{"id":3238,"date":"2013-07-30T02:15:14","date_gmt":"2013-07-30T02:15:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=3238"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:30","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:30","slug":"illuminate-a-history-and-a-future","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=3238","title":{"rendered":"Illuminate: A History and a Future"},"content":{"rendered":"

Voice Over – Hannah Skerritt<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cMy life is a lesson about the things people refuse to accept. And about what they choose to accept. And maybe you’re thinking that sounds like a lovely life. Or maybe you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life. And while you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life, the person next to you is thinking it sounds pretty great. That\u2019s the problem with everything, you never know what the other person is thinking. So, ok, you take a drug to try and connect. Or you sing a song or paint a picture. And suddenly you get it, you can tap into the perception of the person next to you. That\u2019s the point of creation, right? I never intended to hurt anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Illuminate: A History and a Future
\nAlexa Norton<\/strong><\/p>\n

This is the only shot I\u2019m going to be in. It\u2019s me against the wide blue sky of Idaho, standing along a strip of highway outside Boise. I spent two days waiting for the right weather and the right light. The road bends behind me, the yellow stripes recently painted and bright on the asphalt. Every few feet a stubby pine tree pokes up out of the long grass.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got a microphone, mostly for looks. I wear a pants suit and kitten heels. My hair is dyed a honey blonde because I think the highlights will look good in the sun. I\u2019ve come to Idaho to visit the Pocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center and finish my documentary. It has been four years since I started and the stretching road seems like a bad metaphor. I hope it doesn\u2019t come across that way on screen. I snort, thinking of the thing ever making it to a screen, small or otherwise. <\/p>\n

Lucus pans his camera across the backdrop. I met him two weeks ago at a local bar. He told me his name was Dermot but everyone called him Lucus. I replied that my name was Alexa and that\u2019s what people called me, whether I wanted them to or not. He asked if it was all right if he called me Alexa too. After a few drinks, he took me to his apartment and showed me pictures he\u2019d taken of his niece after she\u2019d broken her arm. Even in black and white I could tell the girl was shaken. Her eyes round as melons and her bottom lip curled in like little kids do when they are dead afraid, as opposed to pouted out when they are merely frightened. I couldn\u2019t tell how the photograph made me feel or if it made me feel anything at all. <\/p>\n

\u201cDid you take Illuminate to get that photo?\u201d I asked him. <\/p>\n

He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, saying, \u201cI don\u2019t do drugs.\u201d <\/p>\n

I laughed and hired him on the spot. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s important to have good, creative people working alongside me and they must have a sense of humor. He frames me in the shot. He waits for my cue and I give it. Start rolling.
\n
\n\u201cThis stretch of road is a main conduit for transporting phenoluxamine. Or Illuminate, as it is commonly referred. Developed at a small medical lab in a Boise research park, Illuminate has been steadily making its way across the country. The path dips down into the southwest and along the northern states and, lately, crosses up Canada. Following the drug is an undeniable surge of creativity. Here in Boise, five wooden statutes were carved, overnight, out of trees in the downtown park. The statues, which we\u2019ll visit later, were seemingly created with no hesitation. There is no suggestion that the artist or artists ever paused to make changes. The result is a flawless and strange depiction of a Bacchanalian orgy.<\/p>\n

Down south, a farmer in Nebraska reported finding a Mandelbrot set etched into his field. In Wyoming, a full novel was dropped off at a bar, reportedly by a long standing patron who was, as far as anyone knew, illiterate. The incidents may be unrelated. After all, there are plenty of people who ingest Illuminate and do not manage to produce Van Gogh levels of art. However, as the addiction rate rises so does the creative impulse of the users. <\/p>\n

I\u2019m going to Pocatello to meet the woman who claims to have created the drug. Her name is Hannah Skerritt. She\u2019s twenty eight years old. She\u2019s white. Upper middle class. And one of the biggest dealers the Idaho Highway Patrol have ever arrested.\u201d<\/p>\n

