'Til Death Do Us Part (12 page)

I manically brushed the remain
der of my singed digs off of me as Bearded M
an made quite a show of preparing our side dish. The poncho which was scratchy actually felt surprisingly
wonderful on my new itchy skin;
the polyester pants were on the tight side and about two inches too short
,
but it beat naked any day. I hid the underwear in the poncho
’
s oversized
front
pocket
. I was putting on the socks when he came in with a tray of steaming french fries.

“
Who are you?
”
h
e asked stopping a few feet from me.

At first I thought he was pulling my leg, but he just kept staring at me.
“
Michael Talbot remember? Y
ou just got me some new clothes? A
nd thank you by the way.
”

“
Oh right, I thought I was imagining you. Whoa french fries!
”
h
e exclaimed, like he just realized what he was carrying.
He started popping the steaming starch sticks into his mouth.
“
Mmmmm
, these are so good,
”
h
e said with his eyes closed. He opened them and peered at me for a moment as if he was sifting through his memory trying to figure out who
I
was
again
. W
hen he came up with a satisfactory answer
,
once more he
asked if I wanted some.

He put the tray down and I ate some
. T
hey actually had some spice
s
on them and were delicious.

“
I used to
be chef for a five star resort,
”
h
e said as he watched me obviously enjoying his cuisine.

“
These are fantastic,
”
I said as
I stuffed some more in my face.
Apparently
almost dying by fire and meeting God take their toll on one
’
s appetite.

“
Nice poncho I
’
ve got one just like it, I wish I knew where I
’
d put it.
”

“
What
’
s your name?
”
I asked again as I sat down, wanting to g
et closer to the addictive food.
Bearded M
an seemed to have forgotten about them completely
;
this was fine with me, I was famished.

“
John the Tripper,
”
h
e said with a faraway look.

“
Excuse me?
”
I asked almost wrongly swallowing a half chewed potato strip.

“
John the Tripper,
”
h
e reiterated.

I had to ask
,
but I already knew the answer.
“
Because you fall over things?
”

“
What
’
s that got to do with anything?
”
h
e asked back.

“
You said John the Tripper.
”

“
What
?
”

“
John the Tripper.
”

“
What?
”

“
Your name.
”

“
What about it?
”

“
I figured it
might mean you fall over things, apparently not though.
”

“
I toured for
twelve years with the Grateful Dead,
”
h
e told me.

“
Of course you did.
Any
chance you filled in some of the down time with some serious karate and weapons training?
”

“
I watched a Bruce Lee film once, didn
’
t understand it though.
”

“
John the Tripper...
”

He said
“
What
?”
again before I could finish.

“
Shit,
”
I said
,
rubbing my hand over the top of my head where my hair should have been.
“
Do you have a mirror?
”
I asked
as I patted down my entire head
.
I was pretty alarmed at this point
.

He pulled open a drawer in the small table that I had us
ed previously to support myself.
It
was overflowing with
handheld
mirrors of varying size and shape.

He looked up at me a little sheepishly.
“
Sometimes I just need
to see myself to know that
I still exist.
”

“
I can actually relate,
”
I told him as he handed me one. My right eyebrow
,
along with all of the hair on my head was gone, burnt to a crisp much
like my clothes had been, three-quarters of my goatee was gone.
I looked
pretty sketchy to say the least.
I
’
m not sure if I would have gone close enough to this
person in the mirror to drop a
quarter in a cup.
I looked like I wa
s suffering some serious malady.
I just hoped it wasn
’
t catchy.

“
Do you have cancer?
”
h
e asked as he rubbed my smooth head.

“
I hope not
, although that would probably be preferable to what ails me
,
”
I told him
,
eyeing the top of my head with the mirror.

“
Does shaving your head keep the evil one out?
”

I was so intent on trying to find some vestige of hair on my head
that
I almost missed his comment. Let
’
s be honest
,
most of what the guy says can
’
t be construed as anything other than crazy and I had just become a Telly Savalas stunt double
(Yul Brynner
? D
oes that help as a reference? Okay
,
how about Doctor Evil.)

“
What
,
John?
”
I asked finally looking over at him, my neck thankful I had stopped craning it in strange ways.

John the Tripper began to look around wildly.
“
Who
’s
John?
”
h
e asked me.

“
You are. T
hat
’
s what you told me.
”

“
My name is John the Tripper.
”

“
That
’
s what I said,
”
I answered
,
although I hadn
’
t
,
I had only called him John now that I reflected on it.

“
So there
’
s nobody else here?
”
h
e asked, the concerned look on his face dissipating.

‘
Just the voices in your head buddy.
’
I wanted to tell him, but I was afraid we would get so far off topic
that
neither of us would be able to recover.
“
Nobody else
,
John...
”
He was about to ask who John was again
“
...the Tripper.
”
That seemed to appease him. This was going to be a pain in the ass if I
had to call him by his full man-
given name every time I wanted to talk to him.

“
Your hair…
did you get rid of it because they were acting like tiny antennas?
”

John was giving me a headache
. H
is verbal gymnastics was like watching two highly skilled Chinese Ping Pong players playi
ng a game hopped up on Red Bull.
I couldn
’
t kee
p up, or maybe more like a sure-
footed goat on a Nepali M
ountain pass, I couldn
’
t follow his windings.

I shrugged.
“
John...(his mouth opened)...the Tripper (it closed) I don
’
t know what the hell you
’
re talking about?
”

“
You
’
re hair
,
man!
”
he said all wide-
eyed.
“
Did you shave it off so that she couldn
’
t communicate with you?
”
And before I could answer he added.
“
I wished I had thought of that, had to go out about
five
times to get enough tin foil to wrap the whole house. There are some funky people out there
. D
id you know that?
”

Did he just call zombies
‘
funky
’
people? Well that was a different slant for sure. This guy didn
’
t even know we were on the losing end of a zombie apocalypse, I didn
’
t think I had the patience to explain it to him
. And for what purpose?
John the Tripper seemed to be making his way just fine through his made up world.

“
I mean I toured with the Gra
teful D
ead and even Phish for a while
. Smelled some truly funked-
out hipp
ies, but those people out there…
”
h
e said
, pointing through his tin foil-covered window,
“
…t
here
’
s not enough
patchouli
in the world to cover up their smell.
”

“
Do you have guns?
”
I asked him, but the odds were
that
if he had
,
he would h
ave converted it into some make
shift bong by now.

In a moment of clear thought he looked at me like I was the one on a
twenty-
year acid stint.
“
Do I look like I would own a gun?
”

I could hear explosions throughout the
city.
I would learn later that they were the propane cylinders for heating that were catching fire as the city burned.

I stood and walked over to the window.

“
What are you doing
,
man?
”
John the Tripper asked
,
his eyes getting wide.

“
I just want to look out the window.
”

“
Hold on!
”
h
e yelled
,
running into the kitchen. He came out with what looked like two tin foil boats, at least until he put one on his head.
“
Here,
”
h
e
s
aid
,
thrusting the other one at me.

“
What do you want me to do with that?
”
I asked.

“
It scrambles the signal.
”

“
What signal?
”

“
How have you not heard her?
”
He
tilted
his head.

Oh
,
I heard her plenty,
and it was a constant struggle to
‘
hide
’
myself from her. I could feel her evil oiliness as she swept by trying to locate prey or predator with her thoughts.
“
What the hell?
”
I said as I grabbed the hat and placed it on. Well if I wasn
’
t certifiable before, I had now joined the ranks plunging in with both feet. John the Tripper seemed appeased.