Lithium – Epilogue – Xperience Fiction

Lithium – Epilogue – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Plastic capsules and powders pressed into discs and ovals and thin, oblong hexagons rested in Mel’s hand as he reached for his glass, half-filled with water from the night before. He took a breath, shoveled them into his mouth, and chased. They weren’t there long enough to put bitter on his palate. He took the glass into the kitchenette and swung around the counter into the living room.

The living room was decorated in old Hollywood and Sonoma desert, which was the catch of the day at Joaquin’s Thrift store down the street. Mel managed to completely outfit his apartment in under fifty dollars. That said, there wasn’t much, but he arranged everything to imitate minimalist design. And to be perfectly honest, the apartment wasn’t that big.

The Getty Center did help him secure the place as he waited for the Artist-in-Residency application. He had just gotten the acceptance letter in the mail the day before. It had been two months, almost to the day, since he left the hospital, and he knew of no greater miracle than the fact that he never went homeless in that two months.

Mel picked up the L.A. Times from the chair it shared with the New York Times. Each had an article about the Roy Miller in the Getty Center, and the artist who actually painted them. Mel’s whole life was out there then. And his father had finally tasted real fame, though probably not the way he’d ever want. Mel was getting calls from the art world, and his other paintings were starting to turn up. It made sense that Getty would accept him after all that, lest they lose him to another museum. Maybe even the Guggenheim.

Mel had to be careful about the fame, lest it go to his head. Bipolar put trouble in success, and he had to keep humble medically. Still, it would be good to shout joy from the rooftop.

He did have something to keep him down. When he had been in his apartment for a month, when he had stocked up on food and he was able to get internet, and thus, streaming services, he went to the address that Hope had given him. They told him that she didn’t live there anymore. No forwarding address. They could have been lying, thinking he was an abuser stalking her, but he handed them what she wrote. They could’ve checked it with her. Mel was sure she was gone, and it soured his stomach for a week.

But life had to go on. It didn’t stop for joys or personal conquests, and it didn’t stop for tragedies. Mel got dressed in the full-length mirror he picked up at Joaquin’s. He didn’t need to look in it; it was just superstition. It was going to be a big day. Arguably, the biggest day of his life. Every button had to be done, none loose. The tie he bought as a joke would get its use, and he struggled to tie the knot so that the tie wouldn’t flip on his shirt. Powder blue Oxford shirt and dark grey slacks provided by a charity group near the hospital. His hair was freshly cut by a neighbor who did everyone’s hair in the apartment for a fraction of what it costed out. Good, too.

He sat on the couch, trying not to sweat. He hoped the woman he was going to meet was nice. She likely wouldn’t be swayed by the news he’d garnered. That news was for the public, and she had a job to do. And his future relied on what she thought about him.

He wanted to eat, but he didn’t. He wanted to drink soda, but he didn’t do that, either. He decided to turn on the television to watch a science documentary, since he couldn’t afford cable news.

The doorbell buzzed. Mel felt a bead of sweat go down his neck. He got up and wrung his hands to get rid of nerves. He grabbed the door handle. Showtime.

“Mel Miler?” The woman asked.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Dierdre Simmons. I’m from Department of Family and Children’s Services, for your visit.” She moved to the side. “And I think you know Andy.”

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