South African Highs – A Sunday on Aaronworld-1185
Chapter 1: Sonsopkoms in die tuin (Sunrise in the garden)
It was Holly's week to do the gardening, for the routine had become second nature to her just in the weeks that preceded today. Aside from waking up at 4am, she actually rather enjoyed doing it. Such was the structured life of all who ever go through a sober house as a patient. Paradoxically, she was happy to soon be rid of her (hopefully) temporary home.
"This is hopefully the last time that I ever plant South Africa's official flower"
The King protean was the flower she was planting. The garden at Welstand en nugter lewe Fasiliteit (Wellness and sober living facility) was quite a large one (6 acres altogether) but the majority of it was used for growing food for the facility itself. Under South African law, all health facilities are required to only serve organic food to its' patients. "Vullis in, vullis uit" (Garbage in, garbage out) was one of many expressions that spread like wildfire across the country as a direct result of that. Holly appreciated recovering in a place outside of Johannesburg proper, as it gave her some peace and quiet to help her recover her sobriety.
As she was watering her section of the garden, she immediately flashed back to a video diary entry that she had made 183 days ago (a common occurrence for her, the flashbacks to which she attributed to a guilty conscience that had grown over the last few months...if not years):
The camera is turned on and Holly is standing in front of a bathroom mirror that is her not her own bathroom mirror. Aside from the mirror and a couple of metal bars put in place for the physically handicapped, it is an all-white bathroom that at least to Holly, seems very sterile, almost anti-septic.
She is wearing a black tank top with the words "King's X" written across the chest in simple white block letters (and there are enough rips in the shirt that expose her black lace bra and multiple coloured spots across her abdomen and light blue cut-off jean shorts. Between her arms and feet, there are over a dozen track marks that were consistent with amateur needle injections. Her hair has dread-locked from many days without a shower, her lower lip is very swollen (in addition to being black) and her nose is broken badly enough to blacken both of her eyes. She is also holding onto a small metal stand which had an intravenous bag attached to it, leading to a needle taped to the back of her right hand.
"So I'm about halfway through the detox which means that I'm officially dope-sick. I was at the point where I had my worst physical exhaustion of my life last night but I've slept maybe 6 hours since detox began 3 days ago (a brutal dichotomy, to say the least). I'm also throwing up so much that I've been on an intravenous vitamin drip for the last 36 hours or so. For every puncture wound on my body, I feel a dozen more that aren't there anymore (and may never have been there to start with). I'm going to have an abscess surgically removed from my right forearm in about an hour (which will feel like even more cuts on my body, I'm sure). A doctor on duty told me that the spots on my stomach are from liver damage but based on a biopsy they took of it yesterday, the damage won't be permanent to me as long as I stay clean for the rest of my life."
Holly bursts into tears, tears of complete and utter terror.
"Detox, 90 days of rehab and 90 days living at a sober house...or spend 3 years in prison for stealing a car and possessing enough drugs to kill me 3 times. And I only even got that choice because I explained to the court that I only stole a car in desperation to escape other junkies and I had plans to safely get rid of the drugs and return the car once the heat died down around me and my past. I was strapped to a polygraph under oath at the time and the machine said I was telling the truth. I'm an addict, but I'm not a liar. What I am though, is that I'm scared to death because I came to South Africa some years ago from the United States looking to teach bible studies to school children, then I was turned away from teaching for reasons of prejudice. Then my church told me that I was stuck there because my return ticket had been paid for with counterfeit money and they couldn't afford to get me back home. I went to the police but I was laughed at by every officer in the room and called 'Wit slet' which I now know means White Slut in the local language of Afrikaans. I was on the streets and close to starving to death before I made a deal with the devil: Sell drugs to make the money to fly home. Oh I got a place to live and food and such out of all of it, but never enough to buy my ticket home (those are a luxury moreso than an apartment, a true testament to a class divide if ever there was one). So I started using drugs to escape my reality, now I just want reality back so I can find a legal way to get home. The church may have abandoned me, but I know God will help"
Somehow as her flashbacks were playing themselves out in her mind, Holly finished watering her soon to be blossoming flowers. She grabbed her video camera from a nearby white plastic bag to make a quick diary entry:
"So counting my arrest, my detox, my stint in rehab and my stay in sober living, I'm 295 days sober today. 295 days out of the 7 years that I've been stuck here in this country. I wish I had the grateful feeling of being alive that most addicts have acheived by now, but I don't. All that's on my mind is making amends with those of whom I've wronged here, finding a real job and going home. Amnesty International is taking too long reviewing my human rights case, my Church is still completely ignoring me and this country doesn't have that many phone lines in it (and the few that exist are expensive). Even if I could afford a phone, I'm still too ashamed to call my family as every recent call, I was "persuaded" not to tell them my plight by...figures of my past, or I would be shot to death on the phone. And even if I weren't ashamed of myself, I forgot their number, the drugs killed that particular brain cell. Worst of all, there's no operator anywhere in Africa to connect me based on what I do remember of them. Gotta run, Zenani is coming."
Zenani was a former resident of the facility turned house manager. Her English was much worse then Holly's Afrikaans (to which she had learned sufficient fluency that her voice had changed to a mild Afrikaans accent even when she spoke her native English).
"Hallo Holly, hoe is jy?" (Hello Holly, how are you?)
"Hallo Zenani, my blomme geplant." (Hello Zenani, my flowers are planted)
"Groot, wil jy jou skedule nou?" (Great, want your schedule now?)
"Ja asseblief" (Yes please)
Zenani took several folded pieces of paper out from her right back pocket. After a moment of sifting through them all, she found the one with Holly's name on it and handed it to her, to which Holly began reading it out loud:
"Ontbyt om 7:30, vergadering met die doktor chapman om 9:00, waarskynlik ontslag" (Breakfast at 7:30, Meeting with Dr. Chapman at 9:00, probable discharge).
She knew that today was the big day but seeing those words on her schedule made it all the more real to her, she had reached another finish line on the road to sobriety. She immediately flashed back to a diary entry that she made not long after she arrived at the sober house:
The camera is turned on and Holly is sitting on a bed. It has wallpaper across all four walls in a colour that reminds her of a light cappuccino. The bed has a Black, Blue, Green and Red South Africa flag as the main bedspread with the rest of the sheets being a simple white. She is wearing a simple black hooded sweatshirt with the zipper going down the middle zipped all the way up to her neck and a pair of simple black dress pants mildly flared out at the bottom. The track marks on her limbs are hidden for now (which was Holly's intention). Her hair has stopped being dread-locked and had returned to its' normal state (shoulder length and dark brown to the point of almost being black). Her lower lip is no longer swollen and her nose is in a clear plastic face-mask with heavy padding to protect it from any additional damage.
"So my dope-sickness has been finished for a few days now. I've been sleeping semi-regularly and I've been praised for being one of the least difficult people to get through being dope-sick that have ever been at this facility. I wouldn't wish being dope-sick on my least favourite enemy. The house manager Zenani told me not to feel ashamed that I was shitting my pants once or twice a day, that it was normal to be doing that in the early stages of recovery even after dope-sickness. I still felt bad, but the entire staff here has been very nice to me and they shouldn't have to do so much cleaning up after me, even if they're used to it with others."
Holly then takes a piece of paper out of her pocket, holds it up to the camera then pulls it back so that she can read it to the camera (more accurately, translate it to English as it's in Afrikaans).
"This was given to me the day that I checked into sober living. It's a code of conduct that I've signed in good faith and have never broken: 1. No drugs, alcohol, violence or overnight guests under any circumstance (I've seen a few people break that rule since i checked in here and it's always been the same consequence; immediate dismissal from the house. Zenani and Dr. Chapman don't make exceptions for anyone under any circumstances. I haven't even considered violating this one). 2. Active participation in all recovery meetings (I admit to being a bit shy in the meetings at first, but I always speak about my feelings in recovery). 3. Random drug and alcohol tests for all guests, no exceptions. Failing or refusing to do a test results in immediate dismissal (as I'm a first-timer it's once a day at random times of the day. 1 person here gets tested 3 times a day. I wish I could say that I like being watched as I pee but...I don't). 4. On-time guest fee payments (waived in my case as this is part of a plea bargain that I took). 5. Involvement in work, school or outpatient program is mandatory (My program consists of participating in a research study to determine why I'm having flashbacks because I was addicted to the wrong drug that produces them). And 6. General acceptance by the peer group in the facility is expected (other than group meetings, we pretty much keep to ourselves here so this one is actually the easiest for me to follow)."
