She closes her gentle arms around my neck, pulling me closer. As
I look into her eyes I see the friend that I have always looked for. Whether it
was just for tonight, or for the rest of our lives, I just wanted someone who I
could talk to. She was only supposed to be a friend, that's all it was ever
supposed to be. In fact, that's all that I ever wanted.
Julia and I had been nothing more than acquaintances for a few
years now. We had always gotten along but never had any chemistry to make us
think that there was anything more than a friendship at hand. There never
seemed to be any underlying feelings any of the times that we had hung out at
the coffee shop together. We were just "there". At least until now. Now we were
here.
We glide around in circles, feeling the rhythm of the music
through the dance floor of the bar. As the song creeps to an end, we let go of
each other, smile and take a seat up at the bar.
Through the haze of the smoke, I can see her eyes staring right
through me, as if she is seeing something for the first time. I realize that
this is wrong, but I just can't help it.
"Hey, Julia!"
I turn as I hear her name hollered across the hardwood floor. As
she turns away from me to see who is calling for her, I glance next to me and
see John laughing hysterically.
"And you didn't want to dance with her", he sneered as he tried
to hold back his laughter.
"You're right, I didn't. I still don't think it was a good idea.
I feel really bad about this."
"Jesus H. Christ! Don't worry about it. She told me to tell you
to dance with her, and you said yes. So what in the fuck are you worrying
about? Quit acting like such a pansy and drink up," he barely got the words out
as he slugged down another shot.
Now, John was a character and a half. Even without a belly full
of whiskey and a head full of coke, he was always running at full speed. Of
course this is exactly what drew me to him so many years ago. And this is
exactly what was pushing us apart now. After just too many years of trying to
keep up with him, I realized that not everybody can accelerate on high. He knew
me inside and out, and usually finished my sentences before I even started
them. Which, trust me, gets very annoying. Especially when he has a way of
turning my nice and wholesome thoughts into an adventure that usually leads to
calling for bail money in the morning. That is why John knew exactly what I was
worried about.
If Tatum finds out that I had danced with Julia, I'll lose her.
I know it was just one dance, but she would never understand.
As the drinks and the night slowly draws to a not-so abrupt end,
I knew by the look on Julia's face was what was coming next. Out at her car, I
held the door open for her and felt her lips on mine as she slid by me and into
the driver's seat. How in the hell did she sneak that in? I'm not sure why I'm
surprised, the night was just heading in that direction. So as I headed in the
other direction towards home, I knew without a doubt what I had just done. I
had just killed what I had been searching for all of my life, the love and
trust of someone special.
As I walk into the house, the phone rings and sends a shudder up
my spine. Hesitantly, I pick up the receiver and almost drop it because my
hands are shaking so badly.
"Hello?"
"So, how was she?"
I paused suddenly, realizing that I now had to admit to what I
already knew was a stupid mistake.
"Please Tatum, you don't understand..."
"What," she asks, "in the hell is there to understand? I can't
believe that you would do that!"
"Shit. Just calm down and listen to me for once." Obviously my
alcohol induced bravery outweighed my common sense. I cringed as heard myself
speak.
"No. I'm through listening to you. Everything was going so good
too. How can you just throw it all away for that little slut?"
I try to reply but my throat begins to tighten, just like when
you were called on in class and didn't know the answer. I sit and wait for her
to say something. At this point, it would just be easier to respond than to
think of anything myself. With my thoughts, feelings, and half a bottle of rail
whiskey swirling around inside of me, I couldn't decide if I should talk, cry,
or just vomit. I wait even longer hoping she will at least start to yell again,
but she doesn't.
I finally choke back the tears and the bile so I can talk, "You
just don't understand." Instead of a reply, all I hear is the distinct click of
her phone, telling me that she isn't going to ever reply. I drop my head in to
my hands and listen intensely to the dial tone, wondering if maybe I should
have vomited instead.
"So, the old hag of misery is a little pissed off again, huh? Or
should I say, still?"
I lift my head up to see John standing over me with that
sadistic smile on his face again, or should I say still.
I sit here wishing that instead of looking at him, I was alone.
