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Millennium Mantra

by Lisa Snider

Chapter 4, adapted from the forthcoming novel, Finding Ojai: Susan is a career-driven young woman on the verge of thirty who is recruited to work at a world-class resort in a very funky new age town. From a ballroom on New Year's Eve 1999, where the balloon drop is filled with helium, a CEO drinks from his shoe and everyone is proposing marriage, her notion of success is challenged. She is torn between her aspirations in the shrewd corporate hospitality business and the eccentric hippie culture she now calls home. Susan's search for success and status lead her to a place she's never been: she finds herself.

The sunlight of the new millennium crept in through the blinds and Ash’s constant meowing at my bedroom’s French doors roused me awake. I scraped the crust from my eyes and rolled over to look at the empty bottle on the nightstand next to the clock: 9:34 a.m. I put my throbbing head back on the pillow and bit by bit last night’s events replayed in my mind. I wondered if John was doing the same thing.

    I couldn’t remember ever being single. Was I single now? Did John really dump me? On Y2K? I had a boyfriend in high school. I thought we were so in love. He cheated on me first semester with my college roommate. I dated a few college boys, and then met John in an accounting class senior year. Seven years later, somehow we grew apart, but I guess I didn’t even know it and now it was too late. Or was it?

    Ash’s meowing was ridiculous. I am not a cat person. I hate cats. Shamani rescued this absurd animal from the local pound. She has three legs and a lazy eye. Her one good front paw has claws that won’t retract. A couple weeks ago, Ash got a piece of recycled tinsel from Shamani’s live outdoor non-specific holiday tree stuck in her protruding claw. It scared the crap out of her and she bolted down the street with Shamani chasing after her. It was quite the spectacle with the poor dumb cat running a few steps, yowling, and then waving the tinseled paw that she was trying so hard to escape.

    I flung my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled over to the door to let Ash in, feeling the effects of a coma-inducing combination of too much Champagne and liquid cold medicine. Ash charged in, her meows so loud I had to cover my ears and close my eyes. She pushed her head into my calf and purred like a locomotive. I was her new food source. Shamani put the poor cat on a raw vegan diet. It wasn’t long before Ash began to look scrawny and her fur came out in chunks. I felt sorry for her and slipped her cans of tuna. Now she was looking for breakfast.

    I shuffled behind her in cold bare feet and one of John’s old t-shirts into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator to find a half-eaten can of StarKist and a half carton of sour milk. I pulled the tin foil off the can and set it on the counter, amazed that this hobbled cat could spring up like a rocket without much effort. She shoved her face into the can and went to town.

There was a knock at the door and a woman’s voice.

    “Susan, are you awake?”

    Shamani. I shooed Ash off the counter. Could she want the rent? It’s barely January first.

    I opened the door and there she was with that peculiar gape-mouthed smile and that filthy art apron. “Have you seen Ashanti Mistress of the Clouds?”

    Ash. The jig is up. “She’s right over–”

    “There you are.” She pushed past me into the kitchen and scooped up the pitiful creature. She kissed her right on the mouth, and then sniffed and looked around. Her eyes stopped at the tuna can.

    “Oh dear. Have you been feeding Miss Ashanti murdered fish?”

    “Oh, no, no, I was just, uh, getting something into my stomach.” I grabbed a fork and picked out a mouthful and brought it to my lips. “Mmm, who says you can’t have tuna for breakfast?”

    As soon as I scarfed it down my stomach revolted. I gagged and ran for the bathroom. I made it just in time to empty a gallon of Cristál, NyQuil and StarKist into the toilet. I held on tight and retched again, watching my blond tresses hang in the bowl.

    Shamani stood over me, stroking Ash. “You really should be more mindful about your diet.”

    I flipped my barfed-on hair back and collapsed to the floor. “I think I have the flu.” That, and a killer hangover.

    Shamani put Ash down, pulled me to my feet, and then held me over the bathroom sink to rinse the puke out of my hair.

    She felt my forehead. “You’re on fire. Go back to bed. I’ll bring you something to get that fever down.”

    She helped me up and walked me into the bedroom. I flopped onto the bed and Ash leapt out of Shamani’s arms onto the comforter next to me. One of her claws got stuck in the threads of the comforter and I instinctively reached over and pulled the sharp point out as I’d done so many times before. Stupid cat.

    “Where’s John?” Shamani fluffed up the pillow behind my head.

    “He left last night. We had a fight after I got home from work.”

    “I could feel the energy coming from here last night. I sensed a darkness.”

    “Well, the darkness has left the building and won’t be back.”

    “No, it’s still here.”

    “If I can get some more of that sleepy-time cold medicine in me, I’ll be as light as a feather.”

    “That’s poison. It only masks the symptoms. You need some soup.”

    “I need a shower.”

    “Oh, yes, Bo is coming by tomorrow to fix up your tub so you can have a shower. I still don’t know why you can’t enjoy a nice warm bath. Having a good soak in some chamomile leaves will do you a world of good.”

    Steeping in a tea of my own filth didn’t sound very appealing. I just wanted the rush of water to wash it all away.

    Shamani grabbed my hand and did that thing where she looks into my eyes, like she was zeroing in on some cosmic truth through me. “You just have to go through this to come out of it.”

    “Go through what?”

    “You think the love of your life has just left, but the truth is that love is within you.”

    Here comes the nutty talk again. “Shamani, I just want to go to sleep.”

    “You sleep. I’ll be by later.”

    She picked up her three-legged lazy-eyed cat and headed out.

