The thing about being stranded in the mountains is that you have no one to talk to, so you talk to anything. But the other thing is that once you start talking to one inanimate object, there's really no reason not to talk to more. (You might have a little bit of a problem if they start responding, but I'm no professional, so whatever.)
The other thing is that you can no longer get it up.
And that is a serious fucking thing.
Serious enough that you start talking to your dick. You give little pep talks. "Come on. You can do this. I've seen you do this. You know you can do this. Just focus. Focus. Visualize yourself getting up for this game, making all the big plays, and then fucking do it! Do it for pride! Do it for the love of the game! Do it for me! JUST FUCKING DO IT!"
I'd been having these little conversations with Little Travis (LT, to his friends) ever since we left the hospital. He just wasn't into it. Didn't care. If I hadn’t been so attached to him, I'd have told him to get lost. You're not welcome here anymore. Sure, we've had some great times together, but what have you done for me lately?
But, no matter how difficult, I still loved the little guy. So, inspired by my chance encounter with Virginia, I decided to give him one more chance.
It went down like this:
"Ok, buddy. You have to snap out of it. I know, I know. You've been through some pretty tough shit. It's amazing you survived. And I understand how hard it is to get over it. Believe me. Who knows better than I do, right? I was right there with you, beside you. It was me and you, brother. I know this is hard, but it's been long enough. It's all over now. You can go back to your old self. Remember that guy? Easily excitable, curious, anxious, even a little over-zealous sometimes? You remember that guy? I remember that guy. I loved that guy. And, as your friend, I feel I should tell you that this new guy you've become, well, he sucks. I miss our time together. Even our alone time. Especially our alone time. We were always there for each other, remember? Anytime you ever needed a helping hand, I was there to give it to you. And I was always happy to be there for you. Now, I can let that Playboy Mansion thing go. It was still too soon. I understand that. But it's been long enough, my friend. You have to get your shit together. You can't go through the rest of your life this way."
But LT, he wanted nothing to do with it.
So I gave up on the words. Instead, I closed my eyes and thought about women. All about women: the thin hair on the forearms, the smooth slope from ear to shoulder, the soft curve of the underside of the breast, the small of the back, backs of the hands. Everything. I imagined that wonderful journey up the inner thigh, the way you can feel the rising temperature as you get closer, the way the scent gets more intense as you get closer. The taste and the feel of Her on your lips, dribbling down your chin. I thought about it. I thought really, really hard about all of it.
But that little bastard, he didn't budge.
There was nothing I could do.
Finally, I gave up. I was exhausted.
And then, an epiphany: I was forcing what I wanted onto him, and maybe this wasn't the best way to bring him back to life. Maybe I had to relinquish my control of the situation, let him take the reins, forget about my needs and let him focus on his.
So I did. I just closed my eyes and cleared my head. I just drifted, and let whatever came into my head come into my head.
What came into my head was Erica, my dead friend, my first. She was naked. She was just lying there, naked. Naked and dead and pale blue.
This is what I saw.
This is when LT sprang back to life.
This is when I completely freaked out, left my apartment, ran to the first bar I could find, and drank until I couldn't remember where I was.