Like every other time in my life, I just wish I was alone. When I was twelve
years old, I wished that I was alone in my bedroom painting a picture, putting
together a model car, watching television, or just about anything instead of
being down the road with John, throwing rocks at old lady Nelson's cat. Sure,
it was one ugly cat and she had twenty-three more, but that doesn't make it
right
"Just shut the fuck up John. This is all your fault again. Man,
you always do this shit to me. Why in the hell can't you ever just leave well
enough alone? Or even just leave me alone?"
He calmly looks over at me and says in a booming whisper,
"Because I'm too damn important to you, that's why. If it wasn't for me, you'd
be nothing. Or maybe a little more nothing than you already are. You're nothing
but a worthless pile of..." I quickly cut him off by kicking his chair out from
under him. He hits the ground with an aching thud.
"What the hell was that for, Mr. Personality?"
I rise up from my own, still upright chair, and try to ignore
him. Which has never worked before but I'm praying that for some reason it will
this time. I cross the room and make a point of stepping on his hand as I walk
by to get to my room.
Sitting at my desk, I realize that just about everything in my
life that has ever happened in a negative fashion, John had a major role in it.
I hear a small cracking noise coming from the corner shadow next
to my night stand. I can't quite make out what it is, but recognize the sound
of someone popping their finger back into place. Trying to ignore it, but being
fully aware, I calmly remark, "I said that I don't want to talk to you right
now, John."
"And why not?" I can actually hear the smile on his face.
"Could you please just leave me be for a little while? I've got
some thinking to do."
I walk over to the edge of my bed and let my body crash down
onto the mattress. Stuffing my head into the pillow, I try to imagine that I'm
all alone.
I'm ten years old and I'm not taking the bus to school like I
did every other day. I'm not sitting next to the new kid because there was
nowhere else to sit. I'm not introducing myself to a wild-eyed boy named John
even though I was normally too shy to talk to anyone. I'm just here, all alone.
Pretending to be alone doesn't help me block out the words
falling from the mouth of the sociopath in the corner though. I just wish that
he'd fucking leave.
Instead of leaving, he decides to turn on the CD player and
crank it up to 300 decibels. Oh, for Christ's sake, just leave. Please, just
fucking leave. Of course, I only think these words, because there is no point
in saying them. He hasn't listened yet, so why should he start now. I reach
over for the ashtray and hurl it at the stereo. The music stops with a
deafening crash.
"What in the hell did you do that for?" he screams dodging the
sparks thrown out from the now shattered, former piece of electronic equipment.
I try to calm myself down by taking a deep breath, just like the
counselor showed me to do when I was a kid. I just want to be able talk to him
instead of screaming back, because that's obviously not cutting it.
"I just don't want to get into this with you right now, man."
"Oh, yeah," he accuses, "and why the hell not?" He stalks around
me, attempting to throw more fuel on the fire.
"First of all, I don't like you. Actually, I'm really beginning
to despise you. Second of all, you're always getting me into this kind of shit!
Every fucking day! You say that you won't, then don't even pretend to try to
keep from screwing things up for me. But most of all, you made me lose Tatum."
"Ha ha ha ha..." his laughter trails off. "Would you just shut
up about that already? What's the big deal anyway? I mean, at least you had a
good time tonight. You sure as hell haven't had many of those as of late."
I can't believe he's actually saying this.
I'm fifteen years old and running away from home with him all
over again. I never had anything to run away from, except the horrific shit
storms created when we spent time together.
He knows how I feel about Tatum, hell, he was the one that told
me to ask her out in the first place.
"And besides, that bitch stood you up anyway. You should have
fucking killed her, not just upset her. I mean, you know she was out with old
What's His Name. So why are you getting all pissy? I did you a favor, man! You
should be grateful. You should be down on your knees thanking God that you met
me."
"How can you say that? You know damn well that she said it was
over between them. You know she would never cheat on me."
"Oh, that's right. Just like you said you would never cheat on
her, right?"
I just want one clear shot at his head. God, what I wouldn't do
if I could just kill this son of a bitch and never have to worry about him
screwing up life again.
Ever since we were eighteen, and he talked me into going with
him to "pick up a friend", I wanted him to be out of my life. Who was to know
that his friend was a bag of crank that would send me up to E-Block for two
years.
