A Minimalist, #3

Serg doesn’t share my enthusiasm for bargain hunting, but he’s a good friend and is always down to join me for an adventure. I don’t think I deserve a friend like him. He’s seen me through some difficult times, and he’s here with me now.
“Where is this place,” he asks as I get in the car.
“Vienna. Not far,” and we’re off, speakers rattling all the way.

We get there quick. Whenever Serg is behind the wheel, physics don’t apply, and we turn a 45-minute trip into half an hour. We’re so fast that we’re the first to arrive. We might actually be early, for once. No other cars are present, and we park in an enviable spot.

“Where’d you find this place,” he asks me.
“Online. Saw an ad on Fartbook and figured it’d be worth checking out.”
“Online, huh…”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing, man. Probably shouldn’t bring it up right now… You doing ok?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just that I haven’t heard from you in a while, and…”
“I’m fine. Really. Everything’s just okie-dokie. Couldn’t be better.”
“Okie-dokie, huh…”
“Look, if you’re worried about something we can talk about it later. Let’s get in there and look around—find all the good stuff before it gets taken.”
Sergio glances at the empty driveway. “I don’t think we have to worry about that, man.”

We get out of the car and approach the front door. I check my phone, once more, to confirm we’re at the right house. It’s terribly embarrassing showing up at someone’s house when they aren’t expecting you… Trust me. I know…

I ring the doorbell, and about half a minute later the door opens. We’re greeted by an attractive middle-aged woman with long dark hair that drapes over her shoulders. Her eyes are striking, powerful, blazing with an intensity that I can’t help but notice them. Here’s a woman who’s not afraid of eye contact—I am, however, and I look away. A beat goes by before she breaks the silence.

“Hi! You guy’s here for the estate sale?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Ma’am?!… hah, hah!… well, aren’t you cute. Please, call me Tiffany… And what about your tall friend… Does he have a name?”
A winning smile flashes across my tall friend’s face. “Sergio,” he says as he extends his hand—she take’s it.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. Anyway, come on in. I got to get rid of this crap—from the divorce.”
“Oh…” I reply, unsure how to respond. Why is she sharing this with a complete stranger? Some people are just more open with others, I suppose.
“Yeah,” she continues. “Prick was lying to me for the last two years. My husband—soon to be ex-husband—was cheating on me with someone he met online. I might have been open to it—would’ve got myself a little boyfriend, too—if he told me… But the bastard lied and now I get to sell his crap. Let’s go inside, ok.”
Sergio and I share a look, before he whispers, “damn, bro… this woman’s got issues… into it,” and we follow along behind her.

Once inside, the first thing we notice is the sheer size of the building. This place is massive. It looks big from outside, but somehow feels even larger from within. The foyer alone must be be bigger than my living room. A beautiful spiral staircase greets us as we enter.

“Yeah, it’s alright, huh,” our host says. No doubt, she must have noticed our astonished expressions.
“Everything on this floor is for sale. And I mean everything. You can take that chandelier, up there, for all I care. Or this set of golf clubs, over here… he loved those so much… Ya hear that, Bernie! I’m selling your damn clubs! Anyway, make yourselves at home, and have a look around. Let me know if you have any questions or need anything.” When she say’s “anything,” she gives us a little wink, and walks into the next room. Serg pulls me aside and whispers, “Bro! Thank you so much for bringing me here!”
“I know,” I reply. “Go for it, dude!” He leaves me, following her into the connecting room, and I’m free to have a look around. It seems the hunt is on, for us both.

I head into what must have been the living room—everything frozen in place. There’s a beautiful brown leather sectional couch, set in front of a large curved TV. A round Persian rug decorates the area, and a wooden coffee table rests upon it. Hints of happier times flow through this room like a spectre. Many beautiful moments must have been shared here—laughter… deep, stimulating conversations… meals… I can almost see it, as my imagination gets going… I hear laughing, coming from the other room.

They must be hitting it off in there… Nice.

I continue poking around. I find the dining room, now being used as a storage room. Many items clutter the long, wooden dining table. Books, records, table cloths—damn… I just got one of those—and various dinnerware are organized in neat little piles, on the table. An adorable cow shaped butter tray catches my eye. My first impulse is to make an offer, but I set it aside in the “maybe” category of my mind.

