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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v078) (the January 2010 Issue) This is also available from our printer as a a $7.47 paperback book (5.5" x 8.5") perfect-bound w/ b&w pages

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The Possibility Of Lucidity

Randy Medeiros

    “The world around us has not changed as much as you think my friend.” Said Eddie as he reached into his right pocket for his green lighter.
    “How can you say that with a strait face man? In the last hundred years, even the city cops have taken to the skys above, ninety percent of all cancers are curable, paper money is an antiquity, and,” Jake paused to hold up the joint between his fingers, “in our lifetime, this has been legal since we turned twenty. The world, has-fucking-so changed.”
    Eddie barked a single breath of laughter at his friend, then turned his attention over to the two young ladies sitting with them in their after work circle, “Pardon me for bragging ladies, but I have an IQ of one hundred and eighty, and, I have been preview to nearly every history program available at UCLA III. I know. The changes before us are insignificant.”
    They were sitting on Jake’s living room floor in a boy, girl, boy, girl fashion, ready to get stoned, when Jake had to justify their work to the two new girls, and get Eddie’s panties in a ruffle.
    Susan, the blond to Eddie’s right with an apparent taste for Jake, spoke. “I don’t know if I could call flying cops insignificant, but I think I get what you mean by our changes are really nothing, as far as bettering man kind goes.”
    “Please don’t encourage him Sue,” Jake said, then turned to his pal and said, “Now give me a light asshole.”
    “But I am the light Ake, what you seek is fire,” Eddie said as he simultaneously lit the joint hanging from Jakes lips, and gave him the finger with a smirk.
    “All she means is,” Said Odeta — the light brown angel to Eddie’s left — as she excepted the joint she was passed, “oppression, as well as aggression, has only changed in their favor over the last century.” She took a drag, then passed to Eddie who was now grinning from ear to ear.
    Eddie nodded his thanks to the angle at his side turning her bright red. He was still holding in his hit when Jake piped in, reiterating his initial subject point by saying, “We construct and produce peoples new, or improved inventions, every day. Crazy gadgets with all the bells and whistles that would have made our great Grand’s shit pools around their ankles.” Susan laughed/coughed and began to tear up, “And no one in this circle can see the severe steps this place has taken? Don’t you people watch classic cinema?”
    Jake patted Susan on the back. They made eye contact and smiled at each other. He mouthed, are you OK, and she nodded.
    “So Ted McFuckall gets rich off of the self stringing guitar, and you want to give him the peace prize?” Eddie asked, acting a little defensive.
    “Now now sweat pee,” Jake replied, cool as ice for he saw this on the horizon, “You know I’d never give that butt any real credit even if he deserved it.” It was now Jake’s turn to address the ladies of the room, “You see girls, Ed came up with that guitar thing a whole year before our boss. Ed still hasn’t gotten over it.”
    The joint was back to Eddie, and when he drew in, he did it deep and long, without looking at any of the others. “Well... what happened?” Odeta asked.
    Holding onto his hit as if it were worth twice its weight in US credits, Eddie croaked out, “The bastard stole it from me,” then exhaled. “He was at this party with us when I came up with the idea. I said I was too lazy to restring and tune my Gibson, so I had this idea to make one that could do it for me. It was easy enough to construct, and I just spat it all out to the people I was sitting with, in like, three minuets or something. Dick head heard it all. One year latter, he was offering me a job. That’s why I say things are the same, and always will be. Nobody wants to quit being dicks to each other, and guys like me never catch a break.”
    “So you just took it? The job I mean,” Susan inquired as the joint made it‘s way to her.
    “Not right away,” Jake answered, “First, the two of us got hammered as hell and robed Ted for half of his plans and burned’em. Then we went in and asked for double what he was offering, and he excepted.”
    Odeta passed to Eddie once the joint made its next round, and then asked, “Well if you knew, why didn’t you just sue the guy for the cash, instead of poorly sabotaging him before becoming his slave?”
    “For starters,” Jake said, still cool, still calm, and expecting all of this, “we are slaves to no man. And before the sabotage mission, I tried to help Ed, but I tried to help him get off his ass and make the guitar himself before the whole Ted thing. He was just too lazy.” Eddie sighed. “He can only find his creative groove when he’s baked, then he just kind of goes numb. Don’cha Eddie?”
    “Eat me,” Eddie spat.
    “He has the smarts. He has the ideas. He just doesn’t have the drive for it anymore. He refuses to apply himself.” Jake spoke with a grin, knowing he was getting under his friends skin, and liking it. He had after all promised his pal he would do this whenever the opportunity arose until the day he saw his pal woke up and become the guy he had the potential to be. It was a promise Jake loved to keep.
    “Well that’s my queue to depart,” Eddie said to the group.
    “What does he mean, ‘anymore’?” Odeta asked Eddie.
    “Tell ya another time gorgeous,” He answered as he hit the joint one final time before getting to his feet. He passed it to the right, then walked toward the door of his friend’s apartment.
    “You girls can kill that,” Jake said, pointing at the roach in Odeta’s hand. “Be right back.” He got to his feet, and followed Eddie.
    When he got to him he asked if they were going to talk over the weekend. Eddie said they would get together tomorrow night for drinks, but tonight, he just wanted to chill at home after a nice, slow, stoned walk home. Jake shot his pal an — aw shucks, I was jus ribben ya pard — kind of look, and Eddie accepted it without debate.
    They shook hands. Eddie walked into the late evening setting sun, and Jake closed the door behind him.