Holly folds that piece of paper back up and puts it in her pocket before resuming her diary entry:
"A typical day here consists of a chore to be done on the premises (Mine is usually gardening before breakfast but sometimes I do laundry and teach English to the other addicts. Apparently I took an aptitude test when I first arrived here but I don't remember taking it at all). Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner (obviously), A 1-on-1 meeting with Dr. Chapman (Mine is usually between breakfast and lunch), Group Therapy with Zenani (between lunch and dinner) and the random tests. My outpatient program is always on the weekends (where I get a waiver to leave the facility. Sometimes for half a day, sometimes the whole day) and the random drug tests are just that, random."
She grabs a nearby glass of water and drinks the whole thing without interruption before resuming speaking:
"There's a church in the basement here. Most of my free time is spent there at the moment. I go in, kneel before this beautiful 8 foot tall bronze crucifix and I pray to God that I not only stay sober, but that I can find my family in the United States and go home. I don't hate or even really dislike South Africa but the only thing worse than dope-sickness is homesickness."
A single tear leaves Holly's right eye as she turns the camera off. Holly returns to the present day by hearing and seeing Zenani snap her fingers in front of her eyes.
"Hoe lank hierdie een?" (How long was this one?) asked Holly, who was almost used to these by now. Zenani looked at her watch and answered "Byna tien minute" (almost 10 minutes).
"Ek hoop regtig dat hulle uit te vind hoe om dit te los" (I really hope that they figure out how to fix this).
Zenani put a comforting hand on Holly's right shoulder. It was a mild infraction of House manager rules to do that, but she just knew Holly would stay sober for the rest of her life, and would consider her a friend after she left.
...Then the horse galloping was heard in the distance.
"Ek het gedink dit was private eiendom" (I thought this was private property) offered Holly in observation.
"Jy is reg." (You're right) replied Zenani. Holly quickly grabbed a pair of nearby binoculars and began staring through them at the other end of the garden several acres away. There were about 30 of them on the horses, riding, dressed entirely in robes and head coverings with 2 slits for the eyes (all black). Holly's mouth opened in sheer horror, followed by her screaming:
"ETNIESE STROPERS"
Zenani and Holly grabbed their stuff and began running for the garden door entrance leading into the sober house. When the clan came to within 100 feet of the door they stopped dead in their tracks. The presumed leader took off his head coverings, revealing a black man in his early 60's with blue eyes and tribal tattoos across his entire face. Zenani began calling the police as Holly flashed back to day 1 at rehab (which was exactly 90 days before she started as a guest in the sober house):
The camera is turned on and Holly is sitting down on a black corduroy sofa. Her hair is a mix of half wavy hair and half dreads and her face still has nose and eye damage. This is not her camera but a camera owned by the rehab facility that she was staying in at the time. The camera is only focused on Holly's face and the couch, nothing else can be seen easily.
A male Afrikaaner voice can be heard behind the camera asking Holly "Meld asseblief jou valle nam?" (Please state your full name)
"Holly Ann Rapp"
"Stel jou verslawing" (State your addictions)
Holly can be seen struggling in thought. Hoping to not anger anyone, she states "Kan ek se dit in Engels tevrede" (May I state them in English, please?)
"Jy kan" (You may)
"Heroin, Cocaine, Alcohol"
"Wat is jou doelwitte?" (What are your goals?)
"Lewenslange soberheid" (Lifelong sobriety)
"Wat sal wees jou grootste struikelblokke?" (What will be your biggest obstacles?)
Holly hated to ask the question again but felt that she had no choice "Kan ek se dit in Engels tevrede" (May I state them in English, please?)
"Jy kan" (You may)
Holly reached for an off-camera glass of water and took a big sip. The interviewer made noises of irritation as the camera's light kept flickering on and off, making Holly look like a flip book with random pages torn out. "My 2 biggest obstacles will be the severe sadness that I feel over not being able to go home again to the United States and that my recovery may be sabotaged by "ETNIESE STROPERS" or in my language, "Ethnic Poachers". The Apartheid movement against White people 'officially' ended 22 years ago but Ethnic Poachers still roam throughout South Africa, looking to harass, assault, even torture us to death based on the colour of our skin. Surely, they should've found something else to do when the wind blows other than ride horses and hurt people no longer considered inferior by their country (maybe someone should invent a mill to harness wind for power in some way). But no one takes racial equality seriously in Africa."
Holly bursts into tears as she tries to wrap up her answer "God is Love, we're all the same coloured blood, and my only way to block my homesickness and the ethnic poachers out of my mind is to get high. What the fuck is wrong with people? What the fuck?"
The voice then walks forward, and gets on one knee so that he's at perfect eye level to Holly before speaking (in accented English) "I cannot guarantee that we can help you get home, but you will be safe here. You have my word"
The word "word" repeats itself a few times as Holly snaps back to reality. A police officer approaches her, and she begins to volunteer her statement despite knowing that they won't actually do anything.
Chapter 2: Van ontbyt tot ontslag (Breakfast to dismissal)
"Thank you for giving me a tour of this facility, Dr. Chapman. I tend to be uncomfortable in new places sometimes."
Dr. Chapman nodded, knowing that professional courtesies can work wonders sometimes on the right patients.
"My pleasure, Miss Rapp. I'm the only staff member here whose first language is English so whenever I get immigrants or refugees from North America I tend to give them the tour of this place myself. One last thing, we're an all-organic facility. All our meals are completely organic: no hormones, no steroids, no antibiotics etc. We find that it helps the patients become healthy faster when they eat right, plus it is this country's law and all."
Holly nods and smiles, silently appreciating that information as they continue walking around the place.
Holly finishes her breakfast as that flashback ends (Scrambled organic eggs, gluten-free whole wheat toast, organic cedar-smoked bacon, organic coffee with lactose-free milk and cane sugar) slowly (still shaken up emotionally from the ethnic poachers attack). She looks at a clock up on the cafeteria wall facing her (all 4 walls are white, as is the ceiling, but the clock is one of those old-fashioned black cat clocks from the 1950's that everyone into mid-century modern art has in their kitchens) and says out loud "10 minutes until my session with Dr. Chapman, better get going."
She took her tray over to a section of the cafeteria that had a sign reading: "Plaas klaar bak hier" (Place finished trays here) and exited out the front door. She turned left and walked down an all-green hallway knowing that Dr. Chapman was the last door on the left. Then a large booming voice came from behind her:
"Holly, kom terug hier asseblief, tyd vir jou daag likse verrassing piepie toets." (Holly, come back here please, time for your daily surprise pee test). Holly held her head down, turned around and walked towards the shared bathroom where the voice is coming from. There stood a 2.05 metre tall, 375 pound black man with a septum piercing that everyone in the sober house knew simply as "Mickey D". He was a gentle giant for the most part, unless you failed a test or broke a house rule. His temper when those things occurred was something that Holly had never wanted to find out about. She went inside and saw a clear glass of water waiting for her on top of an off-white ceramic toilet. She flashed back as she began drinking:
"Moet jy aandring op kyk na'n vrou piepie?" (Must you insist on watching a lady pee?)
"Ja. Jy moet aandring op die verfilimg van my?" (Yes. Must you insist on filming me?)
The camera focuses on Holly's face giggling slightly as she felt rebellious in filming the sober house bouncer. It's shaking a little on account of her holding it with one hand and holding a cup to pee with the other. This is the first video that she's made where there's no damage to her nose and eyes.
