When I woke up, a giant caterpillar was beside me in bed. His name was Lorenzo. At least that’s what he said.
Do you always hog the covers? he asked.
I said, first things first. How did you get here?
He shifted his weight. Well, he began, once I was inside of an egg, you see. Hatched from the egg. Now I’m a caterpillar. The larva stage, after this I’ll become...
No no no. I mean here, in my room. Specifically, in my bed.
He smiled. I think.
We all have to be somewhere. And word gets around.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But I could see through the window it was still dark outside, and my head was pounding. Scotch, and Percocet. Wicked. Just wicked.
Look, I said. Lorenzo, is it?
Yes. Lorenzo. It means “noble” in Spanish.
I’m sure it does. Look, Lorenzo, it’s still pretty early. I’d like to get some more sleep, and—well no offense—I’m not sure I can. With you here, I mean.
He rolled out of bed, snorting, harrumphing.
Well aren’t you all just la-di-da then. You weren’t so choosy last night though, were you?
What in god’s name are you talking about.
You don’t remember? Doesn’t say much for me. Hurts my feelings a bit. Makes me wonder a little, too. Considering what I"ve been told about you.
Told? I said. What do you mean, “told”? Told by who?
By whom, said Lorenzo.
I rolled my eyes.
By whom then, I said.
Randy, that bass player you’re all ga-ga about. Guys talk you know. He told me things. Turns out they were true.
Over his shoulder he gave me a look. Then I heard the door slam. Not sure how that happened. Not certain either that caterpillars have shoulders.
But I knew I felt cheap. I knew I felt dirty. My morals appeared to have gone by the way. And now my mind was following suit, on the whims of a bass player without a surname.
Hungover, head pounding, I sat up in bed, wondering how to escape from this "Lost Weekend" land. Where jumbo-sized caterpillars that spoke the King’s English called me a cover hog, and implied I’m a tramp.
There were dishes everywhere. Empty scotch bottles. The bed sheets were tousled and half on the floor. Enough is enough, I decided that day. No more waking up, head pounding away. Unsure what’s beside me. Its species or name.
The sun was rising, the lawn sparkled with dew. The world seemed different, the world seemed new and I said to myself, it stops here. It stops now. It’s time for a change.
No Percocet. No scotch. No sleeping with spineless and cold-blooded creatures. Those days are over. Those days are through. The sticky co-mingling with lower life forms. The booze and the pills. And the caterpillars too.