#

    By the time Eddie had crossed the street and headed north, leaving his friends home, Jake would be bragging to the girls about how his best buddy since grade school, had created a drug that took one to amazing places without ever having to leave the bedroom.
    In his reverie, Eddie wanted to picture the pair of girls, Ooing, and Awing, over his accomplishment, but his constant lack of imagination would not allow it. He saw them instead for how they most likely react. Curious, and chalk full O’ questions.
    Is it still available?
    Does it have any weird side effects?
    Have you ever tried it Jake?
    What’s it like?
    Can we get some?
    Where did he get the idea?
    All questions easy enough to answer. He had them committed to memory like an actor memorizes his role. He had answered them enough over the past half decade, and that was why he left. Tired, ashamed, confused, frustrated, and overwhelmed by failure, it was a story he could no longer file under bragging rights.

#

    Eddie left the comforts of his father’s home the day before he started college, and moved in with his grandfather. His grandfather’s home was a mile further from campus, and on the east side, but Ol’Gramps needed the company, and Eddie needed the freedom.
    Grandpa Steve was a great roommate. Pot was both recreation, as well as medicine. Drinking was allowed, so long as there was enough to go around, and the same rule applied to loose woman. If one cleaned up after themselves, Gramps cleaned up after himself, which meant chores were obsolete. Loud music was a necessity because Gramp’s was nearly deaf, and sage like advice lied around every single corner, whether one wanted it or not. Life with Grandpa was virtual perfection.
    The draw back was that unnecessary chores pertained strictly to the household stuff. Every morning, every afternoon after class, and every night, Eddie had to make sure Grandpa Steve was up to par with his meds. A simple enough task in 2105. Most meds were administered through a wave emitter chip in the patients temple. Brain wave fabrication was found to be easier on the body because it only gave the patient a two inch scar on the side of the face, and carried with it zero chemicals whatsoever. All the care giver needed to do is press a button on the face of a hand held device (and be sure that it was not the remote to the home media monitor). No more worrying about patients spiting out pills, digestion problems, or unchecked tolerance growth. Just point and click. Simple. Unless of course you get smashed and forget.
    One afternoon, after returning home late from class’s, Eddie found his Grandfather outside, pacing back and forth confused, in his favorite shirt (My other penis is a Porsche printed on the front), mismatched footwear, and scratching his bald head for the third time in one week. He was pants-less and fancy free once again, and unaware of what he was doing.
    He would address Eddie by his father’s name, and Eddie refused to correct him. They would walk inside, Eddie never pointing out his Grandfathers lack of attire, and lead him to the bedroom to find some clothing. Grandpa Steve would stop in front of his mirror and say, “Roland my boy, what the hell happened to my pants? And good god would you look at my junk! It’s gone and spoiled.” He would stare at his miniscule member, surrounded by dark charcoal grey pubes that he refused to trim with good reason (old people shake a lot don’cha know), and pluck at the blond tips of hair that were splitting at the ends. “It looks like a pale plum moon, smiling through a thunder cloud with stars in it,” he would mumble. “Roland, grab your father a pair of fresh panties would ya? The old man needs at cover up this re-damn-diculus catastrophe.”
