The Evisceration of Beck Al-Asad

Isaac always managed to scrounge up the craziest shit after a failed show. Beck could sense it as Isaac smiled serenely in the passenger seat, the potholed street rattling their combined life-savings in music equipment. Whatever drug it was, it couldn’t be worse than someone spilling their beer on Beck’s custom pedal board. Which already happened.

“Hey, I’m sure the board isn’t completely fried,” Isaac said, his strong nose in profile as they passed a street light.

“Fuck,” Beck said without any conviction. “That cost me an entire paycheck.”

“Come on. I got something that will cheer you up.”

He hoped Isaac had Salvia, with its ever calming patterns that morphed into themselves like a good bass riff. Beck’s paint-stained fingers gripped the wheel, as he resigned to his future fate.

Isaac laughed. “You look constipated.”

Beck couldn’t be an addict if he only tripped after a failed show, which didn’t happen that often, anyways. At their best, the band was so in sync that Beck felt like the drummer could predict his breaths before he breathed them. He could sense that gleaming potential in his chest, a potential so palpable that it could propel him out of this liminal suburban life.

Beck pulled into Isaac’s driveway, and dropped the keys in the grey slush. The metal created an imprinted hole where they fell. Isaac picked them up.

“Okay, fine,” Beck said, as Isaac unlocked the door. “What else is there to do on a shit-stain night like this.”

“Attaboy.”

Their place was nice, with hardwood floors and art on the walls. Isaac didn’t bother turning on the light, as the streetlight through the kitchen window was enough.

After Isaac’s grandparents died, he called up some old university friends to move in and pay rent. Beck has been staying for the last two years, and he didn’t recall paying a single dollar. Considering this, Beck didn’t have it all that bad. Still, he always dreamed beyond making a living teaching high-schoolers how to mix paint.

“It’s so hot in here,” Isaac said, throwing his coat and sweater on the couch. His freckled shoulders seemed so broad under just a thin undershirt. It wasn’t hot at all.

This was the point where Isaac would take a baggie out of his back pocket, and place it between them on the floor. He didn’t though. Instead, he looked at Beck with an indistinguishable expression, maybe pity. Beck just stared at Isaac’s biceps.

Isaac waved the bag in front of Beck’s face.

“What is it?” Beck asked.

“Doesn’t have a name just yet,” Isaac took three gummies out, and pressed them into Beck’s palm. The touch felt like wires crossing. Beck chewed one slowly, watching Isaac as he folded his glasses and sat down, hair freshly buzzed for the spring. Sometimes, when they were barely even high, Beck would kiss Isaac on the living room floor.

“So slow.”

“I’m savouring the experience,” Beck sat down, too.

Isaac laughed, and leaned in, tucking a strand of brown hair behind Beck’s ear. His neck craned, eyes squinting inquisitively. Beck didn’t make a habit of liking men, but Isaac was so beautiful it was insulting.

“Wait, take the other two first,” Isaac said.

Beck didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He chewed the last two as fast as he could. The problem was, if they did kiss, there was no sensation. He could sense the movement of his muscles dissipate into April fog. Beck’s mind was a freshly open can of mixing white, before careless brush splotches contaminated it all.

---

Iliana definitely woke up late, because she could feel the sun on her eyelids. There was no leaf-dappled light on the foot of her bed like there should have been. It must have been so late in the day. Mama should have gotten her out of bed by now. Maybe it was a snow day? Maybe Mama was making a special breakfast? Iliana pulled her sheets by the corner in one swoop, but there was something weighing them back. She moved her blanket, wondering if her stuffed animals got bundled up in the night.

There was a man collapsed at the foot of her bed.

Iliana shrieked, and he also shrieked.

“Kidnapper!”

He turned his head, eyes wide as he absorbed his surroundings. Iliana wrenched her ballerina music box off her bookshelf and aimed it square towards his temple. He dodged and fell on the ground.