I just can't fucking deal with his shit anymore. He's just
sitting there so calm, and he knows that I'm thinking about him. He always
does. He always knows just what I'm thinking. He's either psychic or psychotic,
but I don't think it much matters either way.
"Come on, let's just go grab a drink."
"Are you a damn idiot, John? If we wouldn't have went out for a
drink tonight, none of this would even be happening right now. Hell, I never
even would have started drinking in the first place if it wasn't for you." My
head falls into my hands and feels like it is going to split in two. My hands
start shaking from the migraine creeping up from the back of my head and
burrowing its way into my skull.
"So, the headache returns. You know, you've got to loosen up.
One of these days that headache is gonna' make you just snap. I swear you're
gonna' crack one of these days."
. . .
I remember sitting with my parents when I was a kid, just
cherishing the time until we actually had to be apart from one another. Back
then, being away from my family was something that I could never have imagined.
And since I was an only child, all I ever wanted was to spend every waking
moment in the smiles and happiness of my mother and father. I could never have
guessed that by the time I was a teenager, they would ask me to leave and not
return. Who would have thought that something as simple as sitting next to a
person on a bus, could completely ruin your life forever. I just wish that I
could go back and tell my parents that what happened to me wasn't my fault, and
it wasn't theirs either. I long for the respect that they once had for me.
Instead, they think of me as a virus in their bloodline. They wish that I would
change my name so that they wouldn't have to respond to all of the questions
about if they're related to "that guy in the police report". I'm sure at times
they wished that I had never been born. My aunt even told me that they had
removed all of the pictures of me from their walls and photo albums. All
because one day I sat down on a bus and said, "Hi, are you new here?"
. . .
"So, the headache returns. You know, you've got to loosen up.
One of these days that headache is gonna' make you just snap. I swear you're
gonna' crack one of these days."
"No, John. Not one of these days, right now."
I jump up from the bed and grab him by the throat. He struggles
to get away but I'm holding onto him with every ounce of strength that I have.
He seems to be mocking my every move. He stops resisting, and just smiles as I
hold him by the throat and try to squeeze the life out of him.
If he's going to ruin my life, it's going to be from me killing
him, and finally taking back what's mine. My life.
I choke him harder and harder, his eyes glimmering with
something somewhere between happiness and hatred. His only reaction is that
sadistic smile.
He looks me straight in the eye, mocking my every movement, and
continues to smile. "Yup, you've definitely fucking lost it."
How does he stay so calm through all of this? He knows full well
that I am going to kill him, and that nothing can stop me. That's probably why
he isn't fighting back, other than just holding on to my neck, reaching out for
some reality. He knows that his life is over. And he just stands there, smiling
at me. But it's over. It's over right now.
I pull my fist back, "I'm sorry John." I thrust my fist into his
face as hard as I possibly can. I know that I have never hit anyone or anything
that hard in my life. I feel the bones in my hand crack as it connects with the
rigid bone in the bridge of his nose. The force of the blow seems to send
vibrations through my arm and straight into my head.
All of the life drains from John's face as his limp body slides
down to the floor in a pile. I realize that it's finally over. It's all over.
There is no turning back now.
I remember as a kid, sitting on the beach next to my father. The
soft sand between my toes, and an oversized bath towel under us. The waves
rolling in, the gulls squawking overhead, and the warm sun turning my pale skin
a rosy pink. My father looking down at me as if he was looking into the future,
seeing all that I could accomplish. His smile warmed me more than the sun ever
could have. The comfort and overall joy of that day was never matched again. At
least until now.
I lower myself down to the floor and frantically search for my
cigarettes in my pants pocket. I finally dig them out and light one as I crack
open the seal on a fresh whiskey bottle. I let my head roll back and I watch
the smoke roll out of my mouth and into the light thrown down from the new moon
outside. I begin to drift off, fully relaxed by the complications of this new
predicament that I now find myself in. Staring out of the bedroom window, all I
can say is, "It's all over. It's finally over. Now I'm alone. I'm finally
alone."
He looks down at the fallen body of his
enemy, but
notices that it is no longer
there. The only thing that he sees is the
shattered mirror on the floor, and the
shreds of broken glass lodged
deep into
his bleeding knuckles. He smiles
sadistically as the lit
cigarette falls from
his mouth.