Give it some time… Think about if you really want it… It’ll probably still be here, in 10-minutes…

Other than the bovine butter tray, there really isn’t much here that stands out. Maybe I’m just getting better at ignoring useless junk—separating the needs from the wants. Maybe, my discipline is improving. Still, I can’t help feeling disappointed. It’d be a shame to have driven all this way for something I probably could have found at my local thrift store.

I leave the underwhelming collection in the dining room and head back towards the foyer when a strange idea enters my mind…

What if we were to check out the upstairs… They’ve probably got some nice stuff up there… Probably just didn’t get around to putting it out yet… And they’d never know, anyway… Go on… Take a look…
Huh… Yeah… OK… Good idea!
Of course it is… Let’s go!

I pause in front of the staircase, and creep over to where I last saw Sergio and Tiffany—she’s opening a bottle of wine.

Nice! I’ve probably got at least 15-minutes.

I slink away, and head up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, there’s a long hallway, and it beckons me forward. I pass by several doors—none of them exciting enough to be worth investigating. I keep going, following an unknown pull—a secret intuition—until one of the doors calls my attention…

This one… This is it… Bingo!

There’s nothing unusal about it, it’s just a typical door—the same as the others, on this floor—but it has a sort of alluring pull to it. It’s weird… But before I can think too much about how strange this all is, my hand reaches forward and turns the knob—it’s unlocked. The hinges are silent, they don’t make a peep as I open the door and enter the room, shutting it behind me.

I’m now standing in what appears to be a study of some kind. Many bookcases, with shelves full of books, line the walls. There doesn’t appear to be a consistent theme to the organization of this library—at least not one that I can readily tell. I recognize a few notable titles, as they leap off the shelves: Moby Dick… Jurassic Park… Forbidden Tomes and Where to Find Them… The Necronomicon…

What… I thought this thing didn’t exist…

I rush across the room, for a closer look.

There’s no way this is real… It must be a replica, or a novelty item…

I pull the book from the shelf, and hold it in my hands. I can’t tell if it’s the trespassing or the treasure hunting but there’s an exquisite weirdness to this whole situation.

Strange… There’s no cover on this book… At least not one I was expecting…

Rumors and legends about this book have led me to believe that it would be bound in a patchwork mass of flesh from several donors, but this one is as generic as they come. It’s wrapped in a tasteful black velvet that’s soft to the touch. I think about how Serg would probably hate the texture—he’s funny about velvet—speaking of, I better hurry along.

I peek inside the book—it’s in English. No publisher’s information, but there is a page tracking the history and lineage of it’s translations. I can feel my heart pounding. My breath becomes jagged—adrenal glands, activated.

This is too crazy for me… Serves me right for snooping around people’s houses…

Real or not, I’ve had about enough of this, and put the book back on the shelf—shuddering as it leaves my hand.

Turning my back on the creepy bookshelf, I find something much more whimsical—and welcoming. In the center of the room, atop a round wooden table, there’s a large puzzle of a Tapir in progress. It’s an amazing picture, the goofy animal almost makes me laugh, and I forget about my previous unease. It’s almost complete, save for a few scattered pieces across the table. I count about 50-or-so pieces left.

What a shame to have done all this work just to stop at the very end… So close… It’s not right… Somebody should finish this…

I pick up the nearest piece and slot it into position. There’s a satisfying feeling, when I place it in. It feels… right, somehow. I pick up another, and do the same.
*Snick*
Oh god, that’s good… One more…
*Snick*
*Snick*
*Snick*
Wait… How long have I been here…
I have to stop myself from going for another piece.
Maybe I can take it home… I can act like I found it with the other things for sale… Yeah, that’s good…
I pack up the puzzle and carry it with me out of the study.

Heading toward the stairs, I hear laughter coming from below.
Nice… They didn’t even notice I was gone…
I descend the staircase and pick up the cow, before joining them.
“Ha, ha, ha—What!? Oh my god, that’s so gross! Ha, ha… hmmmh… Oh, hey! Find anything,” Tiffany says, twirling her wine glass—there’s two bottles on the kitchen island, now.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
I place the cow butter tray down next to the wine bottles.
“Oh, how cute! Yeah, I really like that one too, but I can’t eat butter anymore—allergies. Glad you can use it, though.”
I recall my minimalism coping strategies—does this serve me, does it bring me joy.
I think so… Just look at it… Even if I don’t cook much now, maybe I’ll start… And you know what, I should have a nice butter tray… I deserve it… And I’ll be helping her out, too… She’s not using it… And she gets to give it to me… Someone who wants it… That’s gotta be worth something, right… It’s a win-win!

