Submitted for the May 2025 prompt: Many Minds

While vomiting outside a blues club called Antone’s, I noticed Janis and Stevie Ray rippin’ it up in the rain-drenched alley. “Piece of My Heart,” I think it was. I was drunk and they were both dead, but damn what a jam!

 

“The ‘coustics er ‘mazing,” I slurred.

 

The gyrating singer on that damp stage wore her famous blues soul like a raincoat. But she wasn’t the woman I was looking for.

 

I retreated into my head — into my mind. I became insubstantial, floating among myriad worlds, real and imagined. Searching for that one place, that one ideality where Jane, the love of my existence, might be hiding.

 

I changed the cerebral channel and reappeared, sitting in a bar across the street from a place called the Curtain Club. After emptying the shot glass in front of me, I watched a couple of actors sitting at the table by the window.

 

She said, “You know we’re going to have to get back out to LA sooner or later.”

 

He said, “Yep. Ain’t nothin’ happening here that’ll make us famous. You think we got what it takes to make it out there?”

 

“I think I’m ready, Elmore.”

 

“Don’t call me that — the name’s Rip. And, sure, you got those going for you.” He gestured to her chest. “You don’t need talent or brains as long as Playboy makes you famous every month. Vera Mansfield, professional centerfold.” The man chuckled.

 

“My IQ could kick your IQ’s butt, Mr. Thorn.”

 

I already knew she wasn’t the Jane I was looking for either. Tapping the empty shot glass on the table, I called out, “Bartender, ‘nutha ‘quila por fer vory!” Rip and Jayne stared disapprovingly.

 

A familiar apparition touched my shoulder and said, “Alright, buddy. Let’s get you home to the meadow.” She dabbed the dribble off my lips with a cocktail napkin.

 

“Ah, hello. Come ta res… recsu.. save me again, huh? Love ya, Jane.”

 

“I know you do, buddy,” she said. “But I’m not Jane. I’m Thalya, remember?”

 

* * *

 

Back in the meadow, the four of us played a child’s game to help me focus through the hangover. I held a small hoop with two crossed sticks. When I flicked the sticks just right, the hoop went flying through the air.

 

Thalya caught it with her sticks and said, “I don’t know what you see in this Jane woman. Why are you obsessed with her? She’s not as pretty as me, you know.” She flicked the hoop toward Laea.

 

“Leave him alone, Thalya,” Laea said. “He’s in love. Can’t you see? Love is a mysterious and wondrous thing.” Another flick of the dowels, and the hoop went flying.

 

Syne missed it on her first try, and it bounced above her head. She giggled and danced around trying to catch it until she finally had it safely between her crossed sticks. We all laughed with her. Syne is adorable.

 

“You know we’ll always be here for you,” Syne said, “here in the meadow.”

 

She twirled in a graceful circle, white gossamer robes billowing away from her youthful body, then launched the hoop back toward me.

 

“Maybe you’ll always be here,” I said when I’d captured the wooden ring. “And maybe not. You’re all beautiful, in your own ways. But Jane is real. She may not be perfect, as you all are, but she lives outside my head. I want to find her and go there with her. She’s my anchor.”

 

“How do you know she’s real and we’re not?” asked Thalya.

 

“We’ve never seen her,” Laea added. “Why don’t you let us speak to her when you find her again?”

 

They both began talking at once as Syne twirled and sang an old song I thought I recognized.

 

“Imaginary lovers, never disagree…”

 

I covered my ears to block the cacophony, but that didn’t work. A voice from outside the meadow called to me.

 

“Mr. Charites… Sabastian, are you with me?”

 

Suddenly, my mind became quiet. I stood in the meadow, now surrounded by three giant sweetgum trees. Birds chirped softly, their songs slowly receding into the background. A profound sadness fell over me and I began to weep.

 

“Mr. Charites,” the disembodied voice called again.

 

I opened my eyes and said, “I’d like it if you call me Charly.”

 

“Charly,” said the woman in the lab coat. “Are they there with you now?”

 

“They were, yeah.”

 

“Did it work? Did you play the game we talked about? Did it help?”

 

“We played it. I think it helped. I was able to focus better, to understand them one at a time. I don’t think they understood me, though.”

 

“Charly, remember, they are you. They’re just different parts of your own mind.”

 

“Different minds, different times,” I corrected my psychologist. When I tried to wipe a tear from my cheek I found my wrists were restrained to the hospital bed.

 

“The accident, Charly. Do you remember?”

 

“Why am I… The accident?”

 

“You were in a terrible crash, Charly. It’s been over a month. You suffered a traumatic brain injury. And your wife… I’m afraid she didn’t make it. You remember now, don’t you?”

 

“My wife? No… no, I don’t have a wife. Just the girls in the meadow,” I said. “And you, Doctor Pandemos. I remember you from before.”

 

“It’s okay, Charly. Take your time. Your memory will return, probably. Now get some more rest. Sleep is the best thing for you.”

 

“But I want to stay. What if I can’t come back here? What if I can’t find you again? You’re the only real person I know. You are real, aren’t you Doctor Pandemos?”

 

I felt her hand slip into mine and she said, “It’s okay, Charly. You’ll be back. But I have to go now.”

 

My eyelids fluttered. As I began to once again retreat into my myriad minds and idealities, I heard the hospital intercom calling.

 

“Paging Doctor Pandemos! Doctor Jane Pandemos, please report to the ER.”