The Nth Degree of Me

by Ed Lynskey

conclusion

“No, I made that customization myself. Scientific studies suggest that burnt orange helps to promote food preservation,” I lied.

Adam’s eyes bulged but he remained even-voiced. “You don’t say. What’s up with these photos? Hey, aren’t they pictures of you, Vince?”

“Sure enough,” I said. In the expectant pause, I waited for my brain to give me a slick fabrication. After drawing a blank, I glossed over it. “Anyways, can you do a quick fixit? I want to press my freezer into service soon. I’m hemorrhaging money in rental locker fees.”

“Well Vince, my diagnosis is you’re running a bit short on power.” Adam’s fingernail tapped the freezer door. “This baby sucks up all your juice. You can’t plug in other appliances simultaneously. Or you’ll overload the circuits.”

In spite of my disdain at his finding, I played it cool. I shrugged again. “No biggie. I’ll plan to operate my freezer on and off with my other stuff.”

“Inconvenient and anal but that might work the charm.” Adam sucked between his teeth. “Let me earn my bread. I’ll give your handyman wiring a once over.”

“Have at it,” I said. “Any breakdowns once I go on line will spell disaster.”

Chuckling in his gut, Adam ducked through the doorway. A thought then struck him. “Yo, Vince, is this freezer, like, a hall of fame to yourself?”

With the cat now out of the bag, I moved to clarify my suspect actions. “Of a sort. Actually, it’s a shrine. A testimony to my life and times, if you will.”

“Yeah?” A tapping hammer interrupted Adam’s response. Then he stopped. “Are you an egotistic?”

“So I’ve been told on repeated occasions,” was my haughty reply. “However, I am undergoing therapy to explore and perhaps remedy it.”

Hearing that, Adam fell into a morose silence. Once your listener hears you see a shrink, they clam up either out of embarrassment or annoyance. My electrician was more the latter. Once finished, he stomped out of my freezer, saying over a shoulder, “No need to pay me right now, Vince. I’ll bill you by mail.”

“Solid by me. Thanks for the effort,” I called up after him. His panel truck rumbled to life and gunned out of my driveway. Evidently Adam was in big demand elsewhere.

Left alone again with my solitary madness, I flipped on the freezer’s switch. The freezer flinched, then ran resonant and virile as a tiger’s feral growl. Giddy glee jetted through my veins. Success was such a sweet thing to savor. As I poked through, cold air engulfed me.

In my warped concept of The Cosmos, I envisioned heaven (or whatever) as a pristine, serene, and icy realm. The vast, white North Pole or South Pole fired my concept of eternity. That’s what I sought to miniaturize with my walk-in freezer. While I basked in this self-manufactured nirvana, the cell phone clipped to my belt went nuts. Scowling, I went into the basement to accept the call. It was, of course, Willis. Who else ever rang me?

“Hi, Vince. This is Dr. Cunningham. Say, I took the liberty of moving around some things on my calendar,” he said. “Tomorrow morning a slot at nine o’clock is available. I recommend that we meet for a full session then.”

“Curiosity has got the best of you, huh? You can admit it to ole Vince.”

“Something along those lines,” replied Willis with a wary laugh. “Your latest stunt, this self-shrine, disturbs me. My fervent hope is we stand on the edge of a breakthrough. But we must act fast. Can I count on seeing you at nine sharp?”

“Hey, I’m easy. Pencil me in, doc,” I said. “This is just the next step in my journey to self-fulfillment. Your words, not mine.”

“Vince, listen carefully to me. Sane men don’t allot themselves godlike traits,” said Willis. “Then turn around and revere themselves. It’s unhealthy besides perverse, and very Old Testament.”

“Yeah? How about Madonna? Or that Prince? They’re stuck on tight themselves. They then cart all that perverse money to the bank. Explain that aberrant behavior to me.”

“But Vince that’s their schtick,” said Willis. “You’re no Madonna either. No matter. We’ll hash this out in our session tomorrow. One thing more since I got you on the line.”

“Yeah?”

“That damn freezer in your basement is an anathema,” said Willis. “Promise me you won’t go near it until after our meeting. Swear it on your mother’s grave.”

“Fine by me,” I said, my fingers crossed. “Over and out.”

My thumb on the magic button cut off his next admonishment. Too much of Willis was like too much garlic. I didn’t want his stink following me around for the next day. Stuff still needed doing.

Willis had unwittingly jogged my memory. Upstairs under my double bed, I’d stacked large panel mirrors. I’d bought them on a red tag sale at Home Despot. Back then, I’d only nursed this ludicrous idea but never in my wildest dreams figured it would bear fruit today.

