We took a road trip to Olympia, Washington, for our ten year wedding anniversary this past May, arriving on a Friday. That night, we tried the new “calming” edibles we had purchased on the way, a kind that the clerk had told us was going to help us sleep. I should have known to question this assessment, for the edibles appeared much larger than the ones we had previously purchased in Vancouver, the ones that if I took them right before bed, the only side-effect would be the very thing I needed, to serve the needs of someone who struggled to fall, and to stay, asleep.
After climbing into the queen-sized bed that took up most of the room in the very tiny house, I chose the spot next to the window, and thank goodness, for what was to happen after taking the edible would make it necessary to breathe in the cool air coming from that windoe.
I immediately made note of the rust-colored beetle hanging on the wall opposite of my head, a hundred times larger than the real thing. The facsimile would serve as my point of focus in the ensuing hours in place of our smallest dog, who–rather than anchoring me as she had done during my first bad trip–would lie out of reach, underneath the heavy blanket, panting.
After chewing and swallowing the sweet salty edible, I shut my eyes and waited for the promised calm to wash over me. Instead, my heart beat rapidly as if I had been running or jump-roping good and hard. The louder it beat, the more I fixated on the false beetle–My how big you are, probably a hundred times bigger than the real thing, these people, these people must be obsessed with insects, on the other side, on the other side in the dark there’s an identical beetle remember the beetles in the house in Texas flipped over on their backs, that’s right, how long can a heart beat this fast before exploding or snuffing out my breath? Can I make it to the the tiny bathroom to vomit? Can I climb over Zen Zen and Mei Mei and babe’s legs? “Mei Mei is panting,” I managed to quietly utter, she’s panting under the heavy bed spread. And Babe, high like me only he never reacts like me, he said, “Oh, ha.” I wanted so badly to fall asleep but who can fall asleep with a heart beating so loud and fast it was greedy for the blood in my veins, competing with my brain seeking to hold onto some mantra, false beetle, be my saving grace. “Babe, my heart is beating so fast, I think I might have a heart attack,” I managed to utter. “Oh yeah?” he said. What I didn’t manage to utter was, “Maybe you should call 9-11,” and maybe they could save me from my heart exploding, and once again I’m ruining everything by being greedy for this big fat edible the girl clerk promised would be calming. Far from calming, my heart can’t take it. Time, time moved too slowly, the flase beetle hung in partial shadow, dark red ugly light. Then somehow, I must have fallen asleep with the beating heart beating just enough to keep me alive, fast, fast.
The Hungry Artist 