To Follow Written by David E. Puretz Illustrated by Joshua Patterson

     I moved to this city with my jaw closed—without the comfort of courtship, friendship, sanctity and have been too afraid to unclasp the lock of my stickled jaw to speak to the purpose. The purpose? To encounter a lost love who had the ability seven and a half months ago to bring the voice out of my system and into the vast open air for others to hear. But after she moved onto her next experiment, she left with the key to my now frozen mouth and ever since I’ve been lock-jawed. I was completely addicted to the beauty that she surrounded herself with. I was infatuated with her lifestyle and all of the illuminated activities that she would involve herself in on a day to day basis. I was like a little child trailing and pacing along side of her. She thrived for the novel and unique and I became a part of the adventure every time we latched hands.

She was the one to come to me in the beginning, surprise, surprise, outside of Nevada near my father’s ranch. She introduced herself to me forcing me to expel words out of my mouth in response -- “Joe.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Joe, mind if I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

“Can I follow you to your place of residence and spend the night, with you.”

So she spent the night. And the night after that. And the night after that… and life was perfect. We latched hands and didn’t let go until she found a better more intriguing thing to become a part of, something or someone of more substance to engage herself in, another lifestyle to employ upon—one which didn’t involve me. Originally, I presume, she must have seen some aspect in me, one I didn’t know existed, one for her to usurp like she had probably done, I assume, with many like me in the past—people to bring her to a new ascertained knowledge—or to a higher orgasmic contentment—and then to suck them dry, bloodless and dehydrated. She certainly sucked me into her verve and as a result I wanted, no, considered necessary, to be a part of her internally and forever. But like I said, she sucked me dry then left me for dead.       She eventually moved onto her next adventure which was either in, a part of, or all of New York City. So I followed. It was a long bike ride.

      I followed like Handratty followed Abignale but I never had the moral fiber to follow through like debonair Handratty.

I got myself an apartment the size of my college dorm room in a borough of NY, one which has walls that are closing in on me on a daily basis. I got a job as a file clerk at Miracle Ear Technologies to pass the time and pay the rent and nourish myself with cheap deli food and cigarettes.       It was a game of cat and mouse with Isa, except she didn’t know this cat was on her tail. Why? I was a pussy cat scared to take a second bite of this puny mouse. What I needed to be was a timber wolf on the quest for blood to conquer my lovely.        But instead I was a maladapted, malnourished kitty.       Six months later, I still haven’t gotten up the courage to show up at her doorstep. I was afraid the lock to my jaw wouldn’t unfasten. Isa is probably involved in a completely new style of living so different from her one with me—she probably won’t even remember me.

    I get home to my dwelling with walls that get smaller by the day after filing for hours on end and sit atop my bed and drift into a daydream involving Isa and myself—usually ending with a dynamic vision of a previous act of vibrant intimacy and I’ll *boom!* snap back to reality and have cum on my fingers.

During the fantasy I envision myself traversing to her residence and sweeping her away into a new adventure for the both of us but I always end up brushing the idea off my shoulder and roll over and fall asleep and simply hang on by a thread of hope—a hope on next time.       I try thinking that I could be content if I could simply involve myself in my own adventures without the aid of Isa. But just thinking about it seemed unachievable.

   Recently I got off work and took a train to her apartment—stood outside of it and stared up at her window—at first considering confronting her—then after scratching that possibility out of my realm of thought, I then thought to myself that I could use this situation as inspiration by asking myself:
    
      “What could Isa be doing right now so different from what she had done with me” – possibly to spark an idea of creativity that I could wisp away in and be able to sleep soundly at night without her face popping into my mind every gigabyte of a moment.

      But it seemed my creative spirit only thrived through her—maybe it was some sort of telekinetic amalgamation, maybe she was my conduit to real emotion—not just happiness but anything different from my current temperament. Without her I’m a dull piece of wood. A sap, a file clerk.

      On the train to work, filing at work, on the train home, and finally falling asleep. These days are starting to merge into one long carousel ride – no changing speeds, continuing in a circular motion, no change of tempo—no sudden sporadic *booms!*, *thuds!*, *bams!* in the ride.

      So at home, I sit and want to do something, anything, but some neurological possibly chemical disease within my brain cortex won’t allow me to experience the novel without my sweet lovely by my side. I followed her here but I’m too pussy to brazen out. I need to do something about this…disease…this plague that has conquered me. This need—this wanting. Isa. I I I need …to wash it out.

      At work, bubbles started to protrude in the right temple of my skull as if some ghastly ghoul was pushing out through my internal self, out of the periphery of my brain, stretching it to exit my enclosed head. But I swallowed and held my head from getting pierced. I was frightened and held it within. I didn’t want to make a scene. I kept my hand clasped to the right of my temple and also my left temple with my left hand just to be safe for the remainder of work and on the train ride home. I cautiously opened the door to my apartment, sat on my couch and put my hands on my lap in relief. Minutes passed and I pondered what was happening to my swollen self. If something needed to exit, now was the time. So I let it. And fusing out of my temple like steam came a warped version of myself. A strange odd breed, looking like a minor accident by a mad doctor who practiced the art of cloning.

The clone though didn’t have a locked jaw…to say the least…and raved about ideas of madness, blurred words of esteem and thus I had someone to speak for me. He demanded that we go encounter my lovely.  “Now! We must leave now! Your shoes! Put them on! Now!”       We rode the train to lower Manhattan and instead of simply standing outside of Isa’s apartment and dreaming, we rang the doorbell. “Yes?” billowed out of the intercom. “Hey, heeey” my man said. Miraculously, the downstairs door buzzed open and we traveled up flight to her residence. My man opened the door to her apartment and walked in. I stood outside too nervous to put one leg in front of the other.