“Wait, calm down,” he frantically shoved back the floppy brown hair falling into his eyes. “I can explain–”

“Explain then.”

He opened his mouth and realized he had no explanation he could give a child. Iliana had already heard enough. She leapt and sunk her teeth, including the wiggly one, into the man’s skin. He wrenched free, staring in horror at the twenty raw marks on his forearm. Iliana stood triumphantly at the side of her bed, her teddy thrown aside in the fray.

“Where’s Mama?” Iliana said.

“I-I’m not sure, I mean, I don’t think she’s here.”

“Stop lying to me, she’s right outside the door.”

The man stood in front of it. “Iliana, don’t.”

“Why should I listen to you? I don’t listen to strangers. Especially the ones who appear inside my room.”

“I’m not a stranger.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you before. So, that means you’re a stranger.”

“I’m, uh, your cousin,” the man hesitated. “See, we have the same skin colour and eye colour.”

Iliana squinted. “And what’s your name?”

“Beck Al-Asad.”

“I have no cousin named Beck.”

“Our family has a lot of cousins.”

Iliana knew that was true because Mama would be busy all day whenever there was a family party. The front foyer would get filled up with shoes, sometimes stacking on top of each other.

“Fine. Let’s ask Mama, then.”

“We can’t do that.”

Iliana threw herself at the door, but there was no carpeted second floor on the other side.

What she saw instead was a white envelopment of fog that went downwards forever. Iliana grabbed the door handle as the house tilted and groaned under its own weight. Iliana’s house was cross-sectioned in half, like a dollhouse, like the other part had sloughed off entirely. Iliana could see within the leaking channels of open pipes. Mama’s hairdryer was still in the bathroom socket, hanging by the cord. The kitchen was obscured by perspective. Iliana strained forward, hoping to see the shifting of movement. Objects slid past counters and fell. Iliana counted the seconds for them to hit the ground, but the sound never came. The door swung dangerously.

“Oh my god,” Beck said. “Iliana, please listen. Try kicking against the wall, and using the door to swing up. I’ll catch you.”

Iliana nodded calmly.

“Okay. On the count of three.”

“One.” Iliana’s little hands were slick with sweat on the handle. “Two.” Beck held the doorframe, then the house tilted again. They couldn’t make it to three. Iliana lost her grip and fell.

Beck’s arm arced around her belly, his other hand gripping the doorframe. For a moment, he exchanged frantic breaths with the void, then the house bucked wildly backwards. Beck wrapped his body around Iliana, cushioning the blow as they hit the wall. Iliana’s back was slick with sweat.

Beck groaned, sure that there was a bruise in the small of his back. This had to be the worst trip ever.

“What is this place?” Iliana cried.

“I think it’s my memory.”

Iliana didn’t know what that meant. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you aren’t my cousin, and I don’t trust liars.”

Beck exhaled, using two fingers to massage his forehead like Mama would when Iliana misbehaved. “Fine, I’ll tell you the complete truth, but you have to promise to listen and not overreact.”

“I promise.”

“We are the same person,” Beck said.

Iliana laughed.

“I’m being serious.”

“Okay, well first of all, I’m not old. Second of all, I’m not a boy.”

“First of all, twenty-four is not old. Second of all, not yet.”

Iliana’s face dropped. “What do you mean not yet?”

“Sometimes people become boys.”

“Great. Amazing. So, I’m going to smell bad and become so stupid.”

“Do I smell bad?” Beck smelled like roses, but Iliana would not admit it. “Just because the boys at school smell bad doesn’t mean every boy does.”

Iliana began to actually look at Beck. He had a hooked, pierced nose, and expressive hands. He had stubble on his chin and curly shoulder-length hair. He wore dark wash jeans, a black-tank top, and had two earrings in each ear. He even had the same birthmark on his wrist. Iliana noticed a tattoo on his shoulder, but he shifted away before she could fixate on what it was.