    Eddie waited for him to dress, point his meds to his temple, and click. He would then spend the next five or so minuets denying any and all reasons for his grin.
    Latter that night, Eddie decided this was the last time his Grandpa Steve had to go through this. He retired early, and ducked into the basement. There, he read and researched every corner of his mind until he came up with the solution. He would make a drug that would keep Gramps busy until he returned from school. It would have to be a consumable drug because as smart as Eddie was, he knew doodely squat about brain wave activity. There were still small quantities of consumable drugs on the market for people that did not trust their brains to electronics, and Edie knew he could make something out of them.
    Taking the following day off from school, Eddie kept his Grandfathers meds in check, and concocted a cocktail of old pills his Grandfather kept in a box downstairs. It was mostly Melatonin, and Antipsychotic pills, but there were a few hints of mood stabilizers, as well as antidepressants. He knew all about chemistry, and his drug recognition was that of a super Pharmacist, so when he slipped the concoction into Grandpa Steve’s cereal on Saturday afternoon, he did it without fear or question.
    The first two doses left Gramps a little drowsy, but otherwise fine, and in a good mood. Eddie skipped the electro meds both times and found no sign of side-effects. But on the third day, when Grandpa Steve woke from his afternoon beer nap, he had something more to add to Eddie‘s research.
    “Feels kinda like... the side effects of a good time, only without the head pain,” Grandpa had said with a grin. “I was dreaming, and I knew it. I didn’t wake up like I usually do... ya know, before you can go on a screw spree with every skirt you see? Instead, I had complete control. The clock say’s Iv been snoozen for two hours, but I swear Iv been screw’en for days. That shit you put in my cereal has one hell of a kick kid. Can I have more before bed?”
    Eddie was shocked, but he shouldn’t have been. Trying to secretly drug any other old fucker mite be easy, but this was Steven Dechain. The man that saw everything.
    He did as his Grandfather asked, and the next morning was greeted with the same results. The cocktail was helping his Gramps to dream lucidly. Added to that, Gramps never had another episode of pants free in the afternoon breeze, and never forgot to take his pills.
    After retracing his research, and finding the drug to be safe enough for public use, Eddie decided to go forward with more testing, and more patients. He made a few calls, found some old supplies of most of the drugs he needed, found chemicals to reproduce the ones he did not, and got to work calling classmates that he knew would go along for the ride. If all went well, he would buy Grandpa Steve that voice op bidet for shits and giggles, just like the old fart always wanted. After all, Gramps deserved it. He always loved, and supported Eddie, all the way to the end.