I put the mike down and give the camera one last look. <\/p>\n

A truck speeds past. The sunlight reflects off the side mirrors and blinds me momentarily. Lucus tucks the camera into the case. I turn and watch the truck drive into the distance, my director\u2019s mind wondering where the car is going, who\u2019s driving and what it is they want. I watch the day\u2019s footage, standing on the side of the road. It isn\u2019t right. It\u2019s not quite the way I envision it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d I ask Lucus.<\/p>\n

He shrugs.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, really, I value your opinion,\u201d I tell him. I\u2019m sincere.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s good,\u201d he says. <\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s do one more take.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods and pulls out the camera again. \u201cOne more take might be wise.\u201d<\/p>\n

I fight the familiar urge to be insulted and we do another take.<\/p>\n

\n

Hannah Skerritt
\nPocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cSo, I met Rory when we were working in a call center at Bellflower Mall. Have you been there?\u201d<\/p>\n

Hannah Skerritt sits in a plain wooden chair. Her hands are free but her feet are shackled. The table is polished wood and the setting sun causes a terrible glare that I can\u2019t seem to work around. I try several angles and Lucus shrugs. He\u2019s doing the best he can. It\u2019s not good enough. I try to angle my shadow to cover the glare.<\/p>\n

This is the time she insisted we meet. And she purposefully scooted the chair to let the obnoxious ray in. Two inches to the right and she could block it but, she won\u2019t. I set the shot as a close up and I\u2019m doubting that choice now, watching her pores and her vicious mouth. She runs her hands through her hair and the sides stick out. <\/p>\n

\u201cI was in college. I was poor, right? Why not? Why not answer customer complaints for a drug company who, it turns out, has a very decent research department and very poor public relations. They hired me and across the cubicle with his spiky hair and his nose-to-ear ring was Rory. I told you he was lovely, didn\u2019t I? Because he was. For the first week, I just sat there and drank him in, like had these crazy fantasies where I would stride over there and rip off his phone and bury my nails in his spikes and he would kiss like a boxer. Even though I have no idea how a boxer kisses, that\u2019s just the kind of stupid shit I was thinking at the time.<\/p>\n

“Two weeks later, I said hello.<\/p>\n

“Three weeks after that, I switched my major to chemistry.<\/p>\n

A year later, there was a chance to go deep in Rory Wellington and an opportunity to be a research assistant. I took them both and maybe you’re thinking that sounds like a lovely life,\u201d she notices my expression, \u201cOr, whatever, maybe you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life and while you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life, the person next to you is thinking it sounds pretty great.\u201d<\/p>\n

She winks at Lucus, biting her pinky nail, tugging at it with her stained teeth and raising her eyebrows. He asks her questions about her youth. I\u2019m much more worried about how I\u2019m going to wrap this into my narrative than any kind of philosophical discussion to be had with a drug dealer. <\/p>\n

Hannah asks for a bathroom break and Lucus turns the camera on me. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you think about Hannah Skerrit, director?\u201d he asks, grinning and turning his cap backward.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think she\u2019s a complete waste of air,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

He laughs. \u201cSo angry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOverworked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is supposed to be fun,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you fucking serious?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Greta Luntz
\nOld Mom\u2019s Diner, Boise <\/strong><\/p>\n

Greta Luntz shows me her driver\u2019s license. I hold it up for the camera. In the picture, Greta is a cherubic twenty something with a spattering of freckles and a ring of kohl eyeliner. She is smiling, looking both amused and tired and it is the expression of a hundred girls, on their own for the first time, standing in line at the DMV. It is the face of new responsibility and freedom. I lay the photo down and Greta herself fills the screen. Or half of it. <\/p>\n

Her face has collapsed. Cheekbones and the ridge of her eyebrow jut out at sharp angles and cast a shadow over the rest of her features. Her eyelashes have been plucked out. She grinds the palm of her hand into her eyes. <\/p>\n

