Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Moving On


Raindrops clouded the vision through his glasses before stepping into the doorway and up the spiral staircase that led to his apartment.  The open window beside his kitchen countertop welcomed a soothing breeze, and the scent of rain was comforting. He placed his phone and car keys on the table and ventured his way over to the refrigerator. Looking over the contents on the side panel of the door, then next to the top shelf, he decided that nothing really caught his eye. With an indecisive look on his face, he pulled open the hydrator and pulled out a pack of deli meat and a slice of cheese.

His phone gyrated where it rested before he could open the bread box. He let out a deep rooted, “shit!” and grabbed the cell phone from the table. It was a call from a publishing company that he never really expected to hear back from.  He put the phone to his ear and the voice on the other end relayed that they were more than interested in publishing a collection of his works. Once thanking them and promising to stay in touch, he received a text message from Phil that he was sending over a woman to score some heroin from him.

The news of his impending publication meant that he could leave this lifestyle behind him at last. Coupled with the knowledge that this would be one of his final sales, he was oozing at the prospect of living a legit life. A knock was heard at the door before he could dial his father’s number. He yelled that he’d be down in a minute and slapped together a quick sandwich and hasted his way down the staircase.

He opened the door while chewing his food and offered to let the blonde addict into his home. She would never forget the first look. She felt a comfort level that was previously unmatched throughout her life, his hazel eyes deeper than any black hole. They spoke valiant speeches of courage and promises kept. She followed him to the lavish apartment decided against remarking about the crumbs that rested within his bristly beard.

It was obvious to her that his hair was dyed jet black to mask the incoming grey hairs, his face run ragged from the stress of life itself. Despite that, she found solace in the mark that living left upon him. He stood proud and chipper, but she knew that he was beaten and battered mentally. After taking the last bite of his mid-day snack, he spoke to her.

“So what do you need, miss?”

The bags under her eyes meshed into the upper part of her cheekbones. It was evident that she was riding the white horse more often than not. She was in need of the drug and it showed by the way she trembled in the face of a 90 degree day. Her hair was ravaged, almost resembling a rat’s nest. The look in her eyes screamed hopelessness. She had given up in every aspect of her life.

“I only have thirty dollars, so whatever that’ll get me. I’m not sure how you do things, everybody is different.”

“Yes, you said a mouthful. Everybody is different. Often times for reasons we’ll never understand, or even try to.” He opened the closet door and reached for a shoebox on a shelf up above. She laughed to herself and looked to the floor, twisting her body in a clockwise motion as she awaited her fix.

“What’s so funny?”

“You keep your work in a shoe box? What is this, the 80’s?”

“Ha. Whatever works, right? Here, have a seat.”

He patted the brown leather sofa cushion that grazed his right leg so she could sit beside him. He pulled out two bags that held a black tar substance within from the box resting on his knee. As she sat down next to him, he pulled both bags out and handed one to her.

“This is for you. Keep your money. I got some good news today, this is the last bag you’ll get from me. I hope you enjoy it. Tell your boy Phil that Darren is out of the game.”

“Your name is Darren, huh? Mine is Sophie. It’s nice to meet you, regardless of the circumstances.” She extended her hand for a shake but he rose up from the sofa, dismissing her advance. He told her to wait there as he went to the fridge and grabbed the jug of Tropicana orange juice. Darren lifted the container to his lips and tipped it back and down his throat.

The urge hit him to finally try some of the stuff he was pushing. The old adage of ‘don’t get high on your own supply’ no longer applied to him. He wanted to be rid of it all and move on to the next chapter of his life. Darren pulled the drawer out on the far end of the kitchen sink and pulled out a spoon. He shouted from the kitