It started with a fracture. Hairline, just through a couple of teeth. I went in for cleaning but it felt more like a failed intervention.
“Are you stressed?” She asked with sterile empathy. Stress in this context was just a symptom.
“No, I dont think so?” I didnt think I was. Just a slightly anxious person. But who doesnt have a bit of anxiety? Any adult taking care of themselves has a fair amount of stress. Always something to pay off or an appointment to be on time for.
“Your teeth. They're wearing down too fast for someone your age.” Those words still come across my mind. Like a bad motto everytime im indulging in a bad habit. If I was pulling out my hair, picking at my gums, biting my cheeks. “you’re wearing down too fast for your age.” It always made me feel guilty. A reminder that I am tearing myself down. Like looking at the calories before taking a bite of a burger you were really looking forward to. Now you feel guilty for trying to make yourself feel better.
The seemingly innocent humor of, “your age,” stopped being as funny the worse it got. Hairline fractures turned into chipped teeth. Then I started picking at my skin, Itches that just couldnt be scratched. Deep inside, like something had found its way in my muscle, just to corrupt it. Every bit I removed just pushed it just a little farther down. Nails started to feel strange, something behind my eyeballs, every part of me needed to be adjusted. And only my fingers could do it.
It wasn’t too long after that I left. People knew what I was going to do. I didn't lie, didnt say I was going on a trip. I told everyone the truth. That I wasnt feeling myself anymore. No, the chipped teeth and missing fingernails aren't an aesthetic choice, they're actually a symptom of something me and a therapist can’t quite figure out. “You’re wearing yourself down too fast!” I took a leave of absence. People were concerned, but concern only lasts so long when you have work the next day, and groceries to get, oh the phone bill is due. I’m sure it was genuine as they could muster, But the phone stopped ringing after a year. I didn't answer much anyways. Then the text. They started feeling robotic. Like mental health probes to see if they needed to call someone to check on me. “Yes officer I’m alive. No, I'm not wearing down too fast.” Either way, I needed to clear my head. Find the scratch to my itch, and something told me it wasnt gonna reveal itself in the town I grew up in.
My teeth caressed each other like lovers in an abusive relationship. Clenching from of a persistent anxiety that set the tone to each of my days. I let my jaw relax, turning my focus on the stitching of my steering wheel. Tactile sensations of the threads lead my mind into a better place. The extra thousand dollars for the sports model leather was paying off, even after all my indecisiveness. I might've started biting my cheek if I hadn't started up on counting the stitching. Checking my mouth again with my tongue, I took inventory of the damage. No extra chips, tongue hurts from biting but nothing serious, but lip sores from chewing them.
My cheek was the real concern. A fly landed on my cheek at the last gas station. Drove for about eight hours until I realized I had been scratching the same spot the whole time. With enough force from my tongue im sure I could poke a small hole. Licking the inside of my cheek. Tasting the small patch of tattered flesh that laid on the other side. Intrusive thoughts overtook me. One, two, three, four. Counting the little bumps on my steering wheel. It was inevitable. My tongue punched through cheek with a pop, tasting the AC while loose warm flakes of my skin slid around my tongue. If you’ve ever gotten a piercing, you know the feeling of satisfaction. Satisfaction that lead to regret.
The hang over of picking your self apart. I reached for the bottle in my passanger seat. Drops left, just enough to tease relief. Not enough to protect me from the glimpse of myself I caught in the rear view mirror. The hole in my face, tired eyes, dried blood from past harm around my mouth. Tears blurred the horrible image of what I’ve become, giving me a chance to pull over.
I cried, wept. Face in my hands like a child hiding from monsters under a blanket as darkness seemed to embraced me. Pulled me into unnatural directions by my thoughts. Guilt, sadness, anger, helpless, alone. Again their faces appeared to me. Disdain thinly veiled in love. That was why the pathetic wales of a grown man filled an empty road. I prayed to be delievered from my weakness. Prayed to anything that would listen
“Stand. Find me”
A voice rung out in the air, coming from the sky and all around me. Authoritative yet compassionate. I had almost mistaken it for my father. Not in familiarity but in tone. “Hello? Who’s there?” Silence sat beside me on the road. Nothing around me that could have spoken in such a way. The radio’s volume nob was at zero and the radio was off. The nature was on the road was quiet. Embarassment found its way into the empty space aside me. Was this it? Had degrigation reached to the most inner parts of my psyche? I continued to cry.
“RISE! Under the sun and the moon. Find me”
A cold air forced its way to the bottom of my lungs. Tingles spread from my heart to the tips of my fingers, leaving a sensation like my body had turned into a brilliant gold forged to be unbreakable. My head, knots made of thought and insecurity broke apart and let loose rivers of positivity towards an ocean of creativity. All at once everything had become beautiful. All at once I had become beautiful. I wiped the tears off my face and placed a bandage over my cheek. The pain had vanished, I almost thought the wound had dissapeared completely. Everything I was doing felt right, as if my purpose, my destiny, was clear. Putting the car into drive, I let an unfounded inspiration take me back onto the road.