"That's Mickey D, the bouncer of this great sober party. I've seriously gotten used to his watching me use the washroom during the random tests, I just like teasing him with my camera. The methods some addicts use to conceal their relapses shocked me when Mickey D told me about them. Buying clean urine and trying to switch cups before the test started, injecting clean urine into their bladders, getting shipped masking agents and diuretics via South African post. One moment..."
She places the camera down on the bathroom cabinet and hands Mickey D her pee cup...
...Just as she snaps back to reality and hands Mickey D. her pee cup in the present. He takes out a small chemical applicator from a cabinet drawer and begins gently pouring Holly's urine into it via a tiny funnel attached to the applicator. Holly stood in amazement as it was explained to her a few weeks ago that they can test for all opiates, amphetamines, cocaine, marijuana, alcohol and all other addictive substances. The Machine itself was a white plastic apparatus about the size of a large calculator. Holly was antsy during each of her tests, but she had nothing to hide and knew that if she was late to see Dr. Chapman on account of taking a clean test that Micky D. would accompany her to Dr. Chapman's and vouch for her tardiness. A beeping noise came from the tester a few minutes and Micky D:
"Negentig ewekansige dwelm toetse, negentig skoon dwelm toetse. Jy is my eerste perfetke negentig in byna twee jaar." (Ninety random drug tests, ninety clean drug tests. You are my first perfect ninety in almost two years).
This was a bittersweet moment in Holly's life. She knew that she had it in her to achieve a perfect ninety, but based on what she knew of this sober house's turnover rate she knew that there were about 1000 people who didn't reach her goal, if not more for everyone who had achieved a perfect ninety.
"Ek kan laat wees vir die dokter." (I might be late for the doctor)
Mickey D. nodded and extended his right arm to Holly in a nonverbal "after you" gesture. They reached the entrance of Dr. Chapman's office and Mickey D. knocked on the door. Dr. Chapman opened the door, prepared to be mad at Holly:
"2 minutes late Miss Rapp...oh, you were given a surprise test from him? Nevermind!"
Mickey D. did not technically speak English but Afrikaans was similar enough to Dutch which was similar enough to English so he did understand what English-speaking people were saying about 75% of the time. He also knew that Dr. Chapman's Afrikaans was better than Holly's, having been here for almost 20 years.
"Sy is skoon, 'n perfekte negentig" (She is clean, a perfect ninety). Mickey D. then nodded at both ladies and quietly excused himself in order to return to his duties. Holly entered her office, which was carpeted entirely in brown and wallpapered entirely in gold. The walls themselves were a mix of Dr. Chapman's diplomas and a noteworthy collection of Ohio sports memorabilia. Mostly flags and photographs from the Indians, Browns, Cavaliers and Blue Jackets, but one baseball stood out in particular (Which was in a clear bulletproof case locked by a key Dr. Chapman kept in a bank off-property as addicts like to steal things in order to barter for more drugs). It was a baseball signed by the entire 2001 Cleveland Indians, who won the world series in seven games over the Arizona Diamondbacks. Holly loved this room in the sober house most of all, as she could speak English here freely and her home state of Indiana was close enough to Ohio where both she and Dr. Chapman were Midwest girls, far from home.
"I never liked George Steinbrenner's personality but you can't argue with his results. I'm just glad he owned the Indians, not his backup plan: The New York Yankees." offered Dr. Chapman as an icebreaker. "Have a seat, please." she added. Holly sat down in a black cloth office chair in the middle of the room. Dr. Chapman noticed that Holly's hands were shaking, "Still in shock over the Ethnic Poachers, are you?"
Holly nodded immediately, Dr. Chapman walked over to a nearby closet and opened it, pointing to a shotgun. "I've had to fend off some poachers a time or two since I came over here. I have a hard enough time keeping my addicts in line without the poachers scaring you all into relapsing. We could give you a Xanax prescription to deal with the anxiety of them...unfortunately, we still don't have a treatment for your flashbacks other than maybe anti-seizure medicine which is like treating a heart attack with antibiotics."
Holly laughed at that analogy, then shook her head "I'm 295 days clean from Smack, Blow and Booze. I don't want to trade addictions to the legal stuff, unless it's caffeine. Thank you for the offer though, I know you meant well by it."
Dr. Chapman nodded and took a file out of a drawer on the right side of her brown cedar desk and opened it. Holly immediately recognized it as her case file (it had her name on it). Dr. Chapman would normally take at least 10 minutes in her speech, but knew that Holly had earned a brief synopsis in light of the stress of today:
"Holly Ann Rapp, you came to us addicted to the drugs Heroin, Cocaine and Alcohol. Your habits were costing you approximately 10,000-15,000 South African Rand a week. You not only dealt drugs, but also prostituted yourself on a part-time basis to feed your addictions, leading to you contracting Chlamydia and Syphilis to which we cured."
Holly winced at that particular part. Thankfully, the part of her brain that was causing her flashbacks only subjected her to a brief montage of her "Clientele". That was her least favourite part of her former lover, that he seemed turned on by forcing her to "pleasure" other people for drugs (both male and female "Clientele" alike). Dr. Chapman continued:
"You have since fought for and maintained sobriety for 295 days, and have earned the admiration and respect of not only your peer group, but the entire staff as well. I hereby award you an honourable discharge on the conditions that you return to see me twice a week as an outpatient and submit yourself to random drug testing 3 times a week for a period of no less than 1 year."
Dr. Chapman then slid a form across her desk with a black fountain pen on top. Holly read it (thankfully, Dr. Chapman typed it in English so that a translation wasn't necessary). It was basically everything Dr. Chapman had just said, only in a contract. Holly signed as she was crying, overjoyed that she earned this. She slid the form back over to Dr. Chapman, who simply nodded in satisfaction.
"So, what are you planning to do now that you're more or less free?"
It took Holly a few moments to put her thoughts together "Well, I thought about going to the American embassy in Cape Town and filing for religious asylum, because I originally came with a group of church workers that abandoned me. But, the legal red tape could still keep me here for up to 7 more years. So, I delivered a resume to Steenkool heuwel English dompel skool..."
Dr. Chapman's eyes lit up as she heard those Afrikaans words, feeling a need to interrupt her patient: "Coal Hill English Immersion School...where this country's future doctors learn how to speak English."
Holly nodded and continued "Yes. Anyways, I was given an interview during my time in the research study to find out about my flashbacks. They know about my addictions, I fully disclosed everything to my interviewer and...they agreed to hire me on a provisional 1 semester contract. Between my rent and bills I'll need to work for more than 1 semester in order to have the money to get home, but it's a start, right?"
Dr. Chapman nodded, taken aback by how Holly had prepared so well in order to keep her nose clean "And a very good one at that, I just hope that your start date at your new job is after tonight. Otherwise, you won't have time for...this..."
Dr. Chapman slid a small, manila envelope over to Holly along with an antique silver letter opener with a solid oak handle to open it with. Holly looked a tad confused as she opened up the envelope slowly. Inside was a single piece of thick paper reading "Buckethead, live in Back 2 Basix".
"You bought me a ticket to a Buckethead concert? I didn't even know that the masked one could even play in Africa." said Holly in complete shock.
"It's his very first show here on the continent...you earned a night out, but stay sober, that's an order. You're not completely out of my care yet despite the discharge."
Holly nodded in total acceptance and ran into Dr. Chapman's welcoming arms. They hugged for the better part of 2 minutes before separating. "Now get out of here, you still have some packing to do and I'm finally getting a second phone installed. Also, as you went a perfect ninety, you can call me Jane now, you've earned that as well."
There was a knock on the door, it was a telephone installation technician by the name of Francois (Blonde hair, 1.9 metres tall, built like a professional rugby player. Holly stood up in order to leave the office, before asking "One last thing, how goes your efforts of finding my parents?"
Dr. Chapman leaned forward in order to answer "I received a list of all the people in Indiana last named Rapp via a friend of mine working the phones over there. But as there's 39 people with that last name who have phones in that state, it could take some time in order for me to find the right one. This thing called the internet is really taking off in North America but only the government and illegal hackers have it over here in Africa. We don't have the money to even have it in our hospitals yet, sorry."
