Nidhoggr!.. yell I, biking my way across the road beset by forests and fields.. my night way to the city. In my mind more a lovable pig than the malicious serpent of legend, the yell is of giddy excitement, splashing through the shallows of twilight thought. There is in fact some light – the bike’s, which looks as if shining down on me, encouragingly brighter when I pedal faster, making for my little UFO.
It is the last day of the year, and the last hour as well. No snow, but decently cold. On my head I have a red paisley patterned bandana. I have pants but no underwear. I wear a sweater and over it a blue t-shirt with a rising dragon. It is a stylistic choice, as certainly nothing is more mundane than wearing shirts below your sweater and no sweater of mine has a dragon on it. We would do some dragoning tonight for sure. In a neat new bag, I carry with me all my savings, something above a thousand euros. I am decided to bless the birthing year with my all, as I’m sure that love will also live us all.
Midway, in a town, I come to a stop. There is here a place of haute cuisine ‘Christoph’. Taking notice of the name, I am reminded of the legend of Saint Christopher, and how difficult it was for him to carry baby Jesus across the river, such is the weight of the child. By no means religious, but open to allegory, and seeing as I’ve been becoming so light… it occurs to me to try crossing the gates the ghostly way, without opening them. I conduct myself… and attempt stepping through the wood planked gates, mistily. No go, guess I’m still material. I don’t take it personally, peeing onto the fence instead… and off I go again, on my bike towards the city.
The road has gotten it’s markings and I am compelled to ride right over them, in the centre of the way. There is little traffic, but the few cars successfully manoeuvre along. In fact, there comes from the opposite direction a police van, avoids me, and carries on it’s righteous way.
Nearing the city, certain sounds begin enveloping me. A kind of music, as if jingling jingle bells. And voices, cheering me wordlessly, like a group of children on an amusement ride, in this case my jolly bike. I feel like a beast of burden at their pleasure, but am happy to please, and continue pedalling with some wonderment.
My destination, the city square, is in sight. It’s filled with people and music, as there’s a stage set up, with some pop act on it. The New Year is coming, and so am I, countdown starting right as I’m approaching the human horde chanting seconds left. Five, four, three, two, one… Happy New Year! Destination reached. The crowd is wild and I do my thing…
My thang being dance, with mah bike. Not on it, but rather playing with it, holding it by the handlebars and then by the seat and upright, tossing the beastie all about, to music and in style for sure. Feels like, imagines like.. handling some great writhing snakes. I keep my eyes closed, while the people around keep cheering. They give space and some pour alcohol on me. It’s all a flashing whirl of intermingling realities. And we’re reaching the climax and I’m hoping for a release of sorts. Maybe for my voice to open, as it so rarely does. I turn my head to the skies and try produce a joyous scream… the knot in my throat however is still there, and the yell is none too impressive in the overall din of the celebrations. Eeeeh…
Somewhat disappointed I end my dance and open my eyes. Sometime in the middle of it all I apparently spread the loving monies among my cheerful audience. In fact, I have a glimpse of how smoothly the paper riches left the bag, but there is no further memory. I assume the quickest kids got it all… here’s hoping they spend it on something worthwhile.
No time to observe, now I’m escorted by a medic in yellow to an ambulance – yellow. I’m asked a few questions – my name, what drugs am I on, why am I doing this. I’m feeling perky, I give my name, along with Kajetov – the ancient family name of ours, which none use these days. I tell him I was given some liquor, a couple hours prior, but just a taste really. And why? – to see how many times I can bend. He nods, clearly a man of understanding.
They take me to a hospital, not far…
I’m not really sure why I’m in the emergency ward, but I request Stella as my doctor. A long past love of mine, I quite expect her to come and do cast healing magic on me. I’ve so much to tell her. And yes, she is a doctor. But I’ve no idea where in the world she is now… I’m put on an exam table, they do some tests and that’s it. Outside, my mother and father are already waiting for me – they were in fact at the city square for the celebrations, not sure whether they saw me though. My father is circling his thumbs, spinning as in some occult gesture, perhaps to mesmerize me. They ask me whether I want to go to the hospital – the mental one, the one I left in good cheer couple of weeks ago. To hospital! – that’s a grand idea. The soft spoken senior doctor there one truly can trust, and there’s all these things I wish to share with him. To the hospital then!
Family friends take us in their car, and off we go to the Castle of Lost Souls. I call it castle because it is one.. turned Nazi prison.. turned mental asylum. Place has history. Lit by warm lights, it is quite dreamy in the winter night – might be Hogwarts, might be Azkaban. The gates are locked, but we are quickly let in and taken to the doctor working the dead man’s shift. And what a doctor she is! Blonde, beautiful and shapely, glasses, white coat and all – the castle must have been taken over by the forces of High Heavens! Ooh, this is going to be good, some sexy times afoot, certainly!
The divine asks questions to which I reply as earnestly I can, and then she hands me a paper, of declaration of willful admittance to the hospital. I pause for a bit with some uncertainty, this part is tricky. Do I want to stay here indeed? I would wish to reply deliberately and fully, but truth is I’m somewhat caught in the flow of it all. I know I’m experiencing extraordinary, but does it really have to lead here? Oh, what the hell, I do sign. Smiles all around. A kind nurse in blue escorts me to the elevator, me somewhat baffled – where’s the sexy time? Ah, maybe we’ll get to that later…
I am admitted to the male intense department, where loonies are put under surveillance.
Greeting me are the familliar faces of all-male technicians, mostly nice guys, but whom I want no sexy times with. Still, I am cheerful and playful. Fat one tickingly searches me, joking: “Where you got the money? Eh, where’s your money?” “In my ass!” – is what I have on the tip of my tongue, but for no good reason I hold back. Again I am to sign, confirming the items I’ll leave in their care. I write my name with the style of an awakened child, effortlessly drawing a trajectory bouncing off the letters, trailing a very happy ball.
I am administered some drugs and pointed to the bathroom. There, I’m getting ready to take a shower, when the fat technician comes in, standing in the doorway with a piece of paper in his hands. He proceeds to awkwardly recite to me a simple poem, which sadly I will never remember. “Now take the shower!” I’m a bit surprised by this display of sensibility, but only a bit. I do take a shower, and off I am to my assigned bed.
Sleep isn’t quick to come however – there’s a patient causing havoc in the main room, shouting for his lawyer, and for his doctor, and to be let go. He might have found his peace, or at least a decent syringe, for he eventually shuts up. … Leaving me with an open-eyed vision of a naughtily clad girl, red as from some festive CocaCola commercial. She hovers below the ceiling, seemingly all that remains of the hoped-for sexy time. Guess this is my New Year’s Eve, the end of the world afterparty. Amused and bemused, I slip into sleep.