The next three days felt were a blur. A blur of a blur, remembered through a dream. Moments and glimpses of driving past towns, stopping at gas stations to fill up the car’s tank, occasional conversations with with chatty truckers. I dont remember what we talked about, probably driving. Thats all I was doing. Driving, day and night. Towards where? I didnt know. The first two days nothing else was in my mind besides being on the road. Getting somewhere that I felt was just around the corner. On the third day, doubt. Maybe not doubt. You can only drive to no where for so long before you ask yourself, where am I going? Where the sunset touches the lips? That wasn’t real. The stress was making me hear things I wanted. Another goal to chase down. Another answer to all my problems. My problem was that I didnt need an answer. Becuase there was no question.
The car sputtered. As the spiritual high ran out, my eyebrow hair started to itch. Not my eyebrow but the hair. Pulling it out relieved the itch, but then another would start making trouble. Half my eyebrow was gone when the cars engine gave up. There I was. Back to square one, minus half an eyebrow. A horrible smell was filling the car. Like a used bathroom. Piss and shit. Oh. It was me. For some reason I had lost my bowls. Three days worth was making its way into my seat. Ill spare you the details. Worst part was, I was thirsty and hungry. My body felt weak as I changed into new pants. The night was cold, but the dark road provided me a fair bit of privacy. Only a sign that read, Cherry street 3 mile.
You couldnt call this a town. At least I wouldnt call it a town. So the name Cherry Steet made sense. Just about one street. One maine street, and a few side streets with houses. Like someone grabbed a down town from another real town, then placed it at the foot of a large hill. The hill. It loomed over the whole street. Even at night its silhouette was a daunting figure. It made me nervous for some reason. But the mystery of hills isnt anything new.
I was fucking tired by the time I made it to the town. Three miles feels like eternity after sitting in your car for three days. But the town was quiet. No one to ask for a glass of water, or a restauraunt to take a breathe and order some food. Although, maybe it was a good thing. The bandage on my face, my old dirty clothes. They would’ve turned me right around. “Dont let the door hit you on the way out.” The town was too nice for someone stumbling in running from themselves, chasing voices on a whim. My watch read 4am. The bars would be closed by now already too.
My legs took me a bit further through the town. Every closed shop pushed me more towards turning around and staying in my car. An invitation to leave. Streets that held houses were still, illuminated by the light orange of fluorescent street lamps. Some toys and bikes scattered about. Cars parked nicely in their driveways. The thought of a cop pulling up to me ran across my mind. “Oh no officer, just on a nightly stroll. No sir, it's my blood. No sir, I don't live here. I walked. Under arrest? For what!” But everyone was asleep. I still felt like a vagrant. An innocent man posing as a creep, skulking around the homes of innocent American families. I sent a shiver down my own spine. Why wasn't I the one in the house, bread winnings for my loving wife and kids. The thought died out when the neon light farther down the road caught my eye. It read “BEER.”
As I approached the sounds of a party grew louder. People cheering, laughing, blurbs of outrageous stories, “Dude, I swear it happened.” For a small town like this, it sounded like they fit an L.A. night club between two ma and pa shops. Loud bars really weren't my things. I had learned better while being on the road that a loud bar usually means shady individuals and trouble. Not the lonesome road types that seemed like appropriate company on my adventure. But what choice did I have? Hungry and tired, I’de eat with the dogs if they let me into the pack.
The door opened like the pearly gates. Ready to explain my circumstances and appearance, not even a pity glance was tossed to me like a beggar with his hat out. Understandably, the bar was full of all types. Men, women, young and the old, shades of melanin, suits, leather jackets, a priest with a punk, and a homeless man talking to two beautiful women. I was just another carrot in the stew. Despite uncommon bonds, what struck me as the most odd was that no one was drinking. Every hand in the bar was empty. Used more to grab onto each other during fits of laughter than lift up a glass. This would not be the case for me though. I made my way directly to the bar. “Water please… and a beer, some whiskey too. Are you still serving food?” The bartender didn't hesitate. He popped open two beers with the whiskey. “You look thirsty so the second beer is on the house, food will be out in a minute.” He had the tone of a butler. No, more charming. Ready to serve but if he asked for a favor, I’de have a hard time saying no.