Holly nodded in satisfaction (she was actually expecting a less optimistic answer), leaving without saying another word. Dr. Chapman watched as Francois installed the phone, doing a test call before saying "Al gedoen. Die Stad is die optel van die wetsontwerp" (All done, The city is picking up the bill.)
Dr. Chapman could barely get out the word "Dankie" (Thank you) before Francois left. She took out a number from a rolodex on her desk and began dialling as a test call of sorts.
"Hello? 3 am, this better be important or I'm calling the cops." said an American voice.
"It's me. She made it, I gave her the concert ticket so call her at 7:30pm your local time at the number I gave you last week."
"Thank you, the bank turned down my request for a microloan in order to by her a ticket home, but I'll keep trying to get her home if she stays sober."
"She will, I'm sure of it. Goodnight...Mr. Rapp."
Chapter 3: Verpakking and vertrek (Packing and Departure)
"Wow, I'm going to have to throw out half of my clothes. I didn't know exactly how much weight I've lost while I was on drugs until I started packing up to leave."
Holly didn't talk to herself very often, but she was so excited to be finally out of here (and going to see her favourite band...well, favourite guitarist in any event as he sometimes played on stage alone) that she couldn't help herself. There was a knock on the door, it was Dr. Chapman.
"May I come in?" asked Dr. Chapman.
"Of course, Jane. Is the new phone working?" asked Holly.
Dr. Chapman hesitated to answer, not wanting to ruin her big surprise later that night. "Yes. I made a test call for a taxi for you, It should be here in about 10 minutes, and we're picking up the bill."
Holly began speeding up her packing efforts, "Thank you again, Jane. Hopefully I can finish packing in time."
Dr. Chapman sprang into action to help, mostly folding some of the remaining clothes (out of respect to Holly's video equipment). Zenani then knocked on the door, Dr. Chapman smiled, only saying "3 sets of hands are better than 2." which was Zenani's cue to walk in and help out as well. Holly had finished packing with 5 minutes left to spare, and was able to fit everything (that she wasn't throwing out) into her backpack and suitcase. Zenani then took a piece of paper out of her shirt breast pocket and handed it to Holly "Dit is die resep vir die organiese Chinese warm en suur sop wat jy lief" (It is the recipe for the Chinese hot and sour soup that you love).
"Baie Dankie." (Thank you very much)
Holly, Dr. Chapman and Zenani began heading out of the (now) former room of Holly.
"Goodbye room."
Zenani looked puzzled as she didn't understand English, Dr. Chapman was aware of this.
"Totsiens kamer" (Goodbye room) said Dr. Chapman to Zenani. Zenani then gave a thumbs up gesture to Jane as a way of saying thanks. Holly was the first one out of the room...
...filled entirely with Holly's fellow addicts. They were lined up against both of the walls in single file. Holly had known them all to at least some extent, and they were standing together as a salute to the first honourably discharged addict that this sober house has had in almost 2 years.
"Verhaal verslaafde op die dek." (Recovered addict on deck) shouted Mickey D. who was waiting for Holly all the way at the other end of the hall. The addicts then saluted identically to the U.S. Army, a special touch for Holly, to be sure. Holly was overwhelmed, Dr. Chapman stepped in to explain to Holly what the protocol is for this situation:
"Walk as you normally would, nod, shake hands with only those you had a special bond with."
Holly surveyed the group for amoment before whispering, "I only knew 1 or 2 of them very well, both mysophobes. As I said in one of my diary entries, we mostly keep to ourselves." she whispered to Dr. Chapman. Holly would nod to a fellow addict every three seconds or so, only hugging Mickey D. at the end. No additional words were needed. She also silently hugged Dr. Chapman and Zenani one more time before she got into the taxi and left.
Holly entered her apartment for the first time in months by dropping her bags and walking around the entire place. It was freshly cleaned (with all of the rooms smelling like lavender), 1 bedroom and bathroom down the hall, and the Kitchen/Dining Room/Living Room/Balcony were basically 1 combined room in front of Holly. All of the rooms walls were painted white, all wooden furniture was stained a kind of brownish red and the rest of her apartment was blue. Holly painted everything herself, to remind her of the America that she missed. There was a bouquet of orchids on the red coffee table in the living room, with a card written in English:
Dear Holly,
Congratulations on beating all of your personal issues. I've been keeping the place up for you because I know deep down that you're a wonderful person. Also, thank you for paying a year of rent in advance so that I didn't have to rent your place to someone else (interviewing new tennants is such a pain in the ass). Welcome home, I always knew that what you were in the past isn't what you really were inside. I'm sorry that I can't say hello to you in person, but I'm in Cape Town for 2 weeks for another apartment complex that I own. Your now ex-boyfriend is (thankfully) in jail for 20 years for the attempted rape and murder of an under aged boy, you'll almost certainly be back home in America by the time he even makes it to his third year behind bars, if the other inmates don't kill him first. Sorry, again, welcome home.
-Claudia
Holly was in tears over the penultimate sentence in that note. Relief that her now ex-lover was in jail but horrified as to how he was finally brought down. Her heart went out to that child in completely pure empathy and she didn't even know him. She enjoyed knowing that her kind nature was returning to her the longer that she remained sober.
"That's not me anymore!" she whispered, referring to her past.
She walked down the hall and slowly entered the bathroom. The first thing that she noticed was that her mirror was fixed. She flashed back to watching herself staring at a piece of broken mirror on top of her white ceramic sink. It contained 3 long lines of cocaine, and she smiled at them (past Holly smiled, present Holly shuddered):
"Perfect way to start a Saturday Night."
She then sniffed all 3 of the lines of blow in under 20 seconds, grabbed a video-camera and began filming herself. She was pale, thin, giggling incessantly and her nose was visibly bleeding from the cocaine she just sniffed as she pointed the camera at the broken shard of mirror in front of her. She's only wearing a black lace bra and panties and you can see white medical tape across her chest, indicating that she had recently broke her ribs.
"I just did enough blow to be as high as the god whose followers abandoned me. I don't have to sell my supply of blow and smack tonight so I'm...going to the old ball and chain's house for some fun (after I hand him his weekly cut, of course). Oh, you want to know about the tape on me? Last week he pushed me down the stairs, breaking 2 of my ribs. But I know that he still loves me, I just got him mad because I didn't sell enough smack for him...I kept it for myself HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Holly snapped back to reality, leaving the bathroom for the bedroom.
"That's not me anymore!" she whispered, referring to her past.
She reached the bedroom. White walls, white dresser, blue sheets and pillow cases and a red cedar hope chest at the front of her bed. Her mind flashed back to her boyfriend turning on her camera. There's just him (A short blonde haired man with something resembling a French accent named Geoffrey), Holly (with a few pink streaks in her hair and shooting a full needle of Black Tar Heroin into her left thigh, and a third man only known to the shady people in Johannesburg as "Machine". He's almost 2 metres tall, pale white skin, and only wearing a black leather bondage mask and black leather pants. He opens a zipper on the mask to talk "How much?"
Geoffrey looks up to the ceiling, deep in thought "1000 rand per bag of black tar. And I'm quoting friend prices."
Machine shakes his head "For once I wasn't talking about your smack. How much for your bitch's ass?"
Holly speaks up, "Honey, please don't let machine fuck me in the ass. It'll hurt, no one's ever had my ass before. Not even you..."
Geoffrey slapped her in the face, hard enough to break her nose. "50,000 rand. And that's a discount on account of me damaging the goods."
Machine laughed and tossed Geoffrey a stack of money, totalling 60,000 rand altogether.
"10 for the smack, 50 for your bitch's ass."
Geoffrey pockets the money and tells Machine "Have at her. The drugs and my girl."
Machine resumes laughing, drowning out Holly's repeated screams of "No."
Holly snaps back to reality and begins crying profusely at that horrific night. No one who truly loves another person would loan their partner out to other people, especially for money to complete sociopaths like Machine. It was that night that lead to her stealing the car that lead to her arrest, detox, rehab, and stay in the sober house. That was the only good that came from that night. She remembered a confession that she made to 1 of the police officers upon her arrest. Her confession between sobs:
"I...need...a doctor...my...asshole...is...bleeding."
