excerpt from a short story about a woman scientist named Rika

He smoked most of the joint, smiled beatifically, and walked me to my car. I promised I would come see him for class again soon, thanked him for his time, and then, when I was sure he had walked a bit away, I opened the back door of the car, got in, closed the door and lay supine across the back seats. There was no way I could drive in this state. The world was too magical. And sort of swimming about. Plus I was enjoying a rare moment of interesting non-work thoughts in my mind.

What is believable? What is not believable? Does it matter? How much of my energy is wasted in skepticism just because I’ve been trained to do it well when reading the results of the papers I’m peer reviewing? Belief pales compared to perception. What is perception. Conscious tests of senses and, perhaps if we want to be predisposed to hallucinations of snakes up spines, then the imagination as well. Imagination is real, isn’t it? The direction of attention towards what you can conceive of conceiving. And that becomes future perception, future reality.

The thought of future reality made me sit up. Purse? Did I have a purse? It was sitting in the passenger seat. There was no driver. I should have been the driver. I reach into the bag, fumble out my phone, call Devin. He doesn’t pick up. I text Kira: darling, have your father call me please. I lay down again, imagining the scene, the future reality of a here-and-now at some distance away from me, my car. Kira chatting her friends on some app, irritated to see my name pop up. She swipes it aside for some time, checks it later, hollers at the boys, who don’t hear her over the soccer game they’re watching plus the sounds of their own cheering and shouting at players who will never hear them. Some time later, Kira will storm into the room, put the text in front of Devin’s face, who will say yes yes sweetheart thank you.

I had just finished running through the scenes when Devin called back. Without shame, I told him I was too high to drive home. He seemed bemused, or so I believed. Are there cabs nearby, he asked. Hmm. I sat up, saw the yellow cars driving by, and told him they had been going back and forth for some time now. Why don’t you get in one, he suggested, and give them the house address. I thanked him, hung up, took a nap, woke up rather refreshed, and drove home.