    A day off and I’m alone with my thoughts. Just my luck that I ended up with a landlady who apparently runs a commune. I suppose I’m the only one here paying rent. I looked at the phone. I wanted to call him and scream at him. I wanted him to call me and say he missed me. I wanted all the wrong things.

    I could see now that John and I had been striving for very different goals pretty much since the day we graduated from college. He wanted permanent things. It started with a sofa. I had no want or need for furniture, but he was so preoccupied with getting just the right upholstery and shade of taupe. I shake my head now, but at the time it seemed so random. It wasn’t, though, it was calculated. After Ethan Allen delivered the sofa, he began circling real estate ads in the Sunday paper while I climbed the hotel career ladder.

    The phone rang. I stared at it in disbelief, then picked it up on the second ring.

    “John?”

    “No. It’s Hiram James. Where is the key to the storeroom?”

    At least the phone calls from the Inn didn’t start early today. A day off really only means that I don’t have to put on makeup and heels. I still have to deal with inane bullshit.

    “Hi Mr. James. Happy New Year. I left the key with Reggie in security.”

    “When are you coming in?”

    “I’m off today and tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?”

    “Wow, how did you manage that?”

    “I worked Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve, so I guess I got the long straw for New Year’s Day.”

    “Fine. How lucky. See me when you get back.”

    He hung up the phone before I could say another word.

    I put my head back on the pillow and made myself insane wondering what he wanted to see me about. He couldn’t possibly know I made off with the Cristál. I drifted off for a moment, then heard a light tap tap at the door. It opened and the tri-pod cat bounced up onto the bed. Shamani breezed in right behind her holding a big pitcher and a cup.

    “Did you sleep?”

    “Not really. Too much on my mind and I’ve got a splitting headache.”

    “Here, drink this.” She poured a sludgy brown liquid into a cup and held it out to me.

    “What is it?” I sat up in bed and took the cup.

    “I call it Miracle Soup.”

    “It’s cold. What’s in it?” I held it up to my nose and winced. “God, that stinks!” I set it down on the nightstand.

    Ash sniffed at the cup, meowed then jumped down to the floor.

    “Hold your nose and gulp it. Don’t smell it, the valerian is powerful, but it does have a rather unpleasant odor.”

    “Shamani, that reeks, I can’t–”

    “You must.” She held the cup up to my lips. “Just a couple big gulps. It will bring down your fever and make you sleep.”

    Sleep. Sleep would be good. I steadied the cup in my hands, closed my eyes, rested the rim of the cup on my bottom lip and held my breath.

    “Wait,” she said. “When do you have to go back to work?”

    I opened my eyes and exhaled. “Day after tomorrow, why?”

    “No matter. Bottom’s up now.”

    I chugged the awful goo, thinking the sooner I did, the sooner she would leave. I swallowed without taking a breath, but soon had to come up for air. When I did, a putrid fire erupted in my throat. I gagged and sputtered, and was about to hurl it all up when Shamani slapped me hard across the face.

    “What the hell, that hurt, Christ, why did you do that?” I held my cheek with my hand and rubbed at the sting.

    “I’m so sorry, Susan, I just didn’t want you to lose all of those nutrients your body needs so badly right now.”

    Tears were gushing out of my eyes. Fire burned my throat. I coughed and ran to the bathroom to guzzle water from the faucet. “What is in that foul concoction?” I asked between gulps.

    “Miracle Soup. I juiced some organic carrots for healing, garlic to draw out the toxins and impurities from the alcohol and the cold medicine, ginger and epazote to soothe your stomach, valerian root to help you sleep, cayenne to help you sweat through the fever and, um, a dash of something to help your heart sickness.”

    “A dash of what, exactly?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and returned to bed.
    “It’s natural. I grow it myself.” Shamani tucked the sheets in around me.

    “What?”

    “Just a little, uh, peyote.”

    I sat straight up. “You’ve hopped me up on psychedelics?”

    “There’s hardly any in there. Just enough to lift you out of your fog.”

    “I’m fine. I don’t need to go all Fear and Loathing. Oh God, I’m going to see bats flying around my room soon. And they’re going to attack me–”

    “It’s not that much, dear, don’t worry, just enough to give you sweet dreams and make you less sad.”

    “I’m not sad. I’m just pissed, but I’ll get over it. I’ll be strung out on drugs, but I’ll get over it.”

    “It’s totally natural.”

    “At least I won’t have any track marks to worry about.”

    “Have you thought about your New Year’s mantra?”

    “I don’t do resolutions.”

    “No, a mantra. A phrase that guides you down a more enlightened path.”

    “I guess ‘Fuck you, John,’ isn’t a very enlightened phrase, then?”

    “You really should focus more on loving yourself.”

    “Now that I don’t have a boyfriend, self-love is certainly in the cards.”

    “Why do you have to be so sarcastic?” Shamani’s gape-mouthed smile was gone.

    “I’m just trying to lighten things up. You said it was dark here.”

    “I wish you could see your truth.”

    “What I really want to see right now are the insides of my eyelids. I think your potion is working.”

    “Okay, you sleep, we’ll talk more about your mantra later.”

    The smell of Shamani’s patchouli lingered long after she and Ash left. Fuck you, John. The words repeated over and over in my head until finally I fell into a hard sleep.

Since leaving a 15-year career in the hotel business in 2003, Lisa has written a couple hundred feature articles for local newspapers and magazines, a housing documentary entitled The Price of Paradise, and a comedic one-act play about New Year’s Eve 1999. Her dramatic one-act play, Wind River Redemption, has been tapped for a four-week run with the Elite Theatre Company in Oxnard, California January 14th to February 6th of 2011. She is currently working on her novel, Finding Ojai. A website featuring her work can be found at www.LisaSnider.com.