"That's not me anymore." she whispered, referring to her past.
She walked back down the hallway, deciding to lay down on her blue leather sofa (it would be a long time before she slept in that room again, for understandable and obvious reasons). It also had a hideaway bed, which she silently decided to sleep on until the trauma subsides somewhat. An object was sticking out of her coffee table drawer that caught her attention. It was an unmarked VHS tape.
"Odd, I thought I labelled all of my video diaries." she thought out loud.
With her curiosity piqued, she put the tape inside her VCR, turned her TV on and pressed play. It was a tape from when she first bought the camera approximately 5 years ago. She knew this because her hair was longer and she was overall...healthier. She watched the tape with great anxiety:
"So I just met this guy named Geoffrey who gave me an offer that I had no other choice but to accept, I'm at his house right now. I sell his drugs, I get a piece of the action. If I sell 10,000 rand of drugs every week for 18 months, I can fly home."
Geoffrey then comes within view of the camera and puts his arm around Holly.
"That's right, sweetie. In fact, you look like you can use a pick me up."
Holly shakes her head, declining the offer.
"Go on, it's free. We need to trust each other if we're going to be partners. Do you trust me?"
Holly sighs and nods. Geoffrey grabs a syringe full of a clear liquid, flicks it a few times to make sure that it works. All the while, Holly is preparing a tourniquet for her left arm with a black rubber hose. Geoffrey is actually impressed that Holly can do all of this already.
"First aid training back home." Holly says upon catching him staring.
Geoffrey nods in acceptance and injects Holly full of Heroin. The video immediately jumps in elapsed time to about an hour or so later. Holly is watching her past self alternate between extreme alertness and extreme drowsiness (common for all opiate users, especially in first-timers). She remembers enough of that night to know that her mouth was extremely dry at this point and that her breathing had slowed by more than half.
"Geoffrey, thank you. This is the first time I haven't felt super depressed about not being home in a very long time."
Holly pressed stop on the remote control very quickly, knowing that it only got worse as the night went on.
"That's not me anymore." she whispered, referring to her past.
The clock above the VCR read 3:00 pm. It was 4 hours until the Buckethead concert. "Better start getting ready now. It's my first social thing since the arrest and I want to look my best, even though I'm going alone."
She gets out of the shower and begins drying herself off with a towel. She wipes the condensation off of the mirror with her left hand. It's the first time that she's looked at herself naked since she got sober:
"The Abscess removal scar is hardly noticeable now (looking at the her upper right arm), great job doc. Wait, are my track marks fading away, at long last?"
It may seem like an odd thing for someone to get happy about, but she wanted a fresh start in life and wanted no reminders of her personal demons. She left the bathroom for the bedroom, and found a short black skirt next to a Buckethead T-shirt in her closet. She stared at it for a long time, he was almost 2 metres tall (and that is without the Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket on his head), wore a plain white Kabuki mask, Adidas pants, a generic black T-shirt and a long black coat.
"I hope he plays stuff from his whole career. Shred, Slap bass, banjo...OH OH...and I really want to see him dance as he hands out toys to the crowd. I don't even care if I get a toy or not. Hell, I'll probably just stay in the back of the venue for the entire show."
Holly walked over to the dresser, grabbed assorted makeup and returned to the bathroom. She was whistling some Buckethead song from years past whose title she could not recall.
Chapter 4: Holly in die slag sone (Holly in the slaughter zone)
She arrived at Back to Basix at approximately 5:30 in the afternoon (90 minutes before the announced showtime, but musicians are always fashionably late). There were 3 ways to enter Back 2 Basix: One on the north end of the building where the signs were in Afrikaans, one on the east end of the building where the signs were in Northern Sotho (a Bantu language mostly spoken in the north part of the country but there are over 3 million speakers across the country altogether, so including them was just good business). Finally on the south end of the building, was the entrance for people who spoke English. The building was made entirely of brick and painted black, and the south end was the one that faced Perth road directly.
Holly stood in line with the ticket in her skirt pocket. One disadvantage to the English entrance facing the street was that the people walking to the Afrikaans entrances would see the English-speaking people and call them things like "Vertaagde" (Afrikaans for Retard). People whose first language was Northern Sotho tended to be more civilized, to which Holly was grateful for them. She made every effort to ignore the "old-fashioned" Afrikaners (although the adjustment made by black people to stop treating white people like second-class citizens was a relatively easy one).
In her efforts to ignore people and keep to herself, Holly noticed signs at various points in the line-up. Someone in front of her read them out loud to (presumably) a friend of theirs as Holly listened:
"There are many ways to travel Bucketheadland. You might walk, run, crawl through the paths, trails, tombs, bushes, woods, alleys, streets and ditches. You may travel the park in a spiral. Some choose to wander, stumble, roll, ramble or rampage. It's harder when you're gagged, hogtied, blindfolded or blinded, but how often could that happen?"
Holly chuckled slightly during most of the time that the person in front of her was reading out loud, as this was 1 of the many spoken word segments off of the 2002 album "Bucketheadland 2", an album that was given to her by a friend who lived in Canada for her 17th birthday. The door had been open for some time, but Holly had determined that they would only let in 10-20 people inside at a time for safety reasons. She had no problems with this as she then had more time to have the other signs read to her while she giggled. After a couple of more batches of people, the same someone in front of Holly from the first sign began reading the next sign:
"We cannot guarantee bodily harm for every guest. But we have the highest beheading and delimbing rates of any theme park in the continental United States."
Holly silently wondered as to why there was only the spoken word segments from the guy that sounded like he was on more heroin than Holly had ever consumed. She thought to herself, "Maybe it's because the rest of the album is even darker. Especially the ex-slaughterhouse employee who wants revenge and kills his boss while showing him the whole he dug for him and Little littles. Another couple of batches of people were admitted, and Holly reached sign #3 (which she read in silence):
Wedged between robot land and the cemetery is a realistic replica of the coop where Buckethead grew up. It's like if you stepped out of Bucketheadland's fantasy life...right into his traumatic past. Sometimes you can hear him playing inside, or see a light at night. Is that really him?
Holly was now close enough to be in the next batch of concertgoers to be admitted inside when a man came walking out made up to look like a zombie and a very disfigured one to boot, he began talking (staring at Holly directly):
"In the interest of spontaneity, there is no schedule for performances. But if you see buckethead setting up corpses like an audience, there's a good chance of live music."
The door opened and Holly took her ticket out of her pocket. When she reached the front of the line she presented her ticket to the bouncer, who immediately recognized her:
"I'd tease you by calling you Heroin Holly, but I know that you're clean now and I want you to stay that way. So, I'll keep my mouth shut."
It was a nice thing to say to Holly (and she smiled accordingly). He was 1.85 metres tall and was pretty much entirely muscle under his dark grey Hugo Boss suit. His name was Alonzo and they had been friends for about 5 years (unbeknownst to her, it was actually Alonzo who called the cops on her 10 months ago after seeing Holly with a stolen car).
"Thank you Alonzo. In fact, would you black X me, if you please."
Alonzo nodded, took a black magic marker out of his breast pocket and drew black X's on the backs of Holly's hands. This was a signal to the people inside the club not to serve her any alcohol. Alonzo then tore Holly's ticket, giving her half.
"Please retain your stub for re-entry Ms. Rapp." Alonzo announced as he waved her inside.
"Thank you very much." replied Holly as she entered Back 2 Basix.
The stage was designed like an old chicken coop that was located on a farm somewhere in the Midwest United States (complete with bundles of hay off to the right side of the stage). There was also a large series of amplifiers labelled "Mesa Boogie" on them, a White Gibson Les Paul Jumbo guitar, a Fender Precision bass (whose colours Holly couldn't quite make out on account of the strange purple lighting), a series of effects pedals for his instruments (on top of something that Holly knew was called a "Pedal-board") that took up several square feet of the stage.