The food was amazing. Served on a huge plate, hot to the touch. A plate of different meats, cheeses, and mash potatoes. Somewhere between charcuterie and pub food. Anything they put in front of me would have been eaten, but to have a meal like this was more than I deserved. The temptation to peek in the kitchen and see whos grandma had cooked such a wonderful meal. The fat of the steak greased my teeth while the lean parts nourished a dying body. warm Potatoes, cheese, and a sweet gravy washed down with cold beer. The screaming pain in my cheek dimmed to a pathetic wimper against the beauty of a hot meal. I almost started to cry a bit wondering why I subjected myself to beef jerkey so many days when something like this existed in our world. A bit of guilt dropped in my stomach with the food. Why had I eaten just beef jerkey and gas station food for so long. Driving through all these states, there must have been more than a few restuarants like this. Recipes old and comforting. Giving a sense of community or heritage instead of just something to fill the stomach. Multiple bags of beef jerkey paired with gas station fountain soda. I know why, because I couldnt stop running. Stopping gave me too much time to think. Then I’de start digging at my skin. Scratching. Bad memories crawled their way from the back of my mind to the front of my eyes. Their fingers sunk deep. My fingers started to itch. Not the tips like some sort of bug bite, or An allergic reaction from the food. No, something deeper. Right at the bone, it itched like a grain of sharp sand had found its way deen inside there. But only through the nail. Ide have to clean it, remove it, scratch away the tainted flesh. The mind can really do a lot. Changing pain to pleasure. Someone sat right next to me. Interrupting the meticulous process of removing my finger nails.
“Mind if I sit here,” The man asked shyly
“No sure, go ahead.” I said, placing my reddened finger underneath a napkin. “You live here? Whats the special occasion?”
He looked at me with a queer expression. As if he didnt expect me to talk. Or as if the reason was so obvious to even ask why would hint at a mental disorder. I began to feel a bit embarrassed before he gave an honest answer.
“No, no, it's always like this. Every night, a lively bunch huh,” His attention turned towards the bartender. “An old fashion please.”
We ended up drinking for a while. Sharing stories of our lives since both of us seemed to be ambivalent of current events. His name was Joshua. Lived here for ten years. Thirty six years older than me. Our stories werent too dissimilar. After the loss of a loved one he set out on the road. Going from town to town just looking for somewhere that felt right. I didnt lose a family member and Im not staying here, but two travlers on the road seemed similar enough to me. The bartender chimed in as they do sometimes. “Yep thats why I love living here. Always new faces coming in. Been here for, hmm how long has it been now?” Joshua finished his story for him. “Two years now keppeli. And in all that time you still havent learned to make a proper old fashion.” Joshua said with a harsh indignation. Keppeli didnt seem to mind. “Wow, sometimes it feels just like yeaterday.” Taking the hint, Keppeli went back to cleaning dishes since no one was ordering drinks besides us.
As the night went on the crowd stayed just as lively. An endless stream of banter with no topic too old not or joke not funny. Its as if someone was keeping their drinks at just the right amount, not enough to sober up but not too much to end up in the bushes. But still no one had a drink. Not even a glass of water. Maybe they were high? The small town vibe had tricked me into thinking these were a puritanicle bunch. It all made more sense now. Rather than giggling in the streets like teenagers with no where to go, everyone gets high and hangs out in the bar. Where the behavior wouldnt be questioned.
Joshua and I kept our conversation going as well. Although ours was fueled by the oldest of social lubricants, alcohol. His thirst matched my own, our table was soon filled with bottles and empty shot glasses. The only time we stopped talking was when one of us needed to go take a piss. The last time I drank so much was on my 21st birthday. It was a good time in life, a summer before most of my good friends started taking off to pursue families and careers. And the ones who didnt have plans still had a hopeful gleam of the future in their eyes. So did I. And it showed in the way we drank. Like a celebration to all our accomplishments and a cheers to the victories we hadn’t even won yet. Before I knew it, I was inviting Joshua to my next birthday.
“Hey Keppeli, can I get some water.” One of the other townspeople came up to the bar on Joshua’s side. She looked about 30. Fairly pretty. In another life I would’ve made a move, Thought about it at least. But with so many drinks in my head I thought I'd throw a joke around with my new friend. “Hey joshie, she looks nice. Think you still got it in you.” Joshie didn't look happy. And I don't think he heard my teasing at all. He looked like he was in hell. Tears welled up in his eyes. Nose scrunched up in frustration. His muscles looked tense like he was getting ready for something. “Cant you just learned to mind your own fucking space.” The lady must have barely brushed against him. My mind searched for a reason why the tone changed so much. Alcohol can bring up some sad memories, but this seemed different. Joshua's face wasn't reminiscing, he looked insulted. Like someone went out of their way just to take piss on his shoes. Maybe he knew this girl before, yeah that must be it, a bad break up. Now I felt guilty for teasing him. This must be the only bar in town, fights over ex’s must happen regularly, how naive of me to make jokes about something like that. I let my presence become just another ornament on the bar while Joshua continued in his rage. “Just to give me my space!” He yelled into the woman's face like it was a microphone. She didn't even flinch. She didn't even stop smiling. I'd be lying if I didn't start wondering where I could get this drug they were on. “Hey, nice to meet you! How are you doing today!” She wasn’t just high, she was oblivious. Her tone felt more like an HR lady in front of her boss than meeting an ex lover at the bar. Something about this was all wrong. More wrong than I could've imagined.
