Get caught up with previous chapters.
“Hi, this is Bonnie for Inspicorp. Thanks for your interest in Inspirational Toothpaste. This is your inspirational message for the week. ‘When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.’ Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Keep an eye out for more messages and samples from your friends at Inspicorp. Keep on brushing! Bye!”
Each week a new box arrived. Each week a new message. Each week more toothpaste. Each week more Bonnie.
Her voice was like a blanket. It comforted me. It kept me safe. It told me what I needed to hear. And the paste was magic. It gathered the bad. It took the pain and washed it away.
I would lie on the floor in front of the stereo speakers and brush and listen. I would replay every message over and over, analyzing every word, memorizing every breath. I could hear the lip smacks and saliva as she swallowed. I imagined the shape of her mouth as she spoke. I imagined her smile as she said, “Bye!” I pictured her wearing headphones in a dimly lit room. I imagined cigarette smoke drifting through pink and blue beams of light. I imagined a big man behind glass, working a soundboard and asking her for “just one more take.” I imagined her closing her eyes as she leaned into the microphone. I imagined her thinking of the special boy who would listen to this message and imagine what she was wearing when she recorded it. I imagined that made her happy. I imagined it made her happy to make him happy, and it made me happy to know that I was that boy, and I was making her happy. There was a cycle between Bonnie and me, even in the beginning. The cyclical quality of our relationship was undeniable even as I laid and listened and sucked the last remnants of toothpaste from each tube and swallowed it and felt it churn in my stomach and create a feeling that told me something could be there, if the right one came along, something would soon fill the void. Bonnie’s voice told me that. Bonnie’s voice brought me to life.
I waited by the mailbox every day. The mailman never hid his disgust as he handed over whatever piece of junk was intended for me that given day. It was all junk if it wasn’t toothpaste. It was all trash if it wasn’t Bonnie. The mailman would mutter, “Here ya go, cocksucker,” as he gave me local newsletters and coupons for carpet cleanings and window treatments. I didn’t care as long as the boxes came. And when they did I rushed to my apartment and tore them to pieces and jammed the discs into the stereo and brushed my pain away.
“Hi, this is Bonnie for Inspicorp. Thanks for your interest in Inspirational Toothpaste. This is your inspirational message for the week. ‘Eternal nothingness is fine, if you happen to be dressed for it.’ Woody Allen. Keep an eye out for more messages and samples from your friends at Inspicorp. Keep on brushing! Bye!”
And I always kept on brushing. And I always kept on imagining. I imagined her taking her clothes off as she spoke into the microphone. I imagined her touching herself. I imagined her touching me. I rubbed the toothpaste on my teeth, I sucked on the tube, I swallowed it. I lived, I breathed, I loved. I loved toothpaste. I loved life. I loved the floor. I loved the speakers. I loved her voice. I loved Bonnie.
But then she was gone.
The boxes no longer came. The toothpaste no longer came. Bonnie no longer came. For weeks the mailman smiled as he delivered junk every day. He loved bringing the nothing. He loved seeing the spark extinguished from my eyes. He loved knowing that my heart was breaking every day. He loved knowing that I could die. He wanted me to die. He wanted his revenge.
After several months of nothing my supplies were gone and I got the shakes and the toothache returned. The throbbing was so brutal that my skull felt like it was breaking apart. The blood flowed from my mouth like vomit and soaked my shirts and pants. With each throb a blinding white light clobbered me and showed me what I would soon see forever. It was horrifying. It was painful. It was nothingness.
Each day I stood on my Bambi legs and wobbled my way to the mailbox. I knew nothing was waiting for me but I continued to listen to Bonnie and she told me to keep up hope. She told me she’d return. But I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into the white. The nothingness was calling me. It needed me.
And as the mailman handed me a crumpled advertisement for some politician’s campaign he said, “Better luck next time, man…”and laughed arrogantly.
I dug down and with a powerful inhale I grabbed the strap of his bag, “What are you hoarding it for yourself?” I yelled at the sandal-wearing bastard.
“What?” he said, caught off-guard.
“Is this how you’re getting even with me? Is this is your fucking revenge?” I yelled.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” he shouted.
I yanked, “Let me have a look in this bag!”
He latched onto it and pulled, “What the fuck are you doing, psycho?”
“You’re stealing my mail!”
“I’m not stealing shit, dick!” he said trying to break free.
“I just need one look!”
“Get off of me, freak!”
I spun him, “Give me my toothpaste!”
He tried to fight back, “I don’t have it!”
“Yes you do! You said you could fuck with me and you meant it! This is it! You’re doing it now!”
“I am not!” I could hear the fear in his voice, “That was just talk, man!”
I spun him faster. “You lie!”
He started to lose his footing, “No! I’m serious! I didn’t do it! I swear to God!”
I pulled so hard that my hands felt raw, “I need my toothpaste!”
“I don’t have it!”
“I NEED MY BONNIE!” I screamed as the bag came loose in my hands and he tumbled to ground.
I quickly dumped its contents and frantically rummaged through the pile. There was no box. No toothpaste. No Bonnie. Just a face-full of pepper spray and kick in the ribs.
I moaned as I rolled to my side and looked up to the mailman standing over me. I could smell the hummus on his hot breath.
“I told you not to the fuck with the mailman, junky,” and he kicked me again. He gathered his things and walked off.
I got to my knees, pressed my face into the grass and screamed, “MY TOOTH HURTS!”
I had reached a new level of nothingness. I was now fully consumed. There was no turning back.
I. Was. Nothing.
I stumbled to my feet and up the stairs to my apartment. I slammed through the door and entered the kitchen, kicking and swinging like a five-year-old karate student throwing a tantrum. I bashed my hands into the counter. I yanked handfuls of hair from my head. I opened the fridge and grabbed the first thing I saw. Eggs. One by one I rocketed egg after egg into the sink letting out a ferocious “FUCK!” every time a yolk exploded onto the stinky, dirty dishes.
I spun and ran toward my bedroom, leapt and kicked the door open hoping to find something that I valued so I could regretfully destroy it.
But as I landed and wiped the savage drool from my mouth my wild eyes were magnetized to the bed…
Her legs were crossed, she was smoking a cigarette and she wore a skirt and Converse.“What…” I began, breathless.
She took a drag from her cigarette and stood. She exhaled as she approached and her face drifted though the smoke like she was appearing to me from another world. She was exactly as I pictured.
“My name is Bonnie,” she said while extending her hand for a shake, “and I would like to inspire you.”
