Jay Fox - THE WALLS

According to Trixi, Nixi is taking part in an experiment for a new drug born from the collective mind of a pharmaceutical company with a research facility somewhere in the Brooklyn Navy Yard (“I know, totally sketchy, right?” Trixi adds). Nixi had decided to subject herself to such experimentation upon finding herself still wallowing in the depths of heartache after taking virtually every drug she could get from her shrink to relieve the pain of a particularly difficult breakup — elements including: a best-friend, a broken condom, an abortion, a confession. Vulnerable and alone, Nixi replied to a Craigslist post from a clinic that was recruiting a group of thirty people for a new drug, Cenobe. They promised eight hundred dollars, on top of the elimination of the malaise caused by her horrible experience. And so, without thinking too much about the potential dangers of legal drugs, which the medical community calls side effects, she signed a waiver and began taking the mischievous pill.

The drug, Trixi relays, is unlike most other anti-depressants on the market; the major difference is the way in which it goes about curing what it called “circumstantial depression,” which, if you ask this word-obsessed geek, is actually dejection. Regardless, the drug does not artificially increase the levels of serotonin or prolactin in the body, nor does it inhibit the production of norepinephrine; rather, it augments the amount of dopamine released during exercise, thereby turning a runners' high into a runners'…well, what's an experimental drug if it doesn't demand a change of pants every once in a while? The medication also reduces appetite, something that the scientists who designed the drug felt would be beneficial, as it serves to reduce the likelihood of a subject seeking releases of dopamine by means of eating. Incidentally, the drug provoked a slight jump in oxytocin production. The architects did not anticipate this element, but they considered it to be a good thing: high levels of oxytocin have been known to decrease, if not eliminate, feelings of anxiety and fear. As has been said, however, this was just an added bonus: The idea behind the treatment was simply that depression thrives in lethargic personalities — eliminate lethargy, eliminate depression.

The full strength, 25-milligram Cenobe bars were not meant to be used for longer than two weeks, as their purpose was to establish a healthy lifestyle by means of inducing euphoria from so little as walking from the bed to the toilet. Following this initial period, in which habits conducive to physical fitness were to be established, the patient was to be weaned off of the drug: two weeks of 20 milligram pills, followed by one month of the 10 milligrams, followed by another month of the 5 milligrams. After the treatment, the patient was to emerge healthier and happier without dependence on the drug, only the dopamine released during exercise.

The lab mice upon whom the initial trials were run did not seem to build up a tolerance to the drug, nor did they appear to become addicted to it. Their behavior changed as the scientists predicated it would: the mice exercised more frequently than they had in the past in order to obtain the dopamine high they craved, they did not seek ulterior ways to get their fix, and they even became increasingly gregarious (possibly because of the increased oxytocin levels, though it must be said that neither Trixi nor I know if oxytocin naturally exists in the rodent brain). Some of the mice developed ulcers, but this was the most pernicious side effect the scientists observed. “Somebody told her that one mouse developed a condition called pterolabia, but they didn't explain what that is. They just said that it was reversible.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Tomas asks.

“Think Pterodactyl,” I respond. He smiles.

Another thing the developers of the drug failed to mention was that the mice were in solitary confinement for the initial stages of the testing; and, like Pavlov's dog, these mice learned that exercise sufficed for more dopamine. Nixi, however, was free to roam wherever she wished. Consequently, she learned that other activities produced far more dopamine than any run on a treadmill ever could. Furthermore, while she was supposed to be just beginning her month on the five milligram pills, it turns out that humans, while not always murine in their physical features, do share at least one behavioral trait with any rodent, mouse or otherwise: that of being able to obtain things others believe they should not have. For these reasons (and probably a whole lot more), Nixi found herself still on the twenty-five milligram pills, dripping with sweat, dry-humping the legs of passing strangers, and massaging various parts of her body in front of the bathroom door.

“Side-effects vary,” Trixi continues, her tone now one with the small print, “but the weirdest one I saw was the…what'd they call it?”

“Palindromes,” Jane replies. “There was also complete retroluction.”

“Retro-what?”

“-Locution.”

“Yeah, she spoke backwards for, like, three days.”

“Like the midget from Twin Peaks ?”

“Sure,” Trixi nods cautiously. She's young [as is our narrator, but apparently the infamous Connie had a thing for Lynch during their relationship]. “But, like, she actually spoke backwards. And she didn't know she was doing it, either. She didn't believe me until I recorded a conversation, and then played the tape back.”

“That's pretty weird.”

“She also spoke in palindromes,” Jane reiterates. “She'd say a phrase, and then utter the same phrase in reverse. It was like an echo.”

“Yeah, and she didn't know she was doing that, either.”

“Did she get any ulcers?”

“Or pterolabia?”

“No. For her, I think the biggest concern is the anal leakage. This is the first time Nixi has worn a skirt in a month,” she says as she notices that just about every man in the bar, including the twink brigade by the bar and the bear couple on a nearby couch, cannot help but stare to the wall-less psyche-ward. Likewise, we all glance over to see her busy boogying away in pink sequined glory with little to no regard for rhythm, public opinion, or the second law of thermodynamics. “Anal leakage, guys,” Trixi adds. We all turn away.

“No one wants to hear that,” Aberdeen chimes in as his hand falls on Trixi's thigh. She looks to him with daggers.

Dialog deteriorates. Jane, however, takes it upon herself to strike up a conversation with me. Aberdeen and Tomas, meanwhile, begin spouting out observations about the various people in the bar with derogatory and occasionally clever cynicism. Trixi and Mixi laugh to themselves and look eager to bring up subjects that don't involve the fashion statements made by those who fail to speak with Shakespearean eloquence. “So you're the Coprolalia guy, huh?” she asks glacially.

“That I am.”

“So you're just going to bars in the city looking for him?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn't seem particularly productive.”

“You'd be surprised. I meet a lot of characters — some helpful, some not.”

“How close are you to finding him?” warmer now . “James and Tomas seem to think that you're on to something you're not telling them.” Wait, nope, that's condescension .

“Not really. I just think that he's not what most people would consider the artistic type.” She looks to me in bewilderment, probably because my response anticipates her next question. “I mean, I'm fairly sure he's just a normal guy who—”

“What do you mean by normal?” she asks as she tries to push her eyebrows together without using her hands.

“I don't mean 'normal', like, you know, there is a sense of normal.” Her brows touch. “I guess I just feel like he's a working-class guy, who probably has a job that he doesn't really like all that much — you know, like a character in a bad existentialist novel. Somebody once called him an artiste manqué , but I feel like this misses the point. People nowadays believe that artists have to be successful in order to qualify as such, but I don't agree. In fact, I believe that Mann articulated this point better than anyone else, especially in Tonio Kröger . And Coprolalia certainly resembles that character, even if he is a member of the working class. He's both, you know. And that's the draw.”