He noticed that I didn’t enter, came back for me and dragged me by my hair into her apartment. I was scared to look at her. I kept my eyes to the floor panels in front of me but my man forced my eyes in her direction.

      And there she was. Sweet sweet lovely from so long ago. She squinted at me in an odd un-bemused fashion. Sitting next to her was some stupid looking hipster with glasses on too big for his face—seemingly a façade of some sort in an effort to keep her just interested enough in him to allow him to be a part of her extravagant daily buzz. Shit, I think I did the same thing when I was hers. He probably has a car. A nice one. He probably drives a mustang or maybe a corvette entrapping her for a little bit longer.

“Joe, it’s been so long.” “Too long,” my man says. “If you only knew the extent of how long it has truly been.”       She introduced me to the dude with the big glasses and when we shook hands, he grasped it in that hateful intimidating fashion that men do. My man sensed my distress and ran full force at bug-face and slapped him three times fast. First with the front of his hand, then back-handed him and then finally gave him a final speedy slap on the regeneration of the previous.       Before I could react to my man’s behavior, Isa grabbed us by our shirt collars and pulled us out of her apartment.  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing or why you think that you can suddenly come out of nowhere and bust in through my door without even telling me that you’re coming or telling me that you were in town for that matter.”

       “…I’m sorry,” I said to her. Then cusped my mouth in shock. I spoke to her! I had actually been able to evoke words out of my system again, into the ears of Isa for her to internalize, dwell on. I was finally able to speak to the purpose.

      “Look. I’m expecting more company. You can chill, but be cool…any weird shit at all…time to hit the highroad,” she said pointing down the hallway.

      We went back inside and Isa sat on the couch by her man and I by mine. As her guests started to arrive they introduced themselves to me in a respectful manner, and before I knew it, a crowd had formed in her apartment—a laughing life-fulfilled group of well-wishers and high-hopers. I sat in the corner, didn’t say much and kept my head tilted slightly down.

A dude with long curly hair tucked behind a trucker hat walked in twenty minutes later who I could tell from the moment I locked vision on him my man was not going to hold in the highest regard. He demanded attention with his loud anomalous phrasings and unappealing jokes. He pulled out a small flask from his bag and drank it like water (perhaps it was?) all the while eying Isa like a cheetah eyes its quarry. He was there for the same reason we were here. Simply for our Isa.   I was beginning to get sea-sick. I felt like a drunken sailor but I was sober. Her walls started pulsating and claustrophobia began to play its part.  “What would you guys rather have,” trucker kid asks. “A chik with a real big booty, hefty tits, a decent face but crooked teeth, a chik with a tiny ass, tiny tits, a beautiful face, but ugly-ass short hair, or…lets say… a chik that’s completely average, with no spectacular features, nothing that stands out, just a plain basic chik.

      *Silence* Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll have…all three. At the same time…cause I already did! Last night, baby! Haaa!” he said this getting progressively louder as he climaxed his narrative. He sold it when he high-fived an ally to his right.

      For most of his little story, except for a few glances around, his eyes were at Isa. He was telling this for Isa’s ears in particular, to engage her, probably knowing she is a lover of brave new things, possibly trying to entice her.

I looked over at my man and saw the rage building up within him. Sweat starting dripping off his face and it moistened up his shirt. The trucker kid looked over towards us and noticed that my man didn’t look quite right and so he began to chortle under his breath. I saw a crack in the urn of my man’s eye and his form began to change. He grew red nostrils and sharp teeth, dripped foam from the corners of his mouth, then suddenly burned it away like dust with fire that he starting blowing out of his red nostrils; for he turned into a blood-sucking dragon with trucker boy in mind for his next meal.       My man who was now a fire-breathing dragon got out of his seat and started hovering over the trucker kid. The trucker kid was now the one sweating.       “I know what you were implying!” my fire-breathing man burped out in a demon dark diction. “For that, you will burn!”

Out of my man’s right nostril came a blazing flame thrashing down upon trucker kid. His body went up in a flame. His clothes either burnt off his body or melded onto it. His trucker hat turned into ash and drifted away in millions of pieces. When Isa finally extinguished the kid and the room, he looked like the walking dead. When the smoke and the billowing whiteness from the extinguisher vanished, dragon was no long present. In his place was a giant-sized eagle which my man managed to morph into during the great white blinding. And I simply sat and took it all in. I watched as one of trucker’s comrades hugged his charred body.  Subsequently, after my man had turned into an eagle and flew out of the room, all eyes were keen on me. I didn’t make much movement, for I sluggishly sat back and rolled my eyes around at the crowd. They were waiting for my next move. But I didn’t make one.

Not because I wanted to taunt them but because I wanted to figure out for myself how all of this was feasible. After much contemplation, nothing of relevance hit me, only the fact that I was thinking about my calamity of self and not simply about Isa. For it seemed I managed to save myself.       I slowly stood up and the crowd pushed back. I walked for the door, exited and felt content. I left the apartment complex and had a clear head—sort of like the feeling right after having sex. I felt I was ready to move on to a new adventure. “Joe!” “Joe! Hold up!” It was Isa. She followed.         I turned around and saw her approaching me with a yearning beam –a countenance displaying a sense of longing and a smokey mist was drifting out her forhead—for she had developed demons of her own.