\u201cHaven\u2019t slept in days,\u201d she tells us. \u201cMy eyes hurt. Didn\u2019t ever know your eyes could hurt like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiles weakly and drops her hand in her lap. Along the edge of her thigh, the entire time she\u2019s talking to us, she plays an invisible keyboard. She\u2019s composing a song that will never be played, may not even be remembered by its composer, but there is no doubt it is beautiful. Unlike Greta, the silent music is robust and full of life. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kinds of things do you like to write about? What do you try and convey in your music?\u201d I ask her. <\/p>\n

She twitches involuntarily and I think she might slide off the chair. I reach out to steady her, trying to keep out of the shot.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry. Been taking Lily so long that I\u2019m one of those lucky people. I get a jolt every now and then, a free shot,\u201d she\u2019s grinning like a child at the ice cream truck. The thigh music speeds up, her fingers moving so fast they begin to blur. The fabled creative rush is happening. I sit up straighter and realize my own heart is racing. I need to get her a keyboard, something so we can hear what\u2019s being made.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you composing?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

A fleck of spit gathers at the corners of her mouth. Her right eye rolls inward.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy eyes hurt,\u201d she says again. <\/p>\n

I can\u2019t use that. It doesn\u2019t make any sense. <\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want to sing something for us?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her head lays back. She presses her legs together and the skin piano is wider. The silent song gets more involved. She moans, a guttural sound. Her collarbone pokes through the top of her t-shirt. I reach out and touch her wrist. She\u2019s colder than I expected. Her skin is waxy. <\/p>\n

\u201cShe smells like the dark room,\u201d Lucus says. I put my finger to my lips, telling him to hush. Lucus and his photography.<\/p>\n

Greta slips off the chair, cracking her head on the edge of the seat. She lands on the floor in a pile of bones and exhaustion. <\/p>\n

\u201cShit,\u201d Lucus says, setting the camera down. Sighing, I pick it up and adjust the lens. Lucus gathers her in his arms, stroking back her hair, slicked with sweat. He shakes her and she opens her eyes. I\u2019m trembling, wishing he would move out of the shot and, at the same time, wondering if perhaps him being there is a good connection point for the audience. <\/p>\n

\u201cThought I was sleeping,\u201d she mumbles.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry, sweetheart. You all right?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey should just stick all of us in a building and blow the fucking thing up,\u201d she says. <\/p>\n

She shoves Lucus off and looks at the camera. I pull back to capture her wild appearance. <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what they should do. Kill us all. Burn the Lily factories to the ground. Yes, yes, yes,\u201d she lays down on the ground. <\/p>\n

She doesn\u2019t fall asleep. Her open eyes stare at the ceiling but I know she\u2019s done talking. She is still. Almost peaceful. Then her arm floats above her, as if by its own motivations, and begins playing a new song on the chair. <\/p>\n

\n

Hannah Skerritt
\nPocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center<\/strong><\/p>\n

After her break, Hannah shuffles to her seat and collapses. She doesn\u2019t appear to like using her hands, preferring to let them hang by her sides or rest on the table. I reach over and pick a stray hair away from her uniform. I tell Lucus to focus in tight. Her looks have faded drastically. She\u2019s aged twenty years and a day. I find myself wondering what her mother makes of things and maybe I should ask, except Hannah has made it clear she will pull her cooperation if I approach her family.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you first create Illuminate?\u201d<\/p>\n

She rolls her head on her twig neck and when she\u2019s facing us again, her mouth is a hard line. \u201cI had this theory, right, not really a theory, just a hunch. About serotonin. You know what serotonin is?\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cSerotonin is basically happiness,\u201d she speaks slowly, as if addressing a child. Her attitude is grating. \u201cYou get flooded with serotonin and you\u2019re going to feel pretty damn good for a decent amount of time. Serotonin can be found in two places, the central nervous system, in other words, the brain, or the cells of your gut. You\u2019ve got your garden variety drugs that releases serotonin in your brain, right? It\u2019s nothing new. However, there\u2019s this limited supply there and it gets worn out fast. You build up a tolerance and you can\u2019t access the same level of your first high unless you do more drugs. I wanted something long lasting and something that could be accessed, even after the drugs main affects wore off. Like a jolt or an extra hit.<\/p>\n

