The Revelation of Joe Carothers: a short story
Status: finished, edited, available to a good journal.
A short story:
Joe Carothers’ pursuit of wisdom is taking him places. Dumped into retirement and fleeing from the responsibilities of people, he reverts to his youthful lifestyle, dropping out, reading philosophers and poets, and smoking a lot of weed. The only one who understands his expedition is his drug dealer, Clarissa, a former teacher who encourages his journey of self-discovery.
Eventually, she pushes him into a vision quest that results in a near-death experience, a divine encounter, and an epiphany—or maybe just a bad trip.
“The Revelation of Joe Carothers” is a magical-realism story with humor. It runs about 4,700 words.
Excerpt:
Next time, Clarissa’s fingernails were coal black, matching her dress suit, which was highlighted by pagoda shoulders dropping sleeves over her elbows. She was accented in red, including a wide belt and a necklace of fake rubies the size of chestnuts.
Joe presented in his same grey sweatpants, black shirt and blue fleece bathrobe. He also wore a pair of $9.99 flip-flops he picked up because sharp pebbles were becoming prevalent underfoot in his outdoor seating area.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about your problem,” she said. “You have it in you. But you can’t dig it out. There’s too much old way of doing things stashed in there. I think you need a stronger stimulant to uncover yourself, to unlock your brain. I brought you this.”
Clarissa reached into her tote and pulled out a small vacuum-sealed bag. It held a small scrap of paper stamped with a unicorn, in blue ink.
“What is that? Blotter acid? No, no, no. I don’t do acid. Never. No,” he said. He waved his hand around his ear. “That stuff can mess you up. You know? Brian Jones. Brian Wilson?”
“Ginsburg,” she replied. “Kesey. Huxley. Read your Stan Groff. He postulated that holotropic experiences on LSD were indistinguishable from near-death experiences. There must be something there.”
“Peter Green,” Joe countered. “Syd Barrett. What’s his name, ah, the singer for Humble Pie?”
Clarissa placed the bag in Joe’s palm and closed his fingers over it.
“Go out on the beach. Tonight. It’s perfect. There’s a full moon and mercury is in retrograde. It’s a time for deep reflection. Go out late, when no one else is around. See where this takes you.”
He massaged the bag, bubbling an air pocket between fingers.
“First one’s free,” she reminded.
