I ran up the hill to the wayward trailer and found Nunatak peering
out from the doggie-carrier. She tilted her head as if to ask,
"Is this something all huskies go through?"
I sat with the pup in the tall grass. I was devastated. The rig was
the vehicle I had chosen to exercise and exorcise my body and mind.
It was also my means of transportation. Now, it was broken.
As the sky went from deep purple to black, the memory of Atmananda
calling me his "chemical experiment" seemed to usher in the darkness.
Other recollections bubbled up from the murky depths, only to burst
into vivid, unnerving images. Here was Atmananda telling me
that he was a professional, that I was extremely sick, and that he
was going to help me. Here he was telling me to swallow my pride.
And here he was telling me to swallow the Stelazine.
Cars zoomed by now and then, dispelling apparitions of my former mentor.
Headlights flashed an angry light at the severed trailer,
the pretzel-shaped wheel, and the fallen gear strewn in disarray.
Then the lights were gone, leaving behind a fiery-comet afterimage.
I wondered why Atmananda had fed me the drug. Did he actually
believe that he was helping me? If so, why didn't he recommend
that I seek guidance outside his direct sphere of influence?
It seemed more likely that, unable to tell the difference
between helping and controlling people, he gave me the drug to
strengthen his grip on my mind.
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