So, I\u2019m thinking, where are all the great untapped serotonin wells? Like I\u2019m looking for oil. And it comes to me one night, while I\u2019m watching Rory on stage. Did you ever see him? There would be a point in a song when he would lean back and his body would stretch out and I was watching and I thought, there it is, in his belly, untapped happiness potential. I just had to figure out how to get it out of those cells and into the brain. It wasn\u2019t as hard as it sounds. <\/p>\n

There has been endless research about keeping seratonin sitting on the brain. MAOI inhibitors block seratonin absorption. I used that and added a transport component. The transporters take the seratonin to the brain. Not all of it, or even half. I think only like 40% actually makes it but man, that\u2019s enough.\u201d <\/p>\n

Her face softens and her mouth eases up into a slight smile, \u201cAnd I was so fucking happy in that moment. You know what it\u2019s like when you realize that you can solve everyone\u2019s problems. Like, not just your own but the person you care most for in the world? I could make Rory Wellington so goddamn happy. I thought, maybe, if he was high enough for long enough he could tap into some musical talent he was resisting but, mainly, I just wanted to impress him. I wanted him to see himself the way I saw him and, yeah, ok, see me the way I wanted him to see me too. That\u2019s the problem with everything, you never know what the other person is thinking. I was after making Rory happy because the poor guy was so damn sad all the time. And the only thing that made him happy was drugs. And music,\u201d she pauses, her eyes running down the length of the table and back, her thumb picking at a nail, \u201cand me.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can tell she doesn\u2019t believe the last part.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt never occurred to me that I could make him a rockstar.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hannah gets quiet. She chews her bottom lip. Lucus glances over to me and I twirl my finger, keep rolling. He shakes his head. <\/p>\n

\u201cShe looks sick,\u201d he mouths.<\/p>\n

I wave him off.<\/p>\n

Come on, give me what I need, I lean forward, hoping to coax it out of her.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn hindsight,\u201d she says, \u201cI should have seen it coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Dr. Jack Chapman
\nBoise Medical Examiner\u2019s Office<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cUh, huh. I autopsied Rory Wellington on July 7, 2012. His body was, hm, extremely emaciated. He was discovered by his, well, I guess she was his girlfriend. Though I never spoke to her. I just spoke to his parents.\u201d<\/p>\n

The medical examiner stops there. He\u2019s a terrible interview subject. He keeps glancing down and, on screen, that\u2019s going to look like he\u2019s fallen asleep. I ask him to describe the body. He blushes and taps his fingers together. That\u2019s going to make him look maniacal. I motion for the Lucus to center on the report. I try my best to keep the man talking. I\u2019m fumbling. I want this segment to be powerful, to be a big reveal.<\/p>\n

\u201cOk, well, he technically died of heart failure,\u201d Dr. Chapman says, \u201cThough starvation and sleep deprivation were contributing factors.\u201d<\/p>\n

I flash a picture of Rory Wellington four weeks before his death. He\u2019s a healthy, handsome young musician. <\/p>\n

Dr. Chapman nods, \u201cI know. It\u2019s amazing how quickly phenoluxamine addicts deteriorate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou believe Rory Wellington was an addict?\u2019<\/p>\n

He nods again.<\/p>\n

I open and shut my fingers like a duck beak, to indicate he needs to speak. <\/p>\n

He coughs. <\/p>\n

\n

Hannah Skerritt
\nPocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center<\/strong><\/p>\n

Hannah swings her head back and forth in an arc, her hair dragging across the table. When the camera is turned on and I say her name, she stops, lifts her head, and stares into the lens, slack jawed.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not amused. I will play Hannah Skerritt any way I want. I fight the urge to lean across the table and whisper, \u201cEditing, bitch.\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead I wait. Lucus shifts. I put my hand on his hip to steady the camera. He\u2019s so jumpy, lately. The night before, in the hotel, I caught him snapping pictures of a family pulling luggage out of their car. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n

\u201cTrying to find some warmth,\u201d he said, turning his camera on me.<\/p>\n

The resulting picture is a woman frowning.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very beautiful,\u201d he said, snapping another shot.<\/p>\n

The next picture is a woman, smiling in spite of herself. <\/p>\n

\u201cLook, I\u2019m not giving you the recipe for Illuminate,\u201d Hannah says, \u201cThat\u2019s just fucking nuts. I cooked it. It took a while to get it right.\u201d<\/p>\n

She opens her mouth to say something else but I stop her. I consult with Lucus about the shot. I want something different, something softer, a way to shoot Hannah so she\u2019s not the seen as the hopeless, strung out prison junkie she is. He has no opinion and I\u2019m annoyed. <\/p>\n

Hannah groans, \u201cYou\u2019re just like fucking Rory. You want to express something and you think to yourself, hey, I know how to do this. Only you don\u2019t know, do you? You can only dream about the day you wake up and suddenly, you get it, you can tap into the perception of the person next to you. \u201d<\/p>\n

Lucus sets the camera down. He touches my arm and I pull away. <\/p>\n

\u201cPick the camera back up,\u201d I tell him. <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d Hannah says, \u201cI\u2019m sure your documentary is piece of shit but I\u2019m also sure people will want to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I shove my chair back and walk out of the room. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a whore,\u201d Lucus says.<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t realized he followed me. I\u2019m touched, I guess. I can\u2019t open my eyes to look at him or he\u2019ll see I\u2019m about to cry. Over a stupid girl in prison who\u2019s never done one worthwhile pursuit in her whole life.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just want this to be good, you know?\u201d I say, \u201cIt doesn\u2019t feel right. Do you ever get that? When you\u2019re taking a picture? Like you\u2019re missing the point?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTotally,\u201d he says. \u201cI take it anyway. Come on, let\u2019s go back inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Genevieve Bennet
\nGunster Medical Research<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cIs that what she told you? She was a research assistant?\u201d<\/p>\n

Genevieve won\u2019t stand still. Lucus scampers behind her and I try to keep up along side. We hurry down a bare beige hallway that smells of antiseptic. It reminds me of a hospital. Wide gray doors line the hallway and room numbers on black plaques fly by. We aren\u2019t filming. We should be but we\u2019re not because Genevieve won\u2019t be seen on camera. She told me last minute and I heard her trepidation over phone. She was willing to talk but not on camera, she\u2019s sorry, no she won\u2019t do a behind a screen. <\/p>\n

Instead, I record her voice on a phone in my pocket. I\u2019ll add her picture, drop her vocal range an octave, and ask for her permission after she sees how well her story plays. That\u2019s the plan anyway.<\/p>\n

Genevieve has been at Gunster for ten years. She started when she was twenty but she looks older than thirty. She\u2019s a wunkerkind of sorts. Gunster is known for hiring young kids straight out of or in college. I ask her about this. She rounds a corner and the carpet turns to faded lime-speckled linoleum.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, right, it\u2019s true they do hire young people. But, I\u2019m telling you, they didn\u2019t hire Hannah Skerritt I would have been here, what, two years at that point. So I was down the totem pole and I would have remembered someone like her. I heard people mention her name, that she was trying to get a job here. And maybe she got even lower level grunt work than research assistant, I\u2019m not saying she\u2019s lying about getting a job. I\u2019m saying she\u2019s lying about which one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about the creativity?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

Her coat swings around her legs as she walks, billowing out when she picks up the pace. \u201cWhat about it? It\u2019s a side effect, a relatively common one,\u201d she pauses, \u201cWhat I mean to say is, it can\u2019t be predicted, at least, not that any of us can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would you try and tell? Are you interested in selling a creative enhancement drug?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her heels stop clacking and she stops at a door labeled Lab. She sighs, her hand resting on the handle. She chews the inside of her cheek, glancing down the hall. I resist the urge to tell her it\u2019s still empty, just like it was the last fifty times she checked.<\/p>\n

She pushes into the room. I catch my breath. It\u2019s not like I expected. The lab is empty, devoid of the mad scramble I always see in movies. It\u2019s quiet and the tables are slightly dusty. Genevieve crosses to a bank of tall cabinets and opens one. Pill bottles line each shelf. She selects a bottle and hands it to me. I don\u2019t recognize the label.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s an inhibitor. For depression. Basically you\u2019re always releasing seratonin and then reabsorbing it. The inhibitor blocks part of the absorption. Phenoluxamine is made up of some of that inhibitor\u2019s compounds except what Hannah managed to do was discover the holy grail of inhibitors. She figured out a way to pull the seratonin out of the blood cells in the gut, get them to the brain and then keep them there. For a long time.\u201d Genevieve\u2019s shakes her head, \u201cI mean, yes, it\u2019s impressive. But, clearly dangerous. And irresponsible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019s it dangerous?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause we don\u2019t know what effects seratonin has when it sits on your brain like that. Obviously, I\u2019m simplifying things for you here,\u201d she lowers her voice and I strain to hear her, \u201cI mean, it doesn\u2019t literally flood your brain but the transport component works differently in some users. It takes the seratonin to the part of the brain responsible for creativity and leaves it there. Forever. You\u2019ve seen the affects.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIncredible bursts of creative impulse and execution,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

\u201cMassive amounts of brain damage,\u201d she replies. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat if you could get the seratonin off of the area in time?\u201d I probe.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. This lab has been trying to figure it out for months,\u201d Genevieve takes the pill bottle and goes to put it back on the shelf. She stops, turns and tosses it to Lucus. \u201cTake it. You look like you could use them.\u201d<\/p>\n

He grins and pockets the bottle. I won\u2019t be getting any steady camera work out of him tomorrow. I glare at him but he doesn\u2019t notice. The shots have been off lately. They can\u2019t have been set the way I set them. He must be tweaking the light exposure or something. <\/p>\n

\n

Hannah Skerritt
\nPocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t the one who found him,\u201d Hannah coughs and stretches. I scoot back in time to avoid getting hit with her spit. The last few weeks have been rough. She\u2019s up for appeal and a whole room full of dead teens were found in a basement, the first confirmed cases of overdosing on the new batch of Illuminate. The new batch is stronger, longer lasting, and lethal in relatively small doses. I wonder if Hannah is taking anything inside. Her eyes are dull and she\u2019s lethargic. <\/p>\n

I interrupt her rambling memory to ask about Illuminate\u2019s potency. She leans back in the chair, back far enough the two front legs lift off the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck, yeah, the potency. Well, I mean, that\u2019s what drug cooks do isn\u2019t it? Make bigger, better, badder stuff? Isn\u2019t that the general idea of drugs in the first place? Drugs and movies, right?\u201d she slams the chair down, her body coming forward and I think she might hit her face on the table when she catches herself. She lifts her head and gives the camera a glare. \u201cThis documentary, it\u2019s so pat. It\u2019s made up of everything I would think it would be. Interviews. A running theme maybe. Am I the theme? Am I the thing you keep coming back to? How original, Jesus Christ. Aren\u2019t you supposed to reach for something when you do this?\u201d she dismisses the camera with a flick of her wrist. <\/p>\n

I\u2019m tempted to break my enforced silence. To defend my work. <\/p>\n

\n

Alfie Wanson, P.I.O. Boise Police
\nBoise<\/strong><\/p>\n

The body is covered with a tarp. I hurry over, covering my nose. The smell is disgusting. Lucus keeps gagging and I hope the noise isn\u2019t picked up. The section of street is blocked off with police tape, even though no one in their right mind would be down by this part of town. On the wall behind the body, I can see the mural.<\/p>\n

The Boise Police Department public information officer frames himself over the wall and in the center line. He\u2019s a man named Douglas Wanson who goes by Alfie. His title card will say Alfie Wanson. Alfie is a trim man with a trim mustache and light eyelashes. He looks awful on camera, like part of him will blend into the background. I motion for him to take a step to the right so he won\u2019t block the mural. <\/p>\n

