Out of Order

Rahul Jakati

The lowdown: Divya caught Elijah raw
dogging his girl best friend in her Model X.
“Imagine that...six years with a man whore,”
Divya told her best friend, Amanda, lips
all cracked. “Just hurl me into a black hole.”
Amanda held her hand, then grinned. “Hoe phase?”

Intro Neuro: Divya’s learned that phase-
locked neurons help consolidate our raw,
scrambled-up memories into an ordered whole.
The brain, she felt, had conquered the mind, that X
Factor of conscious thought. “Descartes’s just lip
service for virgins—does that make him a whore?”

Dating was hard: turnt men called her a whore,
demanded a virgin. But Divya’s left that phase
behind. She’s bagged a lawyer with gorgeous lips
who inhales bouquets, wolfs Kant, and chews kale raw.
Elijah shot her a kiss. Her jumpy ex,
meanwhile, had shot her dog. She’d dug the hole.

A favor: “Doc, I feel like there’s a hole
in my head,” Amanda said. “I chugged my hoard
of rum last night, clubbed, took a tab of X,
then clubbed some more.” Divya laughed. “Think that can faze
me? There’s no headache I can’t fix. Stay raw.”
Amanda twirled. “Then dance! More hips, less lips.”

Match Day: Neurology at Rush. “Your lips
sink ships,” Elijah teased, holding Divya’s whole
body sky high. Her throat, already raw
from whooping with joy, went numb. “I want to hoard
this memory,” she gasped. “Just for your face.
Without you, I’d look like my chromosomes: ×_×”

Divya’s aubade: “Hate light. Hate ex.
Hate windows that act like life is bright. His lips
were so nice! Why is everything just a phase?
I’m in bed with no one next to me. This hole,
the headache I can’t fix—love.” But then, a horde
of dogs walks past. She gets out of bed, less raw.

Divya’s advice: it’s just a phase. Stay whole.
Don’t call your ex. Embrace the apocalypse.
Amass an ice cream hoard. You’re wrecked? You’re wrong.



Rahul Jakati is a writer from Kernersville, North Carolina. He is a student at Johns Hopkins University.