"Maybe Buckethead needs to tap dance just to accommodate all of his sounds." Holly thought out loud.
There was also multiple pieces of electronic equipment that probably no one in the crowd could recognize (much less Holly). But what was keeping Holly's attention was that there were several people at multiple strategic locations actually filming the show (which hadn't even started yet).
"I thought bootlegging was illegal in South Africa." Holly (once again) thought out loud.
Holly walked over to one of the camera operators, a portly gentleman known only to a select few people as Maximum Bob.
"Are these cameras approved?" asked Holly.
"Yes ma'am. Big B likes to analyze his performances in order to improve, like a great athlete." replied Maximum Bob.
"OK, Cards on the table time. I'm a recovering drug addict who doesn't wish to have people try to tempt me into failure. Do I have your permission to hang out here?"
Maximum Bob nodded and stuck his hand out to Holly "I'm Maximum Bob. I've been a close friend of Buckethead's for over 28 years."
"My name is Holly...pleasure to meet you." They shook hands just as Holly asked, "Is that the set-list over there?" while pointing to a piece of paper over by Maximum Bob's feet.
"Yup, feel free to browse." he replied in a relaxed manner.
Holly did in fact, browse the set-list closely which listed the following songs:
1. Welcome To Bucketheadland
2. Whitewash
3. Night of the Slunk
4. Sea of Expanding Shapes
5. Padmasana
6. Cruel Reality of Nature
7. Nottingham Lace
8. Plastination Station
9. Final Wars
10. Soothsayer
11. Nunchuk Dance/Toys
12. Bass Solo
13. The Redeem Team
14. LeBron
15. Needle In a Slunk Stack
16. Skeleton Dance
17. The Homing Beacon
18. Look Up There
19. Worms For The Garden
20. Jettison
21. Footsteps
22. Closed Attractions
Holly understood why the set-list was structured the way that it was. If you included 1 song from every album Buckethead ever made and appeared on as a special guest, the concert would last over 13 hours. In a 3-4 hour show, this was as good an overview for his career as any. Still, Holly felt a need to ask her new friend Maximum Bob some follow-up questions.
"No Death Cube K?" she asked eagerly.
Maximum Bob shook his head while answering "It's legally complicated. The labels that put out Death Cube K albums can still sell them and Buckethead still gets royalty checks but because he left those labels, they won't let him play those songs live. And with the 'Monolith' set being what it is, how could he replicate that?"
Holly nodded, understanding completely. Monolith was a 5-album set where (according to urban legend) all 5 albums must be played simultaneously to make the album work correctly, sound wise. Still, Holly had more questions for Maximum Bob/
"Nothing from Praxis?"
"That's a full band type of thing. We could only bring over computers that have Buckethead's drumming patterns stored in them. That's why you don't see any drum kits on stage."
Holly did notice that, and was most impressed that Buckethead can guitar and bass play solo with the computer effectively being his backing band.
"What about his music with Viggo Mortensen from lord of the rings?"
Maximum Bob actually winced at that question, "Again, legal reasons. Neither of them can play their music on stage without the other so..."
Holly was actually getting more curious over time "And why have the longer songs in the set rotation? 5 of these songs are over 10 minutes long. 2 of them are over 20 minutes long, actually."
Maximum Bob just took this interrogation in stride, replying "The live versions tend to be longer due to his penchant for playing with more flexibility in public. But in all seriousness, it's for us camera guys. We call them the 'Bathroom' songs"
Holly gave Maximum Bob a look of total confusion, Maximum Bob caught it immediately and elaborated his answer for her. "If we need to go to the washroom while we're on the job, we go during the longer songs so that Buckethead won't miss us too much in regards to filming his performances. We tend to go in shifts as well, that way at least 2 of us are filming on him at all times. This practice actually goes back as far as the days of vinyl records played at FM radio stations. DJ's would put on the longest song on the album, and go to the bathroom with no fear of the needle running out. I think Rush and a few other bands got a break in their careers because of this practice."
Holly was very impressed with her new friend's knowledge of the inner workings of the music industry. "Do you guys have a soundboard man for the audio?"
Maximum Bob grinned "I'm so glad that you asked. We do, and we're going to start selling his past concerts in a few months. We'll start with the internet but we're also going to post ads in music magazines for countries with little to no internet access. By this time next year, you will be able to buy an audio copy of this very concert as a souvenir."
It was now Holly's turn to grin, "That's so amazing. I've lost so many memories because of my former addictions, including my family back home in America. I take comfort in knowing that I can have memories of tonight, and later a (hopefully) cheap souvenir. To be honest, I'm frightened to be out in public so soon after rehab and the sober house."
"Whereabouts in America are you from, if you don't mind my asking of course?" asked Maximum Bob.
"Not at all, I'm from Indianapolis." replied Holly, not knowing much more beyond that.
"No kidding? We played at Birdy's a couple of months ago. Nice place." said Maximum Bob in an effort to make Holly more comfortable.
"I don't remember much of that town anymore, to be completely honest with you. I'm too focused on the off chance that my former clients may want to hurt me now I don't want to be a part of the drug and sex scene anymore." offered Holly with complete dread.
Maximum Bob thoughtfully nodded "As the oldest employee of Bucketheadland who is not Buckethead himself or Giant Robot, you have my word that you're safe with me."
Holly (on instinct) already knew that she was safe with him "Thank you, kind sir. In fact, I'll make you a deal. I run the camera when you have to go the bathroom and you get me a copy of this show on the house."
Maximum Bob nodded, "Deal. In fact, I'll even interview you afterwards if you like."
Holly's eyes widened "You guys interview fans, too?"
Maximum Bob nodded "Each of us picks out 1 fan and interviews them after the show. Buckethead is very shy, as you no doubt already know so this is the safest way that he can take in fan feedback."
Holly jumped into Maximum Bob's arms, he reciprocated the hug, but only for a moment "Here comes Big B."
Buckethead came onto the stage to a rowdy standing ovation from the South African crowd. He was wearing his trademark black Adidas tearaway pants, a plain yellow rain coat, his traditional white kabuki mask and of course, his KFC bucket (with the word "Funeral" written on orange duct tape across the front of the bucket). He waved at the crowd (but his hand was inside a Hallowe'en prop that made it look like his hand was severed in a car crash). His other hand however, was inside the mask of what looked like a preserved severed head. Holly knew who that was, as did most of the crowd who started an impromptu "Herbie" chant in honour of the severed head. Buckethead took off his "props", put the White Les Paul over his shoulders via a black guitar strap, turned on his drum computer, and began playing.
Maximum Bob's camera focuses on a very exhausted Holly Rapp and Maximum Bob holding a microphone just outside of the concert venue.
"On me in 3...2...1...Maximum Bob here with a Ms. Holly Rapp. Holly, uh, how did you like Buckethead's first show in Africa?"
Holly finished her bottle of water before going into a very long, passionate rant "Well, 'Welcome to Bucketheadland' was a perfect opener as we all go to Bucketheadland every time that he plays live. 'Whitewash' is probably my favourite song ever written and if Buckethead had walked off the stage after that, I would've been satisfied. But no, he continued with the funk-metal 'Night of the Slunk' which wasn't originally written for his kill-switch (that's his toggle button on the Les Paul's body that lets him turn his guitar on and off), but he played the rhythm on the kill-switch perfectly. 'Sea of Expanding Shapes' was the first appearance of his acoustic guitar which lead the mosh-pits to change right into places of slow dancing (yet the beat was definitely hip-hop, gotta love Big B). 'Padmasana' carried things into a more gentle direction with it lasting over 11 minutes and never really getting heavy at all. 'Cruel Reality of Nature' was along those lines too, but was a happier song in general (closer to blues, actually). Then the moshing returned with 'Nottingham Lace' which starts out with off-kilter heaviness for over 2 minutes which is followed by pure shredding (really fast playing). 'Plastination Station' alternated between Black Sabbath level slow-tempoed heaviness and Hendrix level soft playing. 'Final Wars' in more or less the middle of the set was an odd choice to say the least, as was playing the softer and heavier parts on one guitar, but it worked as the cigarette lighters came out from hundreds of fans. 'Soothsayer' was perfect ending for about the first half as it just kept building and building in intensity.