#

    Willfredo Almada, was smiling in Eddie’s minds eye, as each foot carried him forward, closer, and closer to his home. From the monitors set to news, net mag’s, and of course, that first day in court, that wrinkled douche never quit grinning.
    Gramps had promised to strangle Willfredo if ever the chance came his way. “I’ll wrap my softy round his neck, n’ wait for a stiffy. That’ll do it,” Grandpa Steve had screamed at the monitor in the kitchen whenever Willfredo’s picture came on. “Silly bastard cant read any how. Way I see, I’m doing the world a favor.”
    Eddie took in a breath, then laughed, eyes still at half mass from the pot he shared with his new friends in Jake‘s living-room. That was the angriest he had ever seen his Grandfather, but even when angered, you still had to laugh at him. It was the way Gramps had liked things.
    Eddie was glad his Grandfather had not seen the turn out after the whole fiasco had ended. The depression would have killed him all over again.
    No one, not even Eddie’s colorfully imaginative Grandfather, could have predicted that an eighty year old man, minus one pair of glasses, would go into a pharmacy, take the wrong product off of the shelf mistaking it for laxatives in a day and age where pills are nearly obsolete, stop for a big meal, eat, go home, swallow a hand full of said product, sleep for half a week, then, wake up so full of shit he has to call an ambulance because he cant walk.
    The media was ecstatic. The court rooms were full. The lawyers were greedy. The stress was high. The public was confused, and angry.
    The pills stopped selling. Eddie went broke. Grandpa died. Mr. Almada lost. Lucidity came off the shelves. The dream died.
    Even though Almada had been laughed at by the Judge, Eddie was still stuck with the bill. Lawyers, and court fees, drained him of every dime he made from Lucidity. All he had left was two cases of pills that he preordered for his Grandfather, and a voice operated bidet, still in the box.
    He kicked at a piece of gravel in his path, knocking it three yards along the sidewalk. He was depressing himself, and his buzz was clearing up. Soon he would be home, drinking a beer, and trying to forget his past by browsing dirty movies online.
    He could install his Grandfathers bidet in his own bathroom. It was still in the original package. But why change routine when you know what worked?
    He cocked his foot back for a third kick at that piece of gravel when a city bot came whizzing between his feet. The whirling saucer, no bigger than a dinner plate and no thicker than Eddie’s shoe, flashed its amber lights while beeping and bleeping with frustration, not caring that it almost knocked him on his ass. It stopped whirling, but the beeping and bleeping, along with the flashing lights, continued. Two windows, on what mite be the city bots face opened up to let loose two aluminum arms of spindly proportions. Atop the head, in-between the two amber lights, was a square metal plaque reading — City Bot’s : Road Work Division : Property Of USA. Then, from inside the little bot, came a low growling noise that Eddie had almost mistook for animalistic anger, until the machine produced a paper violation for disturbing a city employee out of its rear end.
    The city bot flew off taking the piece of gravel Eddie hoped to kick all the way home with it. It left the violation at his feet. Eddie gave it the finger after seeing the price he had to pay for kicking a stone in his path, but the bot did not see his act of defiance. Not a year ago, Eddie would have been exalted in flipping of a human instead of a bot. Maybe Jake was right. The world really had changed.
    He hung his head, picked up his paper violation before the bot could return and ticket him for littering in a work area, and shuffled the rest of the way home.

