Mushroom Gravy

Afterward, the subjects were interviewed. This was standard practice. Whoa, said one of the subjects, wide-eyed, at the start of the interview. Shit, said another. The third initially just made a sound like phew—kind of a half phew, half whistle, with a surprising amount of spittle. But all three eventually came around to saying it felt like being a rat in a maze. That’s what they all said, word for word: like being a rat in a maze. Huh, said the researchers. Weird. They kept experimenting, kept interviewing. Three more used the phrase like a rat in a maze. Then three more. Then eight more. Jesus, said the researchers. Why are they all saying that? Those exact words? This is effed up.

And it was, too. It was super effed up. The extreme effed-up-edness of it was not lost on a single one of them. They all picked up on it and exchanged knowing glances. Their exchange of knowing glances was organized and well orchestrated. Everyone exchanged a knowing glance with everyone else at least once; it was as if they had practiced it. But they hadn’t practiced it; it was a totally impromptu exchange of knowing glances. Simon’s knowing glance was a bit over-the-top—everyone thought so. They could see his bright pink gums, his gigantic rear molars, the grotesque cephalopod-like underside of his tongue—but no one said anything about that. They were too nonplussed by the interviews. By the end of the workday they had conducted twenty-three experiments and twenty-two interviews—one of the subjects had lost control of his bowels in the laundromat and asked if he could be excused from the interview—and in all twenty-two interviews the subjects had said the experience was like being a rat in a maze. None of the subjects had had an opportunity to communicate with any of the others. It was extraordinary result—positively extraordinary.

This could change everything! said Simon, who then giggled for several excruciating seconds. He kept tapping the end of his pencil on the conference table. Man oh man oh man, said Simon.

Dial it back, thought Moonbeam. Come on, dial that shit back.

But Simon wasn’t wrong.

He wasn’t wrong.

Carlita, another of the researchers, couldn’t help but take her work home with her. Leave it at the lab door, her supervisor instructed them, but she just couldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. She wasn’t supposed to say anything about the experiments, of course. They were under a strict secrecy order, which was also standard. But she told her partner all about it anyway.

And they all said it’s like being a rat in a maze, said Carlita as she picked at the roasted asparagus. Every single one of them. What’s up with that?

As Carlita said what’s up with that? she extended her arms to the sides, elbows bent, palms upturned. She shrugged her shouders, cocked her brow. Mandy, her partner, thought it adorable.

That’s freaking adorable, said Mandy, stirring the mushroom gravy with a wooden spoon as long as her forearm.

What is? said Carlita.

The way you did that, said Mandy. The way you said what’s up with that? and raised your arms like you did. Freaking cute, cute, cute.

Though she hadn’t been trying to be cute, Carlita liked the way this comment made her feel: good. Within her abdomen was a rapidly expanding sphere of good-feeling. Carlita realized she was still holding her theatrical what’s up with that? pose. She allowed her arms to fall limply to her sides, and, with great haste, she uncocked her brow.

It’s just…it was insane, said Carlita. Shooo. I can’t even capture it in words. It was more of a feeling. A feeling that pervaded the room. Did I use pervaded right?

Mandy, who was a college composition instructor, nodded.

Maybe if you draw what you did to them, said Mandy. Maybe then I can understand.

Carlita apparently was considering this. She’d put her hand to her chin and everything.

OK, I’ll do it, said Carlita, brightening. I’ll draw it.

Mandy looked around for some paper. The kitchen drawer contained scant supplies apart from expired medications and little salt and pepper packets. The gravy was boiling.

Here, stir it with this, said Mandy, handing Carlita the wooden spoon.

Mandy went into the office to look for paper while Carlita stirred the gravy.

From the kitchen came Carlita’s lilting voice: This mushroom gravy smells delicious!

As Mandy slid out the paper compartment on the printer and pulled out two pieces of paper, she experienced an incredibly powerful feeling of déjà vu: Mandy, pulling paper from the printer; Carlita, stirring mushroom gravy in the kitchen and saying, This mushroom gravy smells delicious!

Looking back over her life, many years later, Mandy, knowing what she knew, found herself imbuing this feeling of déjà vu with tremendous import, perhaps more than it warranted.

But then the feeling passed. It was gone. Mandy took the paper and a pencil into the kitchen. Carlita sat at the table and drew.

It was like this, said Carlita, her pencil zigging and zagging.

Where were the toilets? said Mandy.

The toilets were here and here, said Carlita. And here.

Carlita drew three little toilets. They were good little toilets. She even drew the little silver flusher thingies, the cushioned seat, the long, dark, tubular shits inside the bowl.

That one was in the park? said Mandy. Just out in the open like that?

Just out in the open! said Carlita. You wouldn’t have thought any of them would use it, but 32 percent of them did.

And what’s that there? said Mandy. In the corner.

Oh, that’s the face Simon made, said Carlita. I told you about that. He’s such an asshole.

What’s in his mouth, though?

That’s just the underside of his tongue, said Carlita.

It looks like something you might find washed up on a beach, said Mandy.

I know! said Carlita. What a horror show.

Mandy stirred the gravy, which emitted out a low, gurgling burrrrlup.

I have to say, it does kind of look like a maze, said Mandy.

Carlita held up the paper, turned it sideways, then back the other way.

Maaaaaaaybe, said Carlita.

Anyway, forget about work, said Mandy. Food’s ready. No more work talk.

No more work talk, said Carlita.

She balled up the paper, tossed it into the sink.

Back at the lab, the forgotten twenty-fourth subject, perched upon a lonely toilet in the middle of a park, gazed moonward and said, Hey, we almost done here or what? Hellooooo?

No one answered. And, it being Memorial Day weekend, no one would for some time.