“You’re actually cool,” Iliana realized. “Do you have a husband and wife? Do you smoke cigarettes?”

Beck blushed. “You can’t have both a husband and wife.”

“You can choose. Didn’t you know?”

“This is not important right now,” Beck stood up. “This place seems to be woven from memory, but the parts that are less clear in my mind just crumble off. I guess that isn’t good for the structural integrity of a house.”

“Wow, you even have muscles and hair on your arms. You’re a really manly man.”

Beck paced the length of the room. Isaac once told him that on a bad trip, having an end goal can motivate you through it. Beck’s end goal was getting the hell out of his childhood room.

Then, Beck remembered the window. He had a loving and complex relationship with this window. It allowed him to sneak out under Mama’s nose and attend so many shows. But, it had also been an enabler for countless poor decisions.

Beck looked outside. The forest in Iliana’s backyard had disappeared, instead replaced by that same white void. It was buzzing and bacterial, like the after-image from staring at something for too long. It was dense with eye floaters. It was the aftertaste of something Beck couldn’t quite remember, but existed on the tip of his tongue. He shook his thoughts away.

“You’re not going to discover this until you’re a teenager,” Beck said, pushing the jammed panel up.

“How do you even become a man like that?” Iliana said.

“You go to the doctor and they give you special medicine.”

“It’s that easy?”

“Um. Not really. But a lot of things aren’t easy, so that’s okay.”

Beck extended his arm through the frame, and felt the humidity change. It was like another room existed.

“I think there’s a path out,” Beck said, “And we need to follow it so things can go back to normal.” He swore under his breath as he tried to squeeze half a decade worth of gained muscle mass through the narrow cutout.

Iliana’s lip quivered. Through the glass, Beck’s body disappeared behind opaque white. He peeked through the gap, outstretching his hand.

“Hey, just because we’re leaving, doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. The fact that there’s a path away means that there is a path back.”

Iliana took Beck’s hand, and she jumped through.

They were in a dark classroom, surrounded by a circle of easels. Beck felt like the model in figure drawing class.

“If this is your memory, where are we?”

“My university art class,” Beck said, running for the light switch and knocking over the canvas. He fumbled for something that wasn’t there. The wall was blank and featureless.

“If this is your memory, can’t you find the light?” Iliana said.

“I forgot where the light switch was.”

“But the paintings are so detailed,” Iliana said, staring at one where a man was swallowed whole by the ocean. The next, a soldier being impaled by her own spear. Each depicted a fate more gruesome than the other. “You remember this, and forgot Mama’s room?”

Beck noticed that the ceiling was concave, and said nothing as to not frighten Iliana.

“If the details aren’t so solidly intertwined in my brain, the entire part collapses in on itself.”

“Which one is yours?”

Beck pointed at the largest canvas. “It was the painting that failed me out of art school. The assignment prompt was a fate worse than death.”

The background was splotchy black, depicting Beck laying on a table, cut down the middle. His guts glistened with a beautiful precision, hair obscuring his face. Iliana felt she was seeing something she shouldn’t have.

“My teacher said it was too dramatic,” Beck punched through the canvas, and the gap shed streetlight on their faces. Beck leapt through, and Iliana followed.

A building materialized through the fog. Beck sighed at the marquee announcing The Microscopes were playing until eleven.

“The Sonic Hall. It’s one of the venues my band always plays at,” Beck said.

Iliana picked her nose, wondering what a venue is, and staring at the cigarettes scattered on the concrete.

Beck felt thoroughly shaken as he approached the back entrance, and looked back twice at the side of the curb. It was dead quiet, unlike any sort of memory he may have had. It should have been buzzing. The wind whistled through the shells of abandoned cars, and he inhaled deeply, his nervousness leaving him. There was no one here. It was just his mind.

