Smell the air as a newborn.
Joe woke up, too tired to get up and felt sick. He tried rubbing his head. Incredible headaches tormented him, whenever he tried to move more than an inch. Those few spots of light that peered through the curtain felt like little daggers stabbing his eyes. Altogether the urgent need to vomit completed his assessment, that he had to much of this alcohol-replacement. Slowly his memory came up with his recollection of the last night. As struck by a lightning he explored the back of his head. If this recollection was accurate, there should be a wound or some scurf. And he also should be dead. The terrifying feeling of loneliness returned. I must be dead! But there was no such wound. Despite this entire feeling of being sick he jumped out of his – mine! – bed to his feet and speeded up to get to the bathroom. Finally there he was overwhelmed by a scent, so familiar but also as if it was something poisonous. This sensation terrified him. He freaked out. Again, just like the night before, – When I faded out! – hysteria and terror established their tight grip upon him. He stumbled because of his own feet and fell. All this rapid movement made him feel the urgent need to vomit even more urgent, until it overwhelmed him where he was. He managed to get to the big white telephone and emptied himself to the last he had to offer. That actually did not make him feel any better, but he convinced himself, that at least he got rid of this damned urge. With a towel he had torn down while he had fallen, he tried to clean his face, but it seemed helpless after all. After this, he got back on his feet in a pretty long winded way. When his gaze met the mirror he frowned. “I am as pale as I should be…” He was indeed pale, but one might take into consideration the circumstances: The last night he had certainly drunk a lot, and just moments ago he vomited his life out of his body – who wouldn’t look pale? But with the hysteria coming, the reasoning had left again. Joe turned himself before the mirror, tried to see the rear of his head. Failing to see anything he got his little glass, but he couldn’t find anything at all. All his movements were hectic and made no sense after all. A thought struck him like a lightning: Apparently he was home. He had to have gotten there somehow, for he had no recollection of his way home. So, that mysterious person, who had brought him here, may also have washed him. This thought was scary. He felt seduced. What the heck happened that night?? He sniffed; maybe he could smell fresh shampoo or whatever. Anything, that might help to understand. Immediately something stabbed his nostrils, made its way up his nose and directly into his brain. This stank caused him to tumble and almost struck him. “What is this…?” His hands found their way to his nose without his conscious help. Carefully he tried to determine what caused this odour. His gaze met the toilette – dear, of course it stinks! – he pushed the button and the gros of the mess was gone never to be seen again. This inner alertness and a high adrenaline level caused something, his reasoning consciousness could not manage, it calmed him down – though this was a pretty wired way of achieving this. In the manner of an experienced detective he took a closer look of his bathroom. But except for the mess he had caused himself, he could not find any evidence that there was something different. There was the glass with his toothbrush, his comb, the razor, the aftershave his ex-girlfriend had given him last Christmas, shampoo and shower-gel that were presents from his boss for his five year jubilee (one might consider this as a sign, but not Joe, however) were also where they were supposed to be, not half an inch was their position changed. He tried to recall the smell, and what it was, that made it seem familiar. What a strange day! Yeah, it had something in common with his aftershave. He reached for the bottle, opened it, and before he made any attempt to smell on purpose, it jumped right in his head. “Uha, disgusting!!” He prevented himself from dropping the bottle. His unconscious self knew the consequences: even more stink and you may not escape this disaster alive! Hasty he concealed the bottle again and put it cautiously back at its former place. So, my aftershave’s gone renegade on me. What’s next? As a precaution he tried any containment he could find in his bathroom. And the shocking revelation was: there is a stink upon all of them! Each had its specific fragrance, but it was so distorted, Joe wished nothing else but swift flight. He had no clue, how this might help him to understand anything. He left the bathroom for the many different fragrances mingled to one penetrating bad smell he could not stand another second. His next stop was the kitchen. I need coffee, loads of it. And then something popped up in his mind, his ex-girlfriend had once said: “The coffeebeans help your nose to recover. More than three different fragrances and you’re totally lost.” He had accompanied her to a perfumery and was lost in all this different odours right from the start. This was her advice. She had to know, she loved perfumes and such stuff. He rolled his eyes. Finally, as if this day hadn’t started bad enough, it reminded him constantly of his failed relationship. The failure wasn’t exactly what bothered him about this, just the fact, that this relationship had come into existence in the first place. He put his most determined grin on his face and entered the sacred space in the kitchen. One has to know about Joe, that he loved his single being – which was generally considered quite odd – and of course, that he had arranged his life around it. His small kitchen wasn’t a real single kitchen at all – for he loved cooking he had heater with four plates and his entire stuff was at least fit for five additional visitors to join, the fridge wasn’t such a small thing