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“Oh, that’s classic,” I say. The tightness in my chest eases. “To answer your earlier question, while I have solid evidence for decreasing suicidal ideation, I also have experienced catastrophic failure. No treatment, no therapy, works for everyone, and although there were so many promising signs at the beginning, sometimes the demons can’t be held back for very long.”
“And there are some who probably think you’re irresponsible?”
“Absolutely. So, that means that I have to be very careful.” I smile ruefully. “Not just about my sources and research but also about my messaging, wording.”
“There’s nothing that sharpens the instincts like people waiting for you to fail.”
I think of Lincoln Preston. “Ooof. That was a direct hit. Pretty sure that’s gonna leave a mark.” I mime the impact, even though it’s just for an audience of one.
“Sorry about that.” Parker laughs.
“So how is it different? Is it like dropping acid?” He drops his voice and leans into the mic. “Which, Lance, before you ask, I’ve never done.” He rolls his eyes.
I barely suppress my smile. “There’s actually a ceremony. You take this liquid, it’s greasy and kind of gross, and then your mind sort of roams. Now, by means that I am not completely able to explain at this time, after the ceremony, people report that they feel better. This is akin to how LSD research showed a direct connection between use and relief from depression. And believe me, how it works is a mystery to me too. My job has always been to document what people self-report, and compare it to voluntary brain scans before and after. We’re still in the infancy of this research, so there’s a lot that I don’t know.”
“So, I know you said that you would not recommend it, but it sounds like it’s promising.”
I know what he’s trying to get out of me, and I smile at him. “I would neither recommend it, nor would I counsel against it. If you want to know the data, the efficacy, and the long-term success rates so you can make a decision if you think it’s worth your time, I’m your guy. The reason I did this is because, as a scientist, we need to have better answers than Oh, my gosh, that sounds reckless.” I can hear the French cadences starting to roll into my voice.
Parker holds up a handwritten sign that says, YOU READY FOR CALLS? I wince and nod, because we can’t just bullshit forever.
“There are so many people with questions for the good doctor. For those of you who want to take part, please visit our website or call us live. Jake from Lynchburg, you’re on the air.”
I feel a moment of panic. When I said that I was ready for calls, I should have said no. “Jake? Talk to me,” I make myself say.
His voice has the precise cadences of military speech. He dives into the conversation without preamble. “I feel like I’m never going to be normal again. I want to just be a normal guy.”
There is a beat of quiet that seems to fill the world. I swallow and close my eyes, and it’s Robby’s face I’m seeing for a heartbeat. And then the image dissolves.
This is my world. I’ve heard variants of this so many times before. “What branch?” I ask.
“Marines.”
The image reforms in front of me. It’s a composite of so many of the Marines I’ve worked with. “Okay, Jake. I’m going to be real with you, and tell you something you already know. You’re not. That ship sailed right after boot camp. But listen to me, Jake. Hear me. The world is full of normal people. We need a handful more extraordinary people in this world. You were trained to do something most of us can’t.”
“That nobody wants. I don’t fit here. I don’t have skills or an education. I’m a nobody and I don’t have anything to offer.”
“Stop. Seriously, stop.” I think of Levi. “You’re not nobody. You’re not nothing. You matter. Do you know how many people in their homes and cars and studio apartments heard your words and thought, Holy crap, that’s me? A lot of people. But I’m not talking to them. I’m talking to you. How’re you sleeping, buddy?”
“Fucking awful,” he says. Parker puts his hand on his forehead and gestures to the sound guy to erase the expletive. “I just want to have a purpose again. A job, a mission, a family—something that I can accomplish that has meaning to someone else.”
“And what mission have you given yourself that has meaning to you, Jake? Because those missions matter, too.”
I look away from Parker. Levi is out there, somewhere, and of all the people in the universe who I want to say those words to, he’s the only one I can’t.
Chapter eighteen
Levi
Iam not supposed to be listening to this radio show. I mean, it’s talk radio, it’s late at night on a Wednesday, and I have homework that won’t do itself. But instead, I’m sitting in my apartment, at my desk, with my earbuds in. Bastien’s going to be on the radio and I can’t stop myself from wanting to hear what he has to say. Three weeks of third-row seats and Mr. Knight and office doors propped open with a rubber wedge, and this is the closest I’ve been allowed to get to him. It’s almost like he’s here in this room, sitting on the bed. I wonder if he would think my studio apartment is too basic for him.
I rub the space between my eyes as the computer buffers the stream. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be curious about Bastien at all. Except that I saw the flyer on campus about the interview and now, here I am, sitting at my desk overlooking a rain-soaked Constitution Avenue, and WFVN-Fairhaven’s website is streaming. I think I’m only catching every third word Bastien is saying because I’ve been looking up ayahuasca, a word that I misspelled three times until the search bar gods finally took pity on me and gave me a suggestion I could use. I’m only half listening to “Jake” calling from “Lynchburg.” I have so many questions, and the first one I want to ask is, Why didn’t he tell me?
My phone rings. I glance at it and see Momma’s Tennessee number and almost don’t answer, but it might be important.
“Well, it took you long enough,” Momma huffs when I pick up. “We got something from the Davidson County Coroner’s Office.”
I take the earbuds out. The reassuring chatter now seems far away.
