Enter Through the Superior Vena Cava

with quotes from R Stevie Moore’s song “Part of The Problem” 

samantha haviland

Someone tell me what I’m s’posed to/ Do when the occasion comes/ Around for me to prove I am/ Good 

2:00 AM EST, TUESDAY

L, From Washington: we’re living in a simulation

I, From New York: omg stop

L, From Washington: ur real tho. At least I think u r

I, From New York: i’m flattered 

L, From Washington: do u think im real

L, From Washington: helloooo

4:00 AM

L, From Washington: I take it back your fake af

I wanna show you that I/ Can’t be any more inspiring 

The next time someone tells me to look inside myself for the answer, I’m going to get a colonoscopy. Or a thoracoscopy. Stick a camera up one end or the other and if the doctor doesn’t find anything, we will perform open-heart surgery. Maybe there will be a piece of loose-leaf stuck in the opening of my left ventricle. Hole punched for a three-ring binder that I do not own. They will unfold it, dry it out and when I wake up from the anesthesia a herd of academics will be hovering over it. Philosophers and physicists muttering to themselves as chemists work to restore the sanctity of the page. Language experts that have seen all the bad handwriting of the past slowly work out what I wrote, one bleeding character at a time. My childhood diary their rosetta stone. The press is gathered in the waiting room. Someone I went to high school with thinks I will give them the inside scoop. They are all waiting for the answer.  

10:30 PM EST, TUESDAY

E, From Florida: I just peed on fire

I, From New York: Are you high 

E, From Florida: No

I, From New York: Drunk?

E, From Florida: Not yet

I, From New York: Send me a picture of the fire

E, From Florida: Okay

E, From Florida: picture of E, From Florida, holding a flame thrower 

I, From New York: I stole a stop sign

E, From Florida: Sweeet

Just leave me alone until/ The time comes when I learn the answer

It will be very hard to read and the language experts will reluctantly hand it back to me, watching closely. A chemist leans in close and wipes sweat from my forehead before it has time to drip onto the page. I will not be able to read it either. But it is more about memory than literacy. When did I write this? Where did I write this? The physicists will watch the clock. Even the philosophers will be antsy. My brain does not work fast enough for their liking. Should I remind them I have only just woken up from open-heart surgery? That the doctor split my chest in half and pushed it back together again and when I feel the stitches, I can tell that they were rushed. Clipped a bit too soon, set a bit too wide. My scar will be less zipper and more like what happens when lightning strikes a tree. CRACK. It will always hurt to breathe. I will consider telling them that that is the answer.  

5:00 PM EST, FRIDAY

Dad: Have you watched the Matrix yet?

I, From New York: I’m trying to finish barbarians

Dad: What’s that one about again?

I, From New York: the germanic tribes fighting the roman empire. 

Dad: You should watch the Matrix

I, From New York: tbh I probably won’t get to it

Dad: What does tbh stand for? 

Dad: Nevermind I just looked it up. That’s fine. 

Then I'll write a novel 'bout it 

There will be betting pools. Everyone will be wondering what the loose-leaf says. Maybe it will tell us about death? That is what the philosophers are thinking. The mathematicians and scientists are sure it will be some sort of formula. Many people hope for an engineering breakthrough that will propel the world into a future of flying cars and renewable energy. The doctors talk amongst themselves about vaccines and miracles. The archeologists think it will be a set of GPS coordinates. A news anchor mentions world peace, another world hunger. I will ask for a pen but no paper. I transcribe directly onto my arms. The academics will take turns staring at my arm, making sure I don’t smudge the ink as I go. At first, they will believe I am writing in shorthand. Eventually, they will realize that I am just playing connect the dots with my freckles. 

9:00 AM EST, SATURDAY

I, From New York: Do you think the Pillsbury Doughboy turns into a scone at the gates of Hell? 

E, From Texas: that’s major poetic but why would the Pillsbury Doughboy be in hell?

E, From Texas: wait, no, he def commits tax fraud.

9:05 AM EST, SATURDAY

I, From New York: Do you think the Pillsbury Doughboy turns into a scone at the gates of Hell? 

R, From Maryland: Maybe not a scone. a croissant? baguette? 

You can read the novel and the

I think the note was something passed between me and a friend who is no longer a friend. Probably in grade school while I was reading Judy Blume and doodling on my folders. It’s about a boy or a girl. Answers to a math test. I think the teacher caught us. Then I think I swallowed it. That was the second time in my life that I had ever gotten in trouble. The first being when I called a boy a bitch on the playground. The third was in high school when I got caught stargazing on a roof I wasn’t supposed to be on. The fourth will be when I am in that hospital room. Because I feel like this can only end in disappointment. 

8:27 AM EST, SUNDAY

I, From New York: ur probable real 

I, From New York: probably*

L, From Washington: thanks dude 

Problem will be solved and we can 

I feel like this has to end with disappointment and also my brain. My brain blown out behind me. Because the loose-leaf stuck in the opening of my left ventricle will never mean anything to anyone and the people will riot and guns are just party favors here. 

11:40 AM EST, SUNDAY

E, From Florida: I just got chased by a cow

I, From New York: What’d you do to the cow

E, From Florida: nothing, I just made a little eye contact

I, From New York: shouldn’t have made eye contact

E, From Florida: fuck u I’m stuck in a tree

I, From New York: because of the cow?

E, From Florida: because of the cow

Then go back to living in an

But the people are just part of the problem, I must be most of the problem. 

6:15 PM EST, SUNDAY

I, From New York: I’ve been having trouble writing lately

E, From Texas: You could write about the Doughboy committing tax fraud and turning into a scone. 

I, From New York: He wouldn’t go to hell for fraud. 

E, From Texas: he wouldn’t? 

I, From New York: I think he killed someone  

E, From Texas: write about that then

I, From New York: No, not yet 

I, From New York: Thanks for trying 

Ordinary way and all the 

6:17 PM EST, SUNDAY

I, From New York: I’ve been having trouble writing lately

R, From Maryland: oof 

People all around us can say

6:28 PM EST, SUNDAY

I, From New York: I’ve been having trouble writing lately

Dad: Have you tried banging your head against a wall?

They are really happy

8:04 PM EST, SUNDAY

I, From New York: I’ve been having trouble writing lately

E, From Florida: Write about evil cows

I, From New York: Are you still in that tree?

E, From Florida: Fuck you

I, From New York: ;)

That the novel was successful

1:28 AM EST, MONDAY

I, From New York: I’ve been having trouble writing lately

I, From New York: I don’t really know what to do

And they know just how to cope with today

Samantha Haviland is a junior creative writing major at Interlochen Arts Academy. She has been published in the Red Wheelbarrow and received an honorable mention for Hunger Mountain's International Young Writers Prize. She enjoys writing fiction and nonfiction.