#

    The small square panel beside his front door read his thumb chip, and opened his door. The newer chip locks read via flat panels for hygienic reasons, but Eddie was living in an antiquated part of the city, and his lock required him to slide his thumb into a hole in the wall. The same process was required to page the occupant inside by visitors; therefore, it became the deciding factor when Eddie chose his first apartment after college. Hygienic or not, he loved the reaction from visitors when they paged him and received a low, sexy, yea baby, from the computer inside his home. Even if it didn’t make him laugh out loud, it never failed to bring a smile to his face.
    As the door slid open the computer welcomed him in. The chip lock had made him smile, but the wavery woman’s voice from his outdated DD-VACA (Domestic Domicile - Voice Activated Computer Assistant) had been creeping him out lately, and his smile faltered.
    “Hello DD. How was your day love?” He asked as he settled in.
    “Fine sir,” The woman’s voice responded. “And yours sir?” It asked in its fabricated politeness.
    Eddie did not answer. He was busy, still standing at his entrance, looking around his apartment, searching for his stash. He looked left, over the four foot length of breakfast bar into the narrow kitchen, then right, into the 30x50 room that served as both living and dining area. The room was bordered by a long black couch that faced the media monitor hanging on the wall between the bathroom (Left), and the bedroom (Right), and between these two objects was a brown coffee table that contained his manual access panel for the DD-VACA, and his stash.
    He clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms, happy to see all was as he left it this morning, then walked forward to the monstrosity that was his dining table. Once upon a time, people actually viewed sleek silver pieces of metal to be artistic, and modern. Eddies table was just that. A 6x4 slab of re-enforced aluminum jutting from the wall, with four matching chairs, and no legs to hold it up. It was ugly as hell, floating like some divers spring board in the middle of his home, but it served its purpose. He emptied his pockets onto the table. His card keys from work (ID chips under the thumb nail were for identification and financial purposes only. The law prohibited people from using them in the work place.), his cigarettes, and one violation for three hundred and fifty credits, then made his way to the refrigerator.
    “DD love,” Eddie said, addressing the computer, “My day was just peachy. Are there any messages?”
    “Yes sir, several. Shall I display them on the refrigerator monitor?” DD asked.
    Eddie opened the fridge, and extracted a bottle of synthetic beer. He only bought synthetic. It tasted better then the natural stuff that only the well off could afford, and to his knowledge, even the well off drank the cheap synthetic unless they were being watched. Organic hops just couldn’t stand up to the cloned flavor anymore. He twisted off the bottles cap, and said, “Yes, please. And for fuck’s sake DD, do a diagnostic tonight when I go to bed. Find out what’s wrong with your audio and fix it. Shit gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
    “My apologizes sir, but I have no file on heebie-jeebies. Are they dangerous?”
    “No DD, but they are very agitating.”
    “Then it shall be done sir,” DD assured. “First message. Origin, your office sir. Playing message.”
    Eddie leaned against the breakfast bar, and the monitor on the fridge displayed the origin number of the message along with and orange bar that signified it was a commercial business communication line. He watched the screen as he listened to his own voice emit from invisible speakers in the walls and ceiling.
    “Eddie man,” his voice said, “stir fry some veggies tonight. Your physique needs to improve to impress the new girl at work. And do some sit ups too.”
    “End of message sir,” DD said as Eddie drained a long, happy, gulp of beer out of the bottle, thankful that he had bought the light. “Second message. Origin, same as first. Playing message sir.”
    Eddie was rummaging in the fridge for the frozen veggies, when his voice from the past reached him again, “Eddie man. Jake has convinced the new girls to meet us after work for a bowl. The caramel cutie thinks you have a sweet ass. Forget the veggies, stick to the norm.”
    “End of message sir,” Said DD as Eddie threw his frozen veggies back into the fridge. “Third message. Origin, domestic.”
    “Just a sec DD,” Eddie interrupted. “When we’re all set with the messages, call dominoes and order my usual please.”
    “Yes sir. Playing third message.”
    Eddie closed the fridge, paused with his beer bottle by his lips, and sighed. The blue bar, domestic line communication, bore an all too familiar number. He drank deep and long from the bottles neck, letting in the cool liquid, and savoring the warmth of his blood as his ex-girlfriends voice came out of his walls.
    “Eddie, you lame dick! Its Rita,” the voice of his ex Spewed. “You still have over a hundred hours of my music files in your computer and I want them back. I’m tired of chasseing you down Eddie. I want them by Monday or else. And change your computers voice. It’s not funny.”
    “End of message sir,” DD said.
