"If Listening to Stephen Lynch Cured What Ailed Me" was supposed to be a great short story about this friend of his. The friend was Sally, and no one was supposed to know. Poems seemed more cryptic when no one knew the meaning, and so did story origins. Unfortunately, with his devotion to Sally, and her ever-present mental state.. anyone who read the thinly-veiled fiction might be inclined to pronounce him in love. But, the story died, and so did his interest in trying to pursue anything romantic with the girl who was once one of a favored dream.
They were both 23; at one time, one might have said that she was beautiful, in a eclectic kind of way. She had a style about her that suggested either madness, or brilliance. But now, the madness had won, and Sally was a lumpy shadow of her former self; she was shapes. Sally talked to Jesus in the corner, and demons raped her at night. The words on the walls told her that everyone but Patrick was an evil being; Patrick had painted her apartment walls 4 times, just to try to help get rid of that hallucination. And, with every fresh coat, even more demonic things were seen upon the wall by ill little Sally. At one time, everyone would have said that Patrick was a fat loser, who would never amount to being anything more than a sweaty smart alec. Now, he was a slightly doughy, but mostly normal-looking fellow. He had a stay-at-home job, working with plants in his little greenhouse.
They had known each other since high school, him and Sally. Somehow, when Sally got diagnosed with schizophrenia, they still managed to carry on the semblance of a friendship. As a former couple, that too, perhaps, led the way for their bond to tighten and remain seemingly parasitic. He didn't know anymore what kept him coming back here, time after tim, to bail Sally out, once again.
As he came up the stairs, he could hear her screaming. Getting to her floor, he could hear Antonio Banderas and Madonna. That meant that Sally was on an Evita bender again. Joe Sallingser popped his head out of his minuscule apartment. "Patrey, you'll make 'er stop now, rig't?" Sallingser said, with his old, toothy whistle on the 's'. Between Sally's hollers, Patrick nodded, shrugging.
"I'll do what I can," he said, passing Sallingser by.
He banged on Sally's door. The music paused, but the screaming continued. "Sally," he called out, leaning his head on the door. The door thudded, smacking his forehead. The screaming broke in to wails. "Sally," he said, a little louder.
"Whaaaaahhhtt?" came a howl from inside.
"Sally, if you don't hush up, they're going to kick you out for real this time."
"But David--" David was the main voice in her head. Sometimes she confused Patrick with David because they both had the same voice to her.
"Patrick."
"--They're telling me I need to work now!!"
"Who?"
"They.. them."
"The.. demons?"
"Noooo, you fucktard -- the fucking government."