“This is the last time i’ll let you fuck with me!” Joshua was screaming at this woman, yet she barely reacted. No one in the bar looked over at all. The people around us were still wrapped up in their conversations as Joshuas yelling overcame the banter that was around us. It became impossible to ignore him as he started tossing bottles and glasses all around us. Ranting words that slowly turned into a paranoid delerium. Word to the wise, you never really know who youre drinking with at the bar, and the especially weird ones know how to recognize the lonely. I know cause I’ve been there. “Im sick of it here. If you wont let me leave, I’ll make it hell for us all!” I thought to try and calm him down, remind him to not let the drink get the best of him, but it didnt seem like my place to. Then things took a bad turn. Joashua shot the women in the face. Thats when the bar stopped. I fell off my chair from the sudden *pop* from the gun. I crawled back, fearing that if I made too much noise Joshua would turn the gun on me. Every eye at the bar was on Joshua. Their faces a mixture of appalled and disappointed. And the lady, on the floor, a small red hole under her bloodshot eye. I scratched my face where the bullet had entered hers. Her expression stayed the same as her chest made a soft up and down motion. She was still alive.
The moment passed and still no one else at the bar said a thing. Joshua waved his gun around at the other patrons like a maniac, continuing his rant.“YOU’LL WISH YOU NEVER BROUGHT ME HERE.” Still directed at this lady on the ground, her eye slowly started to fall out onto her cheek, like ice cream melting onto a childs hand. But the bar did nothing. Nothing but stare. Joshua started slowly losing steam as the bar had no reaction to him. Finally, she spoke through a face doused in blood. As clear and polite as if she were speaking to a customer. “Whats wrong Joshua? Feeling off today?”
Theres only a few times in your life when you experience the sounds of your reality breaking. After the first it tends to be more rare. The world shapes you from the day your born, providing you with love and hardship until you end up an old mad whos seen it all, ready to give out advice to any poor young soul that lends you an ear. For me, for many, it involves our parents. Our first gods, the decider of wider knowledge beyond that of home and school. With that comes an idea on strength. Infallibility. At least for me it did. But then theres that one day. Whether it was the economy or work, something in the extended family. And finally when youve become old enough to notice more than just what youre eating or whats on TV. You see it in your parents. Something off. Something sad. And then tears. I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach. The ocean tides of thought introducing a new current of vulnerability. Suddenly the protection youve known for your whole life, the reality that your parents arent all knowing and invincible, is starting showing cracks. And on the other side, a world your child self in wholly incapable of handling on your own. At least for me. An honerably mention for those who didnt have the luxury of a safe reality that could be broke. Maybe growing up like that would have saved me in the coming days.
As the women spoke through a veil of death, I struggled to accept she was still alive. Alive and not lashing out at her assailant in anger.
Joshuas face was blank. Like an open casket, life, will, desire, had all vanished from his face. An empty hole only to be replaced by lead as Joshua turned the gun on himself. “Dont stare here too long, unless you really have to.” The gun went off with a pop all to quiet for the gravity of the situation. Blood splattered onto the other patrons amd the mural behind them. Joshua crumpled. I had never seen someone die before. Like someone cutting the strings off a marionette. No longer puppeted by what makes us human. His body fell next to the woman’s. The banter of the bar had picked up again before Joshua’s body could even settle on the ground. Conversations about life hit the ears of friends while Joshua’s blood pooled at their feet. This place reaked of insanity. The people around looked like demons, partying to eternity in a layer of hell I had stumbled into. I looked around for anyone reacting with the slightest bit of fear that a man had just killed himself and another. Nothing. Joshuas blood hung to walls meaningless as the mural painted on it. A depiction of the town on a sunny day. Blood revealing the true nature of its inhabitants. A crescent splattered next to the sun over the town. “Under the sun and moon,” ran through my head with the grace of an annueyirsm. No no. It couldnt be here. Not here. Anywhere but here. The chatter of the bar was getting louder. I could barely hear myself thinking anymore. The drinks! It must be all the drinks I had. Ive blacked out, the alchohol and travel is making me see things, and hear things! Joshuas blood glowed hot red on the wall. Brighter and brighter until it filled the room. Chatter turning into screams. The blood from joshuas head kept pouring out. Flooding the room, submerging bodies and knees in endless red. I felt a warmth leave my mouth as I fell backwards into the pool.