I don’t know if this is my addict brain talking—just telling me what I want to hear or not—but I don’t overthink it, and make an offer.
“How’s $5 sound?”
“Sounds pretty good to me… mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, mmm-hmmm,” she chuckles, giving me a wink. I didn’t know you could flirt through laughter, but she definitely did.
“And… this,” I say, placing the puzzle before her.
“Oh… That… You want that…” she says, her pitch rising.
“Uh… Yeah… How’s five—“
“Where did you find that,” she says, narrowing her eyes, her face scrunching in disgust.
Crap… She knows… Busted… Quick, think of something that doesn’t sound stupid…
“Uh, yeah… It was-It was with the cow, in the other room.”
Smooth…
“Uh-Huh…” she bit her lip as her hand came up to rub her chin.
“Well, if you found it in there, it’s $20. Everything in that room is $20—even the cow.” Her giddy tone fading into one of calculating seriousness. Sergio looked confused, unsure what just happened. The vibe in the room just took a massive dump, like a deflating balloon farting across the room. He knew something was up, but couldn’t say what.
“Ya know… I think you two should leave… Now. There’s going to be more people coming through here, and I got to be ready for them. Leave the money at the door—in the foyer—and get the f__k outta my house!”
“Whoa… hey, listen… I-I think we have a little miscommuncati—” She shot me a glare so cold it left me speechless. I sucked in a gasp, my mouth went dry, and those eyes—those powerful, potent, penetrating eyes—burned a hole through my soul.
“Communication…” I quietly said, looking down at the floor.

***

The car ride home is awkward. Neither of us know how to talk about what just happened. After a while, Sergio breaks the silence.
“Dude, what the hell was that back there, man? That was f___d.”
“I know. Sorry about that, bro.”
“Ah, it’s all good. She was kinda nuts. Still got her number, though.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna call her?”
“Nah. But I could, and that’s almost just as a good.”

Sergio drops me off at my place. I tell him goodbye, and head inside to look at my haul. I clear off a table, and pour out the puzzle.

Well, I guess I know what I’m doing this Saturday night…

I know I spent a bit more than $30, but come on, it’s a bad number; a bit outdated. These days, adjusting for inflation, it should probably be closer to $50. Besides, if you think about, I’m actually saving money with this purchase. Instead of “going out,” I’m staying in. That means not blowing $100 at the bar, sucking down shots of Tequila with some randos. That means not ordering take-out, but using what I’ve got at home instead. For the modest price of $40, I figure I’ve saved at least $130—that’s gotta mean something, right.

I stare at the pile of puzzle in front of me. I look for the border pieces, first. That’s the trick to completing any puzzle, you got to have a plan. On it’s own, a fresh puzzle can be intimidating. Hundreds of little cardboard pieces, scattered here-and-there, with no obvious pattern or order to them. You may want to stop right there, pack it up and put it away, before you’ve sunk any time into it. But if you give it a try, have a little patience and look for the borders, you’ll eventually find a corner. Three more, and you’ve got yourself the beginning of a frame. This frame will keep you sane. It’ll ground you, motivate you, remind you how far you’ve come—and if you continue, you will succeed. This is how I start every puzzle. It takes me about an hour, but I build the frame.

I’m not exactly sure how many pieces this puzzle has. There isn’t a number on the box, nor a finished model to reference. When I saw it in the study, it looked about 500 pieces, but now I think it could be more. The pile before me could easily be anywhere from 800 to 1,000. I guess I must have misremembered, or didn’t get a good look at it, back at the house…

I leave the table and go to pack my water pipe. I sprinkle some kief on top, before lighting it—it’s the weekend, after all, so let’s get a little wild. I take big hit and clear it in one breath. I start a Lo-fi playlist before returning to the puzzle—I figure Tonetta would be a little too exciting. With all this done, I settle into my Saturday night, as the music and the weed carry me away.