Behind them, two bodies slammed onto the concrete, sending a metal trash can crashing to its side. Iliana yelled. The larger man stumbled to his feet, wiping a bloody nose on his wrist in a way that made Beck’s blood rush to his face. It was Isaac, with pretty long hair, and jean shorts that didn’t fit him.

“Is that all you got?” younger Beck shouted. This must have been Beck circa five years ago, judging by the obnoxious stick and pokes. Fuck, this must have been the night they met.

Isaac rolled his wide shoulders and swung a weak punch. It caught Beck off guard enough that he stumbled back, then landed an equally bad punch in Isaac’s side. Beck grabbed Isaac’s thigh in an attempt to throw him to the ground, but he didn’t have the weight to back it up. The two men stared into each other’s eyes for a moment too long, breathing heavy, and then Isaac leaned in.

“Oh my god,” the older Beck covered up Iliana’s eyes. “We have to go.”

Beck grabbed Iliana and slipped in through the back door, expertly preventing his eight year old self from viewing regrettable sexual choices made in a parking lot.

“I swear, I don’t even remember the last part. I think I was drunk.” The soles of Beck’s boots adhered to the floors of the Sonic Hall in a kind of a fucked up homecoming. There were crowds, or at least the suggestion of them. This place was brimming with people, but when Beck tried to focus on any one person, they merged with another. It was like trying to focus on something in the corner of your eye. The people looked like something captured on long exposure.

Beck saw Iliana’s scared little face, and lifted her on his shoulders. Iliana tried to speak but her voice was overlaid with two hundred songs playing at once. The only throughline was a bass heartbeat. As they walked through the crowd, jutting bodies would sift through Beck like dust.

Another Beck was onstage, flicking through an intricate bassline like it was nothing. This Beck had gotten a better tattoo to cover up the stick and pokes, and wore a long lace skirt that dragged against the floor. Isaac was there onstage as well, crooning through lyrics but they weren’t words anymore. He was singing glyphs repeatedly printed overtop of each other, until there was just a block of dark ink. For some reason, he wore a leather harness Beck hadn’t seen in years. He’d remembered this leather harness but not his mother’s room.

“Beck,” Iliana said, pulling at the back of his shirt. “Beck?”

He was transfixed as the lights changed from opaline white. The Beck onstage began to glow like the void, bobbing back and forth to a rhythm that began to infinitely subdivide in on itself. An array of changing drummers played overtop of one another as Beck’s memories overlapped like clear cells of film. The crowd could not cheer. It was all just damp noise.

The Beck onstage seemed so serene, with hair that began to expand out like tendrils. His face was whiteout redacted as he began to morph into a portal, his outline emanating radiation. He was an infinite light that would fry every cell in your body if you got too close.

Iliana felt a sharp jut of fear in her throat. She did not know this place. She did not know the people slumped over the bar, or the way out.

“Beck?” she said, “Beck?”

Iliana and Beck were sucked into the portal. The way out.

The only sound that ever existed was that of amp feedback.

There are so many ways to disembowel a body. Beck and Iliana knew none of them. Once someone is split down a seam, their contents spill out so perfectly. Someone becomes nothing more than a case study of velvety viscera, gleaming with gorgeous scarlet excess.

As Beck split apart, what came out was a highlight reel of image negatives. There was no way to hide it from Iliana, because it was projected on the inside of their eyelids. Beck and Iliana tumbled through dorm rooms and laundry days and moldy bread left on the counter. Beck was amazed at the amount of unwashed glasses he saw, and the mug with vodka residue he would use for a morning glass of water. Beck watched himself get rejected from teaching college three times over and get pulled in for a kiss by a flickering cast of twenty-somethings. Then Isaac. They always pulled Beck in the same. First by the waist, then the back of the head.

“I’m sorry,” Beck said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The sun rose through the living room window, and Beck realized Iliana was not there anymore. He was sprawled on his back, on the floor of his house. He sat up, and went to the kitchen to find Isaac.