I was much too far away to catch any of the toys that he tossed out but I was so in awe of him twirling his nunchukas to really mind all that much. Probably my favourite part of the whole show was his bass solo because while he was able to get funky with that drum machine of his on, it's when he turned it off that was the most impressive. I never could imagine a human being playing an electric bass guitar that fast. He started the second half with 'The Redeem Team' which is one of the more upbeat songs that he's ever done and as it's about American olympic basketball, following it up with 'LeBron' was very appropriate as LeBron James is Buckethead's favourite active basketball player. 'Needle in a Slunk Stack' was...odd, but it's from a genre of music known as Xenochrony which I THINK is the art of taking pieces of multiple songs and putting them together in a sort of musical jigsaw puzzle. 'Skeleton Dance' was also another major shift in the tone of the show as it was the only song in the set to demonstrate Buckethead's Banjo playing skills. I actually laughed when the crowd began WALTZING to it, but it was a perfect dance for the song (3/4 time signature with a shuffle, if anyone cares). 'The Homing Beacon' was likely his softest piece as he wrote it for the passing of Michael Jackson back in 2009, many in the crowd cried because of it. The "regular" part of the show ended with the 21 minute long 'Look up there' which lead to the more casual part of the fan-base leaving as that how he's been ending shows for the last 2 or 3 years."
Holly then noticed a vendor come outside, tossing his extra bottles of water to the concertgoers who were leaving the building. Holly caught one, opened it, and drank the whole thing before she started talking again, all with Maximum Bob waiting patiently.
"I'm not as familiar with his music after this point as I've been in a very dark place in my life recently, so please bear with me. 'Worms for the garden' is basically an 18 minute shred-fest so heavy that I think any other guitarist on earth would need a 7-string guitar just to play it, but not Buckethead. 'Jettison' (as I understand) was originally written as 6 separate pieces totalling about 17 minutes, but live, Big B plays it as 1 piece. 'Footsteps' on the other hand, WAS written as 1 song and at nearly HALF AN HOUR was a penultimate masterpiece (especially when he played a mag-10 (a 10-stringed guitar and bass combo) and a theremin AT THE SAME TIME. The show finally ended with the much shorter (not quite 6 minutes) 'Closed Attractions', which was just a perfect song to end any concert. This show has been perfect."
Maximum Bob then put an arm around her and asked "Now Holly, I hate to get so personal on camera but for almost 10 months, you've been in detox, rehab and sober housing. Were you at all tempted to re-visit that part of your life during your show."
Tears filled Holly's eyes, in joy and gratitude "Never Bob, not even for 1 second. Buckethead, your music is a greater high than any drug can offer me. Your music saved my life."
Holly and Maximum Bob embraced as Holly's joyous crying continued. And as the hug ended, Maximum Bob stared directly into the camera and said "Another satisfied customer at Bucketheadland. This is Maximum Bob, signing off."
Maximum Bob shut off the camera and grabbed a notepad and pencil and handed it to Holly "I'm going to need your contact info in order to send you the show."
Holly nodded and wrote it all down: "Holly Ann Rapp, 1986 Perth road, Johannesburg, 2197, South Africa." before asking Maximum Bob "The building I live in only has 1 phone that's in my landlord's office, do you want me to write that down too?"
Maximum Bob nodded quickly, for secret reasons that Holly wouldn't know about until later that night. She left a space below her mailing address to write down "00 27 011 555 2224" before handing the pad and pencil back over to Maximum Bob.
"Great, thanks." said Maximum Bob with a smile before adding "Want to go back in? Call a taxi or something?"
"No, thank you. I live just down the street. Thank you for everything." said Holly before hugging Maximum Bob on more time.
"My pleasure." he answered with a smile.
Holly began her walk home, a several kilometre journey.
It was halfway home when it happened. Holly could tell that she was being followed home but was too scared to turn around to see her stalkers. In the interest of discretion, she used the streetlights on her left combined with the reflective surfaces of the store and apartment windows on her right to identify them...
...It was Geoffrey...and Machine...walking together.
Holly knew that the chances of being helped on account of her skin colour were slim to none, so she decided to smugly let them know that she knew that they were behind her.
"You should've gotten the death penalty for what you did to that poor, little child." she shouted. Pretty much everyone around her ignored her as she expected (most of them didn't speak English). They began running at her so quickly that she couldn't even hear their footsteps...
...not even after they grabbed her. Both of her arms were heavily restrained (mostly by machine), and her self-defense kicks hit nothing but air. They took her to a nearby alley and threw her headfirst into a dumpster, hoping to knock her unconscious. Holly was close to it, her mind didn't know if what was in front of her was real or another flashback. One voice in her head broke through, and she heard it loud and clear as it was pleading in complete desparation:
"Holly, you have to get up. Please, for the love of god get up."
The voice in her head was not entirely unfamiliar to her, but it had been years since she had heard it (if at all). It was deep...male and...Canadian? American? Both? Holly decided to reply to it:
"I don't know if I can, my head hurts so much."
Geoffrey and Machine started laughing, thinking they had at least given her a concussion with her talking to herself. But they had more on their minds as they took their pants off in unison.
"Scream all you want to, Holly. You know you miss our dicks...almost as much as you miss our fix."
Even semi-conscious, Holly knew that they were planning to gang-rape her and either shoot her full of drugs to pull her back down to their level, or kill her outright (or both, it wasn't beneath them to overdose her, have their way with her and then leave her for dead. The cops wouldn't care enough to investigate and her counsellors would say that she relapsed and O.D.'d all in one night).
"Remember those wrist-locks that you learned from your dad back home? Use them, use whatever sharp instruments are around to gain the advantage. Fuck, why does this world's version of me have to be thousands of miles away?"
Holly heard all of the mystery voice that she needed to hear. The good news was that Holly saw a rusty circular saw blade on the ground, unfortunately, there was only 1 of them. On instinct, she threw it like a Frisbee at Machine. It was embedded 7 centimetres deep into his skull, killing him before he knew that she threw it.
"To kind a fate for you Machine, may God forgive me for breaking one of his commandments." stated Holly coldly, happy that she killed the bigger one first as it made the fight more fair.
"He'll tell you in person...in about 10 minutes or so. Good riddance to Machine, more for me." stated Geoffrey before he licked his lips.
"Oh honey, you never lasted 10 minutes with me even when I was high. Also, you're going to have to throw me at the dumpster a lot harder than that if you want to win this fight."
Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders as he seemed to take that as a challenge. He pulled out a knife as he started walking towards her again:
"By the way, this blade has HIV on it...just so you know..."
BANG!
Geoffrey fell to the ground dead, Holly merely stared at the hole in the back Geoffrey's head, then slowly looked up at who shot him...
"...Jane?"
"No one rapes my patients...EVER!" was all that came out of Dr. Chapman's mouth.
"Dr. Chapman, please tell me that none of my extensive tests revealed HIV and all of you kept it quiet. No one deserves to be infected with that."
"No Holly, you're STD-free now" answered Dr. Chapman reassuringly.
Holly merely ran into Jane's arms on instinct while sobbing "Oh Dr. Chapman, I stayed sober all night, I promise. There was this really nice camera guy who watched over ,e until the show was over and then these 2 were following me and..."
"Shhhhhhhh, It's OK. I know you stayed clean. I was at the show monitoring you tonight." whispered Dr. Chapman.
"You...you were?" asked Holly as she began wiping her eyes.
Then came Alonzo who had been quite clearly jogging for 3 minutes or so. "Both of us were. You're the first perfect ninety I've ever known who didn't immediately get high on their first night free."
Jane nodded and decried, "Holly Rapp, I now pronounce you free. No outpatient visits or random drug tests for you ever again. Live your life as you see fit. After tonight, I know you'll never touch drugs again."
Holly turned back around to see that Geoffrey was still dead and saw a large bundle of cash sticking out of Geoffrey's back pocket. 100,000 rand altogether if Holly's eyesight served her correctly. Jane noticed it too.