About an hour later, I think I’m making some pretty good progress. Many of the pieces are gray, so the going was slow. I didn’t mind—I wasn’t in a hurry to finish. It’s amazing how fast time goes when you’re focused on something.

I notice my high beginning to fade, and go back for another bowl. I decide to switch it up from herb to THC concentrate. I picked up some decent “shatter,” this week—from the dispensary. I setup my dab rig. Everyone’s cool with w__d, until the blowtorch comes out. Something in the vibe changes, going from chill stoner to absolute fiend, when you use a torch to blast off. I’ve been meaning to replace it with a proper smoker’s torch, but the one I have works fine, and I can always use it for more than just smoking—like making Crème brûlée—that’s what I tell myself, anyway. It’s more likely I just keep forgetting to buy one while I’m out—pothead memory problems, I guess. Once the glass reaches an ideal heat, I shut off the torch and let the glass cool for about 10-seconds.
Inhale…
Exhale…
I drop the wax into the glass bowl, inhaling deeply, while stirring the little golden-amber booger as it becomes a thick white vapor.
Holy f__k… Hold it in… Don’t cough…
The hot, white vapor burns despite passing through an inch of water, several percolators, and crushed ice. It tastes like citrus and pine needles. After 4 seconds, I’m ready to exhale—after 10, my lungs are screaming at me. I hurry over to a nearby window, open it, and blow out a large white milky cloud.
Damn… Probably should have held that in a bit longer…
Coughing, hacking my lungs out, my world spins. This is too much for me. I curl into a ball, on the floor.
I’ll just lie here for a minute… When I can stand, or things stop spinning, I’ll get up and go to bed… Don’t worry about the music… Don’t bother with eating… Hell, as long as the door is locked you can just call it a night right now… F__k… I think I’m gonna be sick… Getting nauseous… It’s ok… Close your eyes… Just focus on your body… On your breathing… And relax… Just… Relax… Re… Lax…

***

In the blackness, a voice calls to me…

“Hello. Welcome. It’s so good to finally meet you. You heard the call. Not everyone is so sensitive… You got here fast. Fresh faces are a rare sight, these days, and of those—well—disappointing, to say the least. You, though… You are promising… I wonder… Time will tell. Your faith, your conviction—I must test them. I want to know you… To see if you’re worthy. You, so full of burning questions—I know. You want answers… and you shall have them, and more… Things you could have gone your whole life without knowing… Now integral, important, impossible… But to appreciate the answer, one must know the question. Go somewhere. Find someone. Do something. You’ll know what. When the time comes, be ready. Now, go… And listen…”

***

I wake up to the afternoon sun beaming on my face. My face is wet, and there’s a sticky puddle on the floor—I must have drooled, in my sleep. The lights are on, the ceiling fan gently turning overhead, while some unknown music plays from the other room. Judging by my surroundings, I didn’t make it to the bed last night, and passed out here on the kitchen floor.

Oh, well… There are worse things than a green out…

Slowly, I pick myself up off the floor. My joints creak and my body is upset with me—clearly annoyed by our sleeping arraignments. I look up, at the ceiling.
*Crack*
I bend down, to touch my toes.
*Pop*
I spread my arms out to my sides, opening my chest wide.
*Crunch*
A few gentle head rolls, and I’m ready for the day—albeit with a nagging crick-in-my-neck.

I’ll have to work that out, later…

I check my phone—see what’s going on for the day. There’s a message from Sergio.
“Hey, bro. What’s good? Wanna get breakfast?” It was sent an hour ago.
“Yeah, man,” I type back. I go to clean up the mess from the night’s debauch. A few minutes later, I get a message back; my phone vibrates.
*Buzzz*
“Alright. How about Tastee Diner?”
“Sure. Sounds good to me. I need about an hour. See you there?”
“Bet,” he replies.
I finish cleaning up, get myself ready, and then make a quick cup of coffee.

As I’m about to leave, I take a look at the puzzle on the table. Admiring my progress, I notice that something’s a bit off. It’s odd, but I can’t help but feeling like I accomplished more. Maybe I just don’t remember it right—I was pretty baked, after all.

I should get going… I can do more later… Well, maybe just a piece or two wouldn’t hurt…

I sit down and slot a piece into position.
*Snick*
A soothing feeling washes over me, and I reach for another.
*Snick*
*Snick*
*Snick*

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