you may mistake for the minibar, nothing like that, it was just a bit crowded in there. And by referring to the sacred space is the area around his fridge and coffeemaker meant. Joe always enjoyed diversity – maybe a reason why he had broken up with his former girlfriend – and this covered all respects of his life. He had some ten sorts of tea in bags and another ten lose, also at least three sorts of coffee beans – his coffeemaker had an integrated mill -, different sorts of ketchup, and whatsoever may please one, fond of diversity. Maybe he was one of the few men who actually had matching shoes for each style of outfit he possessed. And he could afford it. Or could have? When he stretched out his hand for the strongest coffee blend his gaze came across the big artful watch – a present Mike had sent some years ago with this note on the card: ‘The only thing I possible could send you, you may be able to read or understand. Greetings, yours Mike.’ – and Joe froze. It’s half past ten???? He wished he’d died last night. He was more than two hours late for his shift. “Oh man, what shall I do now??” He was tempted to throw everything aside, jump into his clothes and break his personal record of seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds to get to work. But what good would that do me? None. Maybe I am not even an employee anymore. He prepared his coffee, took a deep breath through his nose to relieve his smell sense. Then he trotted into his personal home office and fetched the phone. He took another deep breath and tried to sound as bad, as he felt. He had to try to rescue his job after all. The number of his boss’ office was almost dialled by itself. When the connection was finally established and Mr. Revell surprisingly answered himself, Joe was dazzled. “Hello? Joe, is that you?” Joe found it odd, to be called by his first name by a superior but they handled it like this in that department. After clearing his throat twice, Joe found his voice, but his answer was still weak and somehow threatened to faint away. “Yeah, it’s me,” he paused for an eye blink, not sure whether he should continue to call him Martin, or shift to Mr. Revell. But since his superior sounded all friendly, he thought to try his luck. “Martin. I presume you noticed me missing? I just want to call in, I feel rather sick-“, after he found his courage to say this, he was shocked, that Martin interrupted him thus. “Yeah, I thought something like that. I mean, I had been warned by your friend. He-“, this revelation, or merely what he suspected to be the core of Martin’s answer caused a tingling between his ears. “You were warned? How’s that possible? I didn’t know this until five minutes ago when I noticed how late it was…” His voice died away for there was nothing to add, but Martin burst out in laughter. “See, your friend told me you might say that.” Joe found it hard to understand Martin through his laughter, but he got the bottom-line of this. “He did? Who the…? Wait, that friend’s name wasn’t Mike, was it?!” He barely managed to keep the hysteria out of his voice. There it is again. Again, those paranoid thoughts towards Mike. “Yeah, I think Mike was his name. Seemed a nice fella to me. He told me, you were old school friends and haven’t seen within the last six years. For you have already worked more hours, than necessary, I thought, I give you a free day anyway. Hope you’ll be able to enjoy it.” Joe could almost hear the smiley at the end of that sentence. Today his thinking went strange paths. What the hell is happening to me? Desperation poured all over and through him. He felt like drifting in a wild but well temperatured river. “Yeah, I’ll work on the enjoy-thing. Thank you anyway. Then we’ll see tomorrow.” He hung up.
The only thing he was able to do immediately was starring at the phone. For a second he played with the thought to call Mike. But what to say? Joe wasn’t ready to appear as a complete fool in front of his best friend. Not by accusing him of… yeah, what? Maybe I am just overworked? He trotted back in the kitchen and brewed his coffee. While waiting that the coffee maker finished its miraculous work, he send his gaze out of the kitchen’s window. Outside it was another rather rainy day. But those glimpses through the clouds where promising. Joe took a full cup of coffee and sniffed its odour right away. It was indeed pretty intense. What a interesting revelation! It seemed almost, that his sense of smell had improved dramatically. How’s that possible? And even more important, why? He sipped his coffee and was startled. What a taste! But in a second thought he knew why. Of course, smell and taste go together. But this was enjoyable instead of the smell problem. After finishing the cup, he dressed himself and wandered mindless through his apartment.
Everywhere he sensed strange smells, most likely he found them disgusting. He started to clean his entire flat. He could stop himself just in time, not to paint his walls again. But except that, he tried anything. He even borrowed a carpet steamer. But some hours later – he was astonishing fast in cleaning – after finishing swishing the last dust away, he was tired, but aware that all this was worth it. He had to adjust to the smell of all those cleaning chemistries, but he managed not to use too many different.
And just when he watched his achievement he noticed his own strange behaviour. That is enough! He recited himself back to order. Just today and the last night were full of odd events, and though not that much had happened in the sense of a dramatic plot in a drama, he felt like losing it. Just too much. He wondered, whether he’d be able to remember last night’s events tomorrow or not respectively, how much of the details may be lost by then. Maybe I should start a diary instead? He wasn’t font of all those blogs, not at all. But some notes – just for him in private – may not hurt.
