Mary’s eyes are mostly blue, but I studied the yellow and green flakes as I pinned her against a brick wall. I stared hard into her eyes, our faces inches away, while searching for a response. I stroked her curly crimson hair as a line of millennials cruised by us. Some glanced with a perverted curiosity, but most were too excited to get into the music venue to care. With tiny pupils she looked back at me, but she didn’t see me. She usually has this doll-like look about her. Like she’s partially lost in her mind while she listens to you speak. This was different.
Mary’s eyes rolled back and she slumped to the side. I tightened my grip and concealed my panic. This was my fault. I had given her the drugs. I fucked up the dosage. As I imagined the pending nightmare of an ambulance ride, thunder broke my concentration. Fluffy smog clouds dissipated as a rock-star angel floated down from the heavens on a vintage guitar. His blond locks furiously fought the wind while he extended a bottled water and granola bar.
His voice embraced me, like the hug from my dad that I always wanted, but never received. Do you have a medical condition? He casually asked her question after question, mostly to get her talking. I kept quiet, though I knew every answer. Instead, I studied Mary with a mask of confusion and disbelief. I really had no business being shocked though. This was a pretty typical outcome for us.
I turned to rock-star angel and confessed that Mary's condition was my doing, my head hung in shame. He lifted my chin and looked at me lovingly before he played a riff so perfect, only a holy being could concoct it. And just like that Mary was healthier than she’d ever been. A smile broke from my face and a tear fell down my cheek before we boarded his guitar. The crowd halfheartedly cheered between cigarette drags as we slowly floated into the dark and damp abyss of the rock show.