INSANITY – a short story

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• May 31, 2026

“I don’t understand. You saw it? You saw god?”

“Only when it passed through me. And it wasn’t god.”

“You said it was the creator?”

“I said it was the created. Quite different from the creator. Not god.”

“So, what did it look like?”

“It didn’t have a shape. Not in the traditional sense of the word.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Not the traditional sense of the word?”

“I suppose it would be like if someone saw a ghost or an alien. But we haven’t invented to word to describe it. We try using stuff from our vocabulary, but it doesn’t suffice.”

“So now you’re saying it’s a ghost or an alien?”

“No, it was neither, or both, it doesn’t matter.  You’re missing the point.”

He was the type of guy beautiful women were attracted to, not only because he was handsome, but because he never chased anybody.  His relationships never lasted long, and they all ended the same way.  The women in his life never knew what he was thinking, and he was always clearly thinking about something.  Worse, for them, was that they were never really convinced he liked being around them, let alone love them.  But if you knew him as long as I did, you would know that’s just the way he was.  One girlfriend threw something at his head, giving him stitches and called him a sociopath who was unable to feel love.  She could be right.

He liked to fix things.  He was very mechanical and good at fixing cars and computers.  He built a computer when we were just 15 as I was hopelessly chasing girls. Once I asked him why he would build a machine and he said, “now I understand how it works.” Most of us accepted the technology given to us, with such little knowledge on how it works it could be wizarding magic. He was not like the rest of us.

He was different than he used to be. Different good, I think.  And I wondered if he felt the same about me.  That I was not only different, but better since the years we’ve seen each other last.  Since I’ve moved and married.  Since I’ve, on paper, become an adult.  Whatever that means.  I wondered if he would be upset that I scarcely mentioned him to my wife.  That when I told her I was having a drink with him on the weekend while visiting my parents, she said, “how come you never mentioned him before?”  How come I never mentioned you? Even though he was more than that genius kid who lived next door, I guess he wasn’t so interesting to talk about, rather than observe. And while, once upon a time, a very long time ago, I considered him a best friend, I don’t think he ever regarded me as more than a friendly neighbor.

“This sounds batshit insane. Especially coming from you.  You know that?”

“Look, you’re the one who asked what happened to me.”

Most people end up being best friends with whomever lives close to them as kids.  This was such the case for us.  As kids, we’d climb trees, ride bikes, collect garbage at night that he would then build something out of.  I was something dreadful: normal.  Average intelligence, sports watching, fell for pretty girls. He was in advanced classes, and by the time high school came we only ever waved at each other until he went to college for engineering, dropped out, disappeared, and then returned after a couple years, shortly before I moved away. He backpacked in South East Asia for a while, working mostly as a mechanic for petty money to get by. While there, he only ever sent his parents a post card once a month so they knew he wasn’t dead. He was pragmatic but unfeeling about people’s concerns toward him. On a whim, I sent him an email after years of not talking. It took him so long to answer, I’d forgotten I sent it. Every so often I felt an urge to contact him, and even though it took time for him to respond, and his responses were short, he did always respond. I doubt he has many friends, if any. If there was ever a bitterness between us, it was all in my head. When his parents died, he inherited their house and moved back. When asked what he does, he says, “builds stuff,” and I know better than to ask more.

“You need to tell people your car hydroplaned, and that’s it.” I advised.

“I will tell them the truth if they really want to hear it.”

“Listen, listen, when you start a story with, ‘So I was trying to commit suicide.’ And that’s not the weird part of the story, you should never tell anyone that story. If you marry, you shouldn’t tell your wife till like five or ten years in.”

I sure was glad I’m the one who drove us to and from dinner, not knowing about this incident before our meeting. He had simply told me, “my car is destroyed.”

“Is it because it’s coming from me that you don’t believe it.”

“The opposite. When we were kids you said the universe was nothing more than an algorithm before I ever heard of the word.”

“It’s alright, if you don’t understand,” he apologized, as if I should be embarrassed. And he acted like a suicide attempt wasn’t alarming, even though he didn’t seem any more or less depressed than I’d always had known him. In fact, he seemed a little happier than I remember him. Or at least as happy as he used to be when we were just kids.

“I’m trying to, but… listen… okay, okay, okay. One last time, you decided to kill yourself, you unbuckle, floor it. You lose control, spinning, but as your spinning, a force or energy circulate through you, which gives you a super power to miraculously survive the crash by giving you an out of body experience?”

“Well, you know Newton’s law that says, everything in motion must stay in motion?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Say you’re on a train. On top of a train. Like in the movies. There’s a low tunnel. In the movies, they always duck in time. But let’s say you don’t duck in time. You’re smashed into the bridge. Your body, once moving fast, is stopped short, killing you.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”

“Everything that is in motion must stay in motion, so your soul carries on. Only your physical body stays.”

“So you go to Heaven?”

“No! There is no heaven. Not all souls continue either, only the ones in motion.”

“I think you lost me.”

“When I was spinning, I lost my soul. Soul is a shitty word for it, it’s more of your essence. It left me and came back to me. I felt it, and I heard it, and I saw it, when it was back in me.”

“What did it sound like?”

“Like music.”

“What kind of music. Like jazz? Hip-hop?”

“Neither. No genre or anything of this universe can create the music I heard.”

“See, an out of body experience I understand. But your body was still in the car. So how do you explain your body being uninjured even as you watched yourself crash.”

“I didn’t watch myself crash. I don’t even remember the crash. I went to another realm of sorts, but was rejected and sent back.”

“I think you just hit your head.”

“I didn’t have a head injury. The EMT’s called it a miracle. But it was a temporary transference.”

“Yeah… you really shouldn’t tell anyone this stuff. I mean, anyone. Except maybe your therapist.”

We were silent for most the rest of the way. I pulled up in front of his house.

“Well, it was really good seeing you again. And I’m glad you’re doing well.” He shook my hand and patted my shoulder. He smiled at me and paused, as if he was going to say something. Then he got out of the car and turned and said, “If only you could understand.”

He smiled again, and then he said, “thanks.”

As he walked to his house, I swear he was glowing a little bit. He had an aura around his whole body. As I was driving home, I thought about doing it. I thought about flooring it, spinning the wheel and experiencing it for myself. I thought about it.

I thought about it.