The Leftovers, Episode “New York Knicks”

Carmelo Anthony awakes, gasping like a shocked newborn, in a splash of wild water, his naked body sprawled across the sterile coldness of a hotel bathroom’s white tile.

He stands. He wonders how he arrived in this unknown cocoon. He yanks a white towel from the rack. He tracks wet footprints into the white room. He looks around for luggage. There isn’t any.

In the closet, he finds a powder blue Nuggets jersey, a Knicks jersey, the swimsuit he once wore on a banana boat,  a Cavaliers jersey, a Rockets jersey and what Avon Barksdale might wear to coach a charity basketball game. He thinks about grabbing the swimsuit because apparently he’s on vacation, but changes his mind because the air conditioning unit is on full blast and it’s freezing. He opts for the Rockets jersey.

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The television clicks on without him doing anything. The screen is full of chaos and static. He tries to change the channel, but the remote doesn’t work. The scene looks like a security video from another hotel room. He smacks the back of it. A bed appears to be burning. He’s pretty sure Chris Paul is fanning the flames with a Clippers jersey. James Harden’s head rises from the bottom of the screen like a great bearded sphere surrounded by wild flames. He is the sun. He yells something about being on the GOAT’s Tongue.

Melo doesn’t know what the GOAT’s Tongue is, but he’s curious. Harden’s head descends. He is no longer on screen. Paul approaches the camera. He taps his fingers on the lens. Melo touches the television screen half-expecting to be transported. He is not transported. He is still in a pristine hotel room. He is still watching a bed on fire and now the sprinkler system is dousing the room and the flames and everything.

“Chris! Is that you?”

“Melo, man, we’re in Houston.”

“I know.”

“We’re on the GOAT’s Tongue!”

“I don’t understand.”

“Come to Houston and you will.”

“Shouldn’t you have evacuated?”

“We’re on the GOAT’s Tongue!”

“You said that already. Are you sure you guys are safe?”

“It’ll be fine. Remember I was in New Orleans the season Katrina happened.”

“Yeah, but like every storm is different.”

“Seriously, come to Houston!”

“It’s all up to Phil.”

“Find Oakley — he’ll tell you what to do.”

“He’s not allowed in the Garden.”

“You’re not in the Garden anymore. You crossed over.”

The television screen turns off and Melo stares at his own reflection in the dark orb of the empty box.

A telephone rings. Melo answers it. “Hello.”

“Hello, is this Mr. Anthony?”

“It is. Who is this?”

“This is Charles Oakley. Come to the front desk. Don’t wear a basketball jersey. This isn’t about basketball.”

Melo removes the Rockets jersey. He dresses like Avon Barksdale for his journey to the lobby.

When he walks into the lobby, he sees Oakley behind the concierge’s desk.

“When did you start working hotels, man?”

“When you drank the poison.”

“I drank poison?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Not really.”

“Well, you did. Also, don’t drink the Gatorade here.”

“Okay.”

“How do I get out of here?”

“You find the unicorn by the well.”

“The unicorn by the well?”

“And then you ride the unicorn into the well.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“It’s supposed to be. You have to drown the unicorn. Then you’ll stop hearing about Porzingis. It’s the only way.”

“How come I’m not hearing or seeing him now?”

“That’s a good question. I’ll fetch a brochure.”

Oakley bends at the waist and searches under the desk. Melo hears a flap of wings above his head. He looks up and sees a bat circling wildly in the hotel lobby. Oakley pulls a rifle from underneath the desk, takes aim at the bat and starts dispensing shell casings onto the floor. The blasts echo in the lobby’s chambers.

Melo grabs his ears and yells, “What are you doing?”

“Bats! They drive me crazy!”

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Melo drops to his knees and crawls behind the desk. Oakley is still firing shots at the bat’s cyclonic flight patterns. Melo picks up the brochure. Oakley has taken to calling the bat Mr. Dolan. He yells the name in a venomous tone. The brochure provides information on flood insurance. Melo flips it over thinking Oakley grabbed the wrong pamphlet. The address on the back is in Houston. He crawls towards the elevators, wondering whether Oakley, who is still firing away, meant a literal or figurative unicorn.