A set of men sit in a canoe on a calm river. At the bank, tall trees arch over the water and the artist has managed to paint wind without a single brush stroke. By that I mean, the trees are swaying and leaves are twisting. The men in the boat are terrified. There is something lurking on the edges of the forest. I can sense it. Lucus can feel it, I can tell by the way he zooms the camera in and out, trying to find something in the underbrush. <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you\u2019re looking at is a symptom of an Illuminate addiction,\u201d Alfie says, \u201cThis mural is over ten feet tall and was painted by the deceased in about four hours,\u201d he clears his throat, \u201cWe found five more like it along the highway. I assume they are from the same artist – \u2018scuse me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He blushes and waves at the camera, \u201cCan I start over, I screwed up. I meant to say addict.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod. Lucus pans over the mural. I hope he gets a decent shot. He\u2019s been sullen and slow the last day or so, saying I\u2019m taking him away form his real passion. Perhaps, I have been harsh. Yelling at him every time he steps away from the documentary to take a picture. I\u2019m tempted to tell him what his photography lacks but I need him to finish. It\u2019s almost done, I tell him, over and over, almost done. Hang in there. You\u2019re doing a good job. <\/p>\n

\u201cWe assume they are from the same addict. Eventually he dropped dead from exhaustion. I have to wait for the final coroner\u2019s report, of course, but I wouldn\u2019t be surprised to find out this young man hadn\u2019t slept or eaten for days,\u201d Artie waves a hand dismissively at the tarp on the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat will you do with the mural?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n

He blinks. He looks over his shoulder at the men in the boat and back to the camera. <\/p>\n

\u201cPaint over it, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

Hannah Skerritt
\nPocatello Women\u2019s Correctional Center<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cRight, so, the basic way it works is you ingest the Illuminate. I know down south there\u2019s some discussion of shooting it but I\u2019m telling you, ingesting is the most effective way. Either by snorting or taking a pill. When I made the first batch it was a dusty, yellow powder that tasted like complete shit and worked pretty much the same way meth does, except with a slightly longer effect and that right there would have been good enough. Except, I don\u2019t know, I just had this feeling I could do better. You know?\u201d<\/p>\n

I do know. <\/p>\n

Hannah\u2019s leg jiggles and her knee occasionally bumps the table. When it does, she emits a small mew, like a kitten and resumes her bouncing. <\/p>\n

\u201cI went back to the drawing board, with this idea of serotonin in the gut. Rory wanted to be the first to try it,\u201d Hannah says. \u201cI knew he would be.\u201d<\/p>\n

I want to press her on the issue of Rory and why she would take such a risk with the man she claimed to love. Instead, she reaches into her orange jumpsuit pocket and pulls out a piece of notebook paper, <\/p>\n

\u201cI made this list one time, of all the reasons I thought I loved him.\u201d <\/p>\n

She flattens the paper on the table and Lucus places the camera directly over it. I didn\u2019t direct him to do that. I hesitate, not sure if I should interrupt the flow of the interview to correct him or if I should let it go, maybe the shot is effective. I\u2019m stunned to find I don\u2019t know the answer. <\/p>\n

Hannah pushes the list towards me.<\/p>\n


1. You are so thin that when you stand with your head back against the brick wall of the call center, you look painted on. Like you could just blend into Bellflower and be a part of it until the end of time, mistaken for a street taggers art.
\n2. You hardly say anything at all.
\n3. You are good at doing drugs.
\n4. You have so much passion and zero ambition which makes you all dreams and no failure.
\nThis is the reason I know I love you and can\u2019t make sense of:
\nWhen we play Jenga and there\u2019s no other moves to make and our whole tower is swaying and your hand reaches out to take the block that will inevitably send it crashing to the table, it takes all of my concentration not to stop you. But you let it fall fearlessly and that\u2019s how I feel when I\u2019m around you – like a shaky stack of blocks ready for one last touch.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cLoving him was wonderful,\u201d Hannah says.<\/p>\n

