The Theorists (6)


Adam’s doing alright. Not great. Better than he was. He’s a writer. He had some rough times – drugs, dropped out, jail, then rehab. He’s back in school. It’s still tough. He’s alone. He’s not doing great. But he is writing. Even if he doesn’t quite like what he’s writing. He’s writing, that’s the important part.

He’s from a small town pretty far away. Not a lot of money. Nothing at home at all. He’s got huge student debt and getting bigger by the day. But it’s important for him to finish school. Just because. He needs to know that he can. So he slogs through.

He likes Kahane’s class because it’s not a writing class. People like his writing, that’s not the problem. It’s that he doesn’t like it himself. So when other people like it… that’s kind of hard to take.

He hasn’t gotten high in a year.

After the class he starts writing. But pausing, more, and thinking about what to write. Daydreaming. Thinking about the world. In ways he never had before. He starts dreaming. Vivid dreams. Dreams almost real. And he writes them down. And for the first time in an awful long time, he likes what he writes.

The dreams get more vivid. They take over his mind. Practically hallucinations. Practically reality. He writes like a man possessed. The worlds pour out of him, a fountain. He’s sweating. He’s grinning. He hasn’t felt this good since-

Oh, shit. He’s high.

He hasn’t done drugs. But he’s high.

He wrestles with it. It’s okay, right? This is the natural high! This is what he’s supposed to be chasing! But he knows it’s not. It’s more of the same. And it won’t end anywhere good.

He gets his ass to a meeting.

I was getting high again, he says. I didn’t even realize it, if you’ll believe that. And I realized that I was. And I wasn’t hurting anyone, and I wasn’t… I wasn’t hurting anymore. But I was still getting high. And it sucked, he says. It sucked a whole hell of a lot. But I stopped. I put it down, and walked away.

They applaud him. He sighs and deflates. Thanks, he says. Thanks very much.

Later that night he goes home and writes. And it’s not great.

But it’s a start.


~ by davekov on 5 March 2014.

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