Doug

Smack Smack Smack

It's back again...

I can't help but wring and twist my tongue around the inside of my mouth as that awful taste tries to make itself comfortable to my senses.

Smack Smack Smack

What the hell is this?

The experience is disgusting and repulsive, but it's reminiscent of something, what exactly, I can't remember.

Every few years, the strange flavors creep back in, making me uncomfortable, messing with my mind, letting me know I've forgotten something.

I can't help but twist and writhe in between my bed sheets as I try to remember where this strange taste is from, but my mind always draws a blank.

At this point, it doesn't matter; it's disturbing, and I want it to be gone.

I manage to force myself out of my bed and into the bathroom of my single-wide trailer, hoping I can find a way to get this foreign taste out of my mouth.

Everything's a mess, it always is, but somehow amongst the clutter I spot my toothbrush, bristles worn and withered, resting on the soap dish on my bathroom sink.

Smack Smack Smack

Ugh

I desperately grab my toothbrush from the dish and squirt a more than generous amount of minty paste along the bristles, but as I lift my face to the mirror to begin the process of eliminating this foul taste from my mouth, that's when I notice it; my face.

There are tiny bruises around my mouth, in the form of a diamond as if they were strategically placed, my skin is flushed red, as if I'm permanently embarrassed, and my blond hair has remnants of dirt in little clumps that fall to the sink as I try to run my fingers through it and take my reflection in.

This all seems too familiar, and I don't want the memories. I want them to stay locked away.

I bring my focus back to my toothbrush and begin to scrub away at the taste.

I can't get rid of it, I scrub and scrub and add more paste, swapping out the toothbrush for my bathroom cup filled to its rim with extra strength mouthwash, the kind that burns, stings, and feels completely too overpowering to be doing anything other than causing damage.

I've brushed till I've drawn blood, and every pile of spit has strings of blood and mucus swirled throughout my saliva. I can't get rid of it. I'm stuck with the taste, and I give up.

I head into the shower, feeling overwhelmed and helpless.

Why do I feel so depleted?

Why can't I remember?

I scrub away at my body searching for any new scars, luckily the only thing I've discovered so far are those strange marks strategically placed around my lips, I try not to think too hard about them and continue to focus on the parts of my body I can clean, the things I can scrub away.

I wash the soot from my hair until the water runs clear and give my body one last lather before exiting my shower and going to check my face again in the bathroom mirror.

Smack Smack Smack

The taste...

It's still there. I shake my head from left to right to regain my composure and notice the marks around my lips have lightened up. They are still noticeable, but I doubt anyone will say anything.

I'm the type of guy no one notices. I'm the type of guy that if I were to disappear, not a single soul would care.

It takes everything in me to bustle through my mess of a trailer and toss on my ragged work uniform, the dusty blue work jeans, overly abused Timberland boots, and work logo embossed black polo I'm required to wear in our local home improvement retail store: The Tool Shed.

My thoughts move quickly from the foul taste in my mouth to the realization of how much I hate my job, it's the only place that would hire me with my level of education in the area, and without a car, my options are extremely limited.

I have no time to sit and dwell in woe, I'm on a final warning from constantly being late, it's not my fault, I blame the alcohol, it's the only thing I have to keep me happy these days, being a single gay man out here in the middle of nowhere feels like a curse and the liquor, it's the curse breaker, even if only temporarily.

I'm finally able to gather up the last of my things and make it to the bus stop in what feels like the nick of time, as I see the old city bus approaching, I take one last drag of my cigarette down to the butt and flick it to the roadside as I ready myself to get in.

The bus creeps up slowly and comes to a stop and its metal doors swing open, inviting me to take a ride to the hell I know oh too well, the hell I call The Tool Shed.

"Hey, Doug! You're early today. I usually don't see you till about my second or third route. No partying with the ladies tonight?"

Fucking seriously, the whole town knows, yet we pretend...

I make my way on the bus and try to give a courteous and calm reply.

"Just trying to get to work a little early Nelson, you know how bosses can be..."

"I hear ya..."

I keep moving as he closes the door and moves the bus forward to its next destination.

On my way to find a seat I can't help but notice a man in the back of the bus I've never seen before, most of the people on my route look familiar, a small town and all, but there's something about this guy that's different, something's off.

He is attractive nonetheless, a little gawky, but his messy short black hair and pale skin that seems to somehow be glowing are unique and complementing features.

I see him glare up at me and I swear he bites down on his lips, which makes my skin flush a hot red, which I try quickly to control.

I try not to make eye contact with him as I choose a seat somewhere in the middle, away from Miss Patricia who I know will talk my ear off if I let her, and away from the strange guy who I swear to whom I can feel staring at me as I lay my items down on the seat next to me.

It doesn't take long before my internal thoughts are confirmed. Not only has he been staring at me, but he's on his way over.

Fuck Doug, why can't we just have one normal day?

"You can't get rid of it, can you?" He asks as he takes a seat directly across from me.

I look at him curiously as the driver goes over a hump with a force that causes us to both jerk awkwardly in our seats.

"Get rid of what?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He laughs maniacally and I swear I've missed the joke.

"The taste..."

I feel my heart racing. I can't believe what I'm hearing. How could he possibly know what I'm experiencing...

Is it him?

Did he do something to me?

Why can't I remember?

I'm angry, I'm frustrated I, I'm....

"Get away from me! What did you do!" I scream. I can't help it.

I can feel the eyes on the bus glaring at us, besides the driver, who's sneaking peeks from the rearview mirror. Me and this guy are center stage as he stares at me creepily before standing up as the bus comes to a halt at its next stop.

He makes his way to the door, turns his head just as freakishly as his demeanor would suggest he would, and makes a final statement before proceeding to the exit doors.

"The taste will fade, but they will keep coming back. You will keep forgetting, this will be your life unless you do something... enjoy the taste." He snickers.

"What?!, who will keep coming back?" I yell, not caring about the scene I'm creating on the bus as if my reputation isn't horrible enough in this town. Who knows what they will say now?

I want to get up; I want to get off the bus and follow him, but I can't lose this job. I have no family, no friends, and nothing to rely on but myself.

I settle back in my seat and look through the window as the driver pulls off and continues his route.

Who is after me?

What is this taste?

Who the hell is this guy?

*** Narrator's Corner ***

Well, it looks like not every taste is appetizing, especially when you don't know where the hell it comes from...

But what's even more disturbing is meeting someone you have never seen before who knows your weird little secret.

Ha-ha looks like Doug better get those memories back, and fast. There's nothing worse than being left out of the loop. It's quite tasteless, don't you think?

He-He

- Mezzy