"Why don't you take it?" asked Jane.
"I'm a murderer, I don't want to be a thief too." said Holly, softly.
"I think God will let you off with a pass in regards to robbing a paedophile. Besides, that's enough to fly home to Indianapolis first class. You don't have to wait months or even years to leave."
Holly nodded and quickly grabbed the roll and put the money in her bra.
"I could buy 2 coach tickets, take you with me." suggested Holly.
"My home is here. Thanks anyway." said Jane as she put her gun back in her purse.
"If I may interrupt." began Alonzo. "The police will be here any minute, what do we tell them?"
"The truth." answered Holly "I'm done running from authority because of prejudice."
"Hou net ys op jou kop en jy sal goed wees, is daar geen teken van harsingskudding" (Just keep ice on your head and you'll be fine. There's no sign of concussion)
"Dankie" (Thank you) replied Holly as she got out of the Ambulance. She walked over to Jane and Alonzo, who had just finished giving their statements to the local police.
"We acted in defence and as they're both fugitives, they have no rights. We're free to go." said Jane.
"Want some company on the way home?" asked Alonzo.
"No thank you." whispered Holly. "I'm not afraid anymore, thanks anyway."
Holly hugged Jane and Alonzo one last time. Holly and Jane knew that they were never going to see each other again, but knew the other would be just fine.
Chapter 5: Huistoe (Homeward Bound)
Holly pulled out a set of keys from the place in her bra next to the bundle of money:
"I love bras with pockets inside of them."
It was the only way that she didn't lose her keys in such a dark place as a Buckethead concert. She found the key to get her into the building, inserted it into the lock, turned and walked into the main lobby. Blue-White tiling all over the walls and floor with white drywall for the ceiling. Holly walked by the bronze mailboxes, and was suddenly stopped:
"Holly, are you in a hurry to get to sleep?"
Holly didn't know what time it was exactly, but it was long after midnight by any conventional wisdom. That said, the adrenaline flowing through her from seeing Buckethead in concert and the fight in the alley was enough to where Holly was probably not going to sleep until well into the next day. She walked towards the voice that she had heard and determined that it was in the landlord's office. There was Rhoda, the night shift landlord's assistant. Early 60's, grey hair, tanned, probably only has the job in order to get a discount on the rent in the very building that she lived in.
"No. Why? Want to get a late night snack?" asked Holly/
Rhoda nodded. Holly pointed outside and ordered: "I got the fort for an hour, go. Just...get something away from the street. It's pretty rough out there."
Rhoda nodded, whispered "Good to see you healthy again, we missed you around here." before leaving (as was the plan for days, unbeknownst to Holly). Holly had an ulterior motive for doing this favour, she knew that airports were open 24/7.
She could book the flight home immediately.
All of the airlines based in Africa were adequate if you wanted to fly within the continent. For international flights (especially for people in Holly's situation), it was best to book an airline based in Europe that also did business with North America. Holly looked around an all-white oak desk (which other than the black executive office chair that Holly was sitting in was the only furniture in the office) and found a phone book. Thankfully, it had an English section.
"OK, which airline has an English staff on duty in Johannesburg airport this late? Huh, KLM should do it."
She began dialling on a simple black, rotary-dial phone. After 3 rings...
"KLM airlines Johannesburg, Christian speaking, how may I help you?"
"Hello, I'm looking for a 1-way first-class seat to Indianapolis, please."
"OK, that shouldn't be a problem ma'am. Let's see...You'll have to change planes twice no matter the route. Will that be alright?"
"Yes, that's fine." said Holly as she nodded (despite her being on a phone and Christian not being able to see her)
"OK. Johannesburg-Amsterdam, Amsterdam-New York City, New York City-Indianapolis is the most direct route available. With it all first class, that'll be 68,750 rand altogether. How will you be paying?"
"Cash." said Holly assertively
"OK, good. We have had some cheques bounce recently. Are there any special dietary requirements for your in-flight meals?" Christian asked, which shocked Holly as she was used to not having any airline food choice.
"Organic if possible." she requested.
"It is, and no additional charge. May I have your name please?"
"Holly Rapp."
"OK, Ms. Rapp. Please arrive at 9:00am with your money and passport. Your reservation password is 'Umbrella', you'll need it when you reach the front desk, understood?"
Holly by this point had grabbed a black magic marker on the desk and wrote down the information on her left arm (hoping to write it down again on some paper later). "Got it."
"Good. We look forward to serving you, thank you for choosing KLM airlines." said Christian in a tone that indicated he was happy to not be bored at this late hour.
"Thank you, goodnight."
"Goodnight Ms. Rapp."
Holly hung up the phone and began mentally preparing the packing job that she needed (which was basically the stuff that she brought home from the sober house and a few other things in the apartment but she was mostly leaving everything behind on account of having too many bad memories). The phone then rang:
"Probably the airline forgetting something." she said to herself.
She picked up.
"Hello?" she asked hesitantly, not wanting to say the name of the building.
What came from the other end of the phone was deep, heavy breathing. It was almost...inhuman sounding.
"Hello?" she asked again, somewhat impatiently.
"Hello...I'm trying to...reach a young woman...named Holly Rapp. Do I...have the right building? If I don't...I'm sorry...to disturb you."
The pauses were genuine to Holly (in that this wasn't another pervert). It was as if the person on the phone was extremely shy and trying to mask his real voice.
"You do. In fact, I am Holly. Is this the airline?"
"No...It's...Buckethead!"
Holly was not only in disbelief, she was VERY unamused.
"OK listen to me, if this is one of Geoffrey's friends who knew I was at the Buckethead concert tonight LEAVE ME THE FUCKALONE!"
Holly was about to hang up in her outrage.
"Maximum Bob gave me the number." Buckethead blurted out quickly.
Holly put the phone back to her ear, willing to give this person the benefit of the doubt.
"If this is the real Buckethead...what's the name of the severed head that you use as a puppet?" Holly asked as a form of verification.
"Herbie...he's my buddy." Buckethead stated with pride.
Holly was stunned, this was the real Buckethead and she almost hung up on him.
"I thought that you didn't talk!" said Holly, who was now just confused.
"I...usually don't. People...scare me." Buckethead whispered, ashamed at himself for confiding this to a total stranger.
"They scare me too sometimes." Holly replied compassionately.
"I know...we heard about what happened tonight. Maximum Bob saw 2 men leaving the building who were looking creepy at you a minute after he finished interviewing you. He sent out...oh, what was his name? Alonzo, that's him. An older woman pursued as well..."
"Her name is Jane, she was my therapist. I'm a recovered drug addict." said Holly, ashamed at herself for confiding this to a total stranger (although she was used to it, given where she just was for several months).
"Congratulations. Later Bob heard a cop mention your name and he handed me your number, which he's never done before. Thank you coming to see me in my chicken coop. Are you alright?" he asked, very concerned
"A bump on the head, but I'm otherwise OK. Thank you. I killed the bigger guy with a saw blade and the older woman shot him in the back of the head."
Buckethead cleared his throat.
"I'm pleased to hear that. I hope to come back to Africa but we're heading back to America in the morning. I have a business meeting in New York to attend to."
Holly's eyes widened with hope.
"Are you using KLM and changing in Amsterdam by any chance?"
Buckethead went momentarily silent.
"Yes...I am...how did you guess?"
Holly smiled before answering "I'm going home on those planes."
Holly distinctly heard Buckethead shouting "She's coming with us and going home." at someone who shouted "Woohoo!" that Holly determined was Maximum Bob in the background.
"OK...I guess...We'll see you tomorrow! Actually later today, it's really late!"
"Yes. Thank you for chatting with me. I know that it's rare for you."
"It is. Goodnight."
"Night."
They hung up simultaneously. Holly was completely delighted.
"That almost makes up for the fight in the alley."
The phone rang again, Holly picked up.
"Hello?"
"Holly?"
Holly gasped, it was the call that she had waited for ever since she was forced to get clean.
"Dad?"