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Good, Alright, Fine
- University of Nebraska Press
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eli hastings Good, Alright, Fine Falling Room [52.205.159.48] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 01:53 GMT) 141 I I t’s a winter Tuesday night. I’ve skipped school to drive north and trip on acid with my best friend, Dean. The day has been more than unnerving; it has suggested something occult and sinister is happening in our lives, and the chill that laces my spine doesn’t feel like a mere effect of chemicals—it feels scary. So I get home and nerves are whirring in me, to say nothing of the cold blades of the acid. What I know is my best friend has changed; what I don’t know is if I have, too. I’ve missed dinner; I’ve not called. My brother is out of town. Only my dad and our dog, Sky, are home and the kitchen is black. The blue of the television swims faintly around in the living room. I’m wondering if school called, if my eyes are still monstrously dilated, if he’s pissed I missed dinner. I turn the key, with difficulty, in the dark lock. I get a soda and the refrigerator nearly blinds me—the slices of beef and browning vegetables are grotesque—and mock my pretended sobriety and calm. I have cold sweat on me as I stand in the doorway of the living room. Sky rises and stretches, ambles over for a scratch. I’m grateful that she occupies me—but I don’t show her my eyes, because she would know. “Hey dad—sorry I’m late, I got stuck with Diane helping her with that research paper she’s doing, not sure if I told you about it, it’s on domestic violence and anyway there’s like sources to cite and—” “Eli, have a seat.” Shit. I’ve only recently been officially allowed to see Dean again; if Dad discovers I’ve been skipping school—to say nothing of tripping—with him, I’m screwed. I fold awkwardly down on 142 eli hastings the little sofa next to his chair. He pauses the film he’s watching. The tv is the only light in the room and, in the film, something vague is happening in a bedroom, so there is not enough illumination for him to really see my face. He sighs. “Missed you for dinner.” “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry; I should’ve called.” I marvel over how good and simple the truth sounds. I drink my Pepsi. “Oh, it’s alright.” He spins the remote around a couple times on the coffee table. “So how was your day?” The words good, alright, fine line up like divers, ready to plunge into the room. But there’s a blockage. And I realize that I want, very badly, to tell him the truth about “how my day was.” I’m burning to talk. I allow myself a few seconds of heavy quiet to cobble together something safe but honest. “I don’t know. I guess kind of weird. I mean, I was talking to Dean earlier and he was telling me about some things that happened lately that are kind of strange.” I gauge his reaction to this, trying to see if the word “Dean” has tripped the usual series of alarms. But there’s no sigh, no eye-roll. He nods at the stilled screen, two gray lovers scowling in bed. “I mean, he’s just noticed a lot of coincidences lately. In one way he seems kind of stuck on finding them but there’s also been, like, a lot lately.” “Give me an example.” The screen winks once, brightly, on his lenses as he punches the power button. Then it is black and I hear his glasses clink down on the table. And I tell my dad all of it, cutting myself and lsd from the tale carefully as I go. “It’s just, like, because of the kind of things that are happening he feels like there’s something sinister going on—like there’s somebody controlling things that happen to him, trying to fuck with him.” I say this, I realize, breathlessly, trying to hustle it out. My father sighs again. “Well, you know, listening to you brings up a number of things for me. First of all, it makes me feel a little bad for the way I’ve Good, Alright, Fine 143 always thought of Dean. He’s probably dealing...