of his door.