She pulls a picture of Rory out of her other pocket and lays it beside the list. It was taken sometime before he hit big with his first single. He reminds me a little bit of Sid Vicious in that way all punk singers do. His hair is spiked, his body is graceful and thin but he hasn\u2019t quite reached the last stage of Illuminate addiction. He looks relatively healthy even though his hip bones push at his jeans.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe read that list and didn\u2019t get it,\u201d I say and her falling face is satisfying to me, like torching a wasp\u2019s nest. \u201cYou wrote every sweet word you could and he still didn\u2019t get it. So you gave him your drug instead and he took it and left and not once did he understand how you felt.\u201d<\/p>\n

I glance at Rory\u2019s image. Even through the glossy paper, I can sense his magnetism. I wonder if it will come through on camera. I wonder if I\u2019ll ever see the shots in my head the exact way they show up on the film or if it will always be this constant guessing game.<\/p>\n

Hannah runs a hand down her face, stretching her features into some kind of macabre, melting girl. \u201cMy life is a lesson in the all things people refuse to accept. Limitations. Mediocrity. Rejection. So, ok, you take a drug. Or you sing a song or paint a picture. Make a movie, whatever. I wrote the list because I refused to accept – because, I knew, I knew he loved me. I knew it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hannah is framed in the view finder like a portrait. A parting shot of a demon, a woman, a biological mess of cells and psychology. At home, viewers will feel something. They will feel whatever part they identify with – her devotion, her regret, her pessimism at how it\u2019s all going to turn out. She sighs and looks directly into the lens.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure, you know, I couldn\u2019t have imagined it would go this far. I thought it would just\u2026I never intended to hurt anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

She trails off. <\/p>\n

I\u2019m praying for a tear at this point. Or actually, lots of them. <\/p>\n

She tilts her head, looking at me, \u201cYou\u2019re a filmmaker. Would you ever try it?\u201d<\/p>\n

I resist answering. I\u2019m not a part of the story.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean, this – \u201c she waves at the camera and her voice takes on a harder edge, \u201cthis thing that you\u2019re making. It\u2019s crap, right? I mean, you know it is. It will play like every other goddamn documentary or interview I\u2019ve ever done. Are you calling it Chemist Zero? Because that\u2019s already taken by some film student from Nevada. So, would you? If you knew, and you do know, it will make you better, make this better. Would you take it?\u201d <\/p>\n

She\u2019s glaring at me now. Lucus shifts next to me. <\/p>\n

I think of a final shot, me in my bathroom, sitting on my old floormat and shooting Lily. <\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d I turn to Lucus. \u201c Would you?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugs.<\/p>\n

\u201cLucus\u2019s a photographer,\u201d I explain. \u201cHe takes these halfway decent pictures of kids with injuries. But he\u2019s never sold a single one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would maybe try it,\u201d Lucus says, and through the microphone his voice takes on a strange, alien quality, \u201cBut not for my art. Just, because.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think of another shot, Lucus in the old Motel Six, on the same faded comforter we\u2019ve been sleeping on, sharing a bed and a few awkward leg brushes before rolling over to our own edges. Lucus fiddling with his lenses, snorting row after yellow row. <\/p>\n

Across from us, Hannah lays her head on the table, peeking out at me from under her elbow. We understand each other. I will leave. I will find Lucus some Illuminate and I will film him as he tries it. As he descends into his addiction, as his photography takes flight, and his pictures of shocked children turn into something worthwhile. That is the documentary I was supposed to make. That\u2019s what the four years of struggle was for. It will be more than I could ever imagine. Thanking Hannah for her time and, silently, her drug, I reach over and turn the camera off.<\/p>\n

Sadie Mattox is a librarian living in the heartland with two little boys. She has had previous publications with Daily Science Fiction. Sadie is a recent graduate of the Clarion Workshop.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Voice Over – Hannah Skerritt \u201cMy life is a lesson about the things people refuse to accept. And about what they choose to accept. And maybe you’re thinking that sounds like a lovely life. Or maybe you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life. And while you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s a horrible life, the person next to you …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":202,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,12,458],"tags":[459],"class_list":["post-3238","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-science-fiction","category-tcl-7-spring-2013","tag-the-colored-lens-7-spring-2013","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3238","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/202"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3238"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3238\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139666,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3238\/revisions\/139666"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3238"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3238"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3238"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}