    “DD, did you relay the message to Rita we agreed upon?” Eddie asked.
    “Yes sir. Her response was that she had completed the task you gave her several times this morning, and that both performances far exceeded those completed by you, sir.”
    “She always was a quick witted gal.”
    “My apologies sir, but I have no files on how one can have relations with ones self, therefore; I cannot share in the wit you and the young lady have exchanged. Shall I continue with the final message?”
    Eddie took another sip from his beer, finishing off the first half of the bottle, swallowed, then said, “Yes DD love, please continue.”
    “Final message. Origin, private. Playing message sir.”
    Private? Eddie leaned forward too take a better look at the display on the fridge. The number was from somewhere in the north, possibly New York, or Boston. The black and white bar was corporation communications. Big corporation.
    Eddie held his breath, and listened closely.
    “Hello Eddie,” The voice of a professional woman speaking in casual tones began. “How have you been sleeping lately? Not that it’s any of my business, but inquiring minds want to know.” There was a short pause before the woman continued, “A few friends, along with myself, are very interested in your past, and hope to use it to better our futures. All of our futures. Including yours Eddie. Get back to me when you can. We would all be very exited to hear back from you, so try not to keep us waiting.”
    “End of messages sir,” DD said as Eddie exhaled.
    He dumped the rest of his beer into his stomach with two long gulps, then belched good and heavy. His eyes wide, jaw dropped, he placed the empty bottle beside the sink, just left of his fridge, then began to pace back and forth.
    “Could it be true?” Eddie thought out loud. Could someone be interested in re-marketing Lucidity? Interested? Exited? About me?”
    When DD spoke up to tell him his dinner would be arriving in fifteen minuets, Eddie jumped. He stopped pacing and headed for his bedroom. Inside, left of his bed, his closet doors were open. Inside the closet he could see the crate containing Grandpa Steve’s unused gift, and on top of that, two unused cases of Lucidity. He grabbed the case on top, and brought it with him into the living/dining room.
    Spilling everything off of the coffee table — stash included — Eddie put the box of Lucidity down, then sat on the couch in front of it. He snagged a loose piece of tape from the left side using his right hand and tore it off in one smooth motion. The contents inside had an aroma of new electronics. He picked up the first box he saw inside and studied it. He had been studying it for so long, and so intense, that when the delivery man paged him the, yea baby, in its wavery voice barely reached him.
    He walked all the way to the door, package of Lucidity in hand, eyes watery and never wandering from their point of interest. When the delivery guy commented on how much he liked the door pager, Eddie paid him no attention. He took his pizza, barely noticing that he was balancing a box of buffalo wings on top, set them on the dinning room table, then returned to the door to pay for his purchase, all the while staring at the box in his hand. He held out his right hand, palm down, and let the delivery guy scan his thumb. He tipped twenty percent, and closed the door before the guy could thank him, not meaning to be rude, but doing it anyway.
    He sat down at his ugly table with a fresh beer, and ate in silence. The box he had carried with him to the door, was now propped up like a picture frame less then twelve inches from his face.
    Coming out of his trance, Eddie finished eating, put the leftovers in the fridge, got himself a third beer, got his cigarettes and lighter off of the table, along with the box of Lucidity, and brought everything to the couch. He dropped the Lucidity back into the case with the others, then set the case on the floor. He cleaned up everything he had spilled from his coffee table, then packed his pipe, and smoked in silence.
    When he finished smoking, he set the pipe aside, watched it smolder out, and lit a cigarette. He picked another box of Lucidity out of the case without looking, still a bit shocked from his call, and opened it. He took out a single pill, put the rest back into their container, then tossed them into the case by his feet.
    He studied the pill in his fingers, wondering why after seven years he had never tried the drug himself. He had practiced the art of lucid dreaming many times, and had on occasion accomplished his goal, but never with the aid of his creation. He had tried most of the drugs that completed the cocktail in each pill, but all of them separately. He was willing to bet, this one pill he was holding, would give him he effect his Grandfather had to wait three days for, simply because he had already studied the art.
    He opened the foil package, and popped the pill into his mouth, then swallowed it with a mouth full of beer. The drug was not meant to be taken with alcohol, but synthetic beer would do no harm, and Eddie didn’t care either way.
    He laid back, finishing his cigarette, thinking if he wasn’t on his way back to the top, the pill would at least let him dream he was.

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