After hurrying up the steps without tripping, I barreled into my bedroom and knelt down on the heartwood pine floor. My breaths came in nervous, raspy gasps. The first mirror in its cardboard sheath slid out into my eager hands. Wielding a boxcutter, I slitted away the protective cardboard and plastic straps, then flung them aside.

“What the hell gives?” My jaws unhinged at what I inspected. “This new mirror is cracked. The others?” To answer my question, I drew out all six packages. Each unwrapped mirror bore the same identical flaw. Bewilderment mottled my face. “Cracked? But how? I handled the lot of them careful as burping a newborn.” No plausible cause came to mind. Sloughing it all off as a slight setback, I abandoned the mirrors.

“My photographic memory will be some consolation,” I said. “I can picture my face in my mind’s eye with relative ease.”

Encouraged by this new bump in enthusiasm, I retreated to the basement. It was time. The freezer’s brawny compressors roared like my heart pumping rich, red blood. I wrested open the bulky steel door. A cloud of cold condensation buffeted me. I shivered. The air to my bare skin felt nippy. Unable to quell my ecstasy, I postponed slapping together the granite altar.

Whooping out a Rebel yell, I entered the burnt orange temple. Frosty mug shots of me greeted me. Yearning to engage the total charismatic experience, I yanked at the bulky steel door. It swung inward, caught with an ominous snap. I shuddered to feel the zeal in my soul. The din to the freezer’s compressors now chugged at a muffled pitch.

“So: what now, Big Guy?” I asked between chattering teeth and bluing lips. “Genuflect? Pray? Sing? Kneel? Shout? Boy, I haven’t reasoned what to do. Okay, lemme think. What I need is to compose a creed, a little verbiage to sketch out my religious dogma.”

Smiling, I upended a milk crate and had a seat. A slow, careful scan of my eyes on the photo gallery was a silent reminder of how far and fast I’d traveled in my spiritual odyssey. Yes, life was good and only getting better despite Willis’ pronouncements of doom and gloom. I’d accomplished lofty goals by the force of my pluck and esteem. Was I quite taken with myself? Was I quite full of myself? Was I quite stuck on myself. Yep, yep, and yep. But then what the hell? Was I so different than the next guy in the street?

The drift of my eyes swept to the freezer’s steel floor, still shiny and screaming out for an application of burnt orange paint. “Uh-oh,” I heard myself groan. I didn’t want to believe it, but how could I not? Arranged before my eyes on a bath towel lay the leftover bits and pieces. They went to the interior door handle. In my undue haste, I’d forgotten the final step in the freezer’s assembly. A surge of panic zapped through me. With prodigious effort, I calmed down. After lowering a shoulder, I rammed against the bulky steel door. It didn’t budge a bit.

Despite my best attempts as a human wrecking ball, the door refused to give way. Numbness now bit my toes, nose, ears, and fingers. A miracle presented itself in the form of my cell phone. I tapped the speed dial. Good ole Mr. Willis from next door stood ready to rescue me. All members of my flock were directed on occasion to assist in the greater cause of me. Such a time had arisen now.

The cell’s signal, however, sizzled out in my ear. My repeated tries met the same dismal fate. Entombed inside this sterile steel sarcophagus, I couldn’t reach out and touch a soul for aid. Sheer fear dipped my nerve endings into acid. They crackled and popped for action. Only no possible acts inspired me. Lacking options, I resolved to wait it out.

Then at a casual glance, I saw a pink envelope wedged in a wall seam. After plucking out the envelope, I tore it open and folded out a sheet of ruled paper. I started to read...

My Dear Vince,

You are a monster. I’ve come to realize this over the weeks of our intense sessions. Plainly put, you’re a maniac out of control. That’s more than a scary thought. For too many weeks, I’ve agonized over my grave decision. At last with a heavy heart, I’ve stepped up and taken the responsibility to destroy you.

You see, I planted the right seeds in your mind. You didn’t know, did you? I was, in essence, the god over your god.

I’ll be by tomorrow after nine o’clock, worried why you didn’t keep your appointment. By then, you’ll be a frozen steak. I’ll be doing mankind a good service. Ta-ta, Vince.

Signed,

Dr. Willis Cunningham

I flew into a rage of epic proportions, kicking and raving. It proved to be my smartest move. Behind the scattering pyramid of paint cans, I scared up an oversized hooligan bar. Applying superhuman strength powered by adrenaline, I managed to pry apart the steel door’s seal. Emerging from the chilled chapel, I had a brilliant stab of insight.

On my makeshift bench sat a toolbox. Inside under its tray sat an object wrapped in red shop rags. They flew off it. I chambered a fresh round into the .44’s breech. A satisfying smile etched across my frostbitten face. Understandably, when provoked, the god in me was also a vengeful god.