story time is over kids

sometimes i feel like ive been subjected to living in this ridiculous story and wonder why and wonder when its going to stop and wonder what i did to deserve this. and maybe its nothing about me at all, and maybe this happens to everyone else and maybe im the only person who finds it so amusing and amazing. and maybe that parts still true, but i wonder why it doesnt stop and why im always at the butt end of it. and then i realize that i do things like go to russia and ive got to hold myself partially responsible.

i dont think ive ever wanted stories less. not now, about a week ago. because all i have is a story. a crazy, what happened next, villians and gangsters and allyways and shadowy door posts and soviet jails and vomit on the floor and gypsy cabs and eastern europe kind of story. and i could never tell you all the middle inbetween. ive blacked out before and ive known little before but it just wasnt that way this time. i've also had two beers before. i think we would both be okay with admitting a crazy night of boozing and counting our blessings and taking it easy. it wasnt that way this time. we know the same story and thats it. the same peices, the same parts. we know we lucked out and i cant help but feel awful that stephanie's waist deep in a cast and im completely unmarked. she has the kind of break skydivers get. we had two beers 40 minutes apart and now we're missing 1 and a half obviously important hours. we had two beers so now no one believes us. i think its the part with the laughing man that gets them.

ana said to stephanie: "what a story. it sounds like out of a movie." jarlath said: "what a story. sounds like something from the KGB." i thought maybe just museums and libraries from now on. visiting stephanie and patting her head.

and then i went to visit stephanie and it was another story.
stephanie's hospital was a 40 minute ride from the street where they got her. liz and i wanted to see her; more so after she called me looking for answers cause she couldnt remember and i had to tell her there was nothing to tell her. we took the metro and transfered. even the metro stops bizarre. more bizarre than usual. and then we thought we might wander. we stop this older woman and she goes "students? hospital? i will help you." not in english, in russian. no english she says. she says no english in russian. shes really delicate looking and her eyes never really seem to focus and shes smiling too much. maybe shes doing drugs. shes probably trying to make is do drugs with her.
she stops at the bus stop. shes on drugs and this is getting confusing. thats the street over there? were asking. yeah shes saying, but then why are we at the bus stop. she gets on a bus. we start looking for someone else nice. someone else nice whos not doing drugs. dont you want to go to the hospital? she says. we get on the bus but we still dont believe her. when its her stop we ask where we get off and she says to come with her. we still dont believe her but we go. its this forested area with patches of birch trees and tall green grass and delicate pathes. it looks like a fairytale except for that its doted with these yellowing brick soviet-style apartments and shops that dont follow any kind of pattern.
we talk to her in bad russian. her daughters a wife in vegas. shes going to vegas in october. small talk. its alot of walking. her eyes are crazy and i dont see that we're going to any sort of metropolis. she might jut kill us. for drugs. after a half hour and ditches and rain we get to a yellowing wall. with a brought blue door. "hospital." she didnt understand.
and then we open this heavy, totalitarian fairytale door. and there in the middle of the forest of russia is a huge hospital complex. we thank her and shes gone.

im okay with that story. i just wish i could tell you why i had to go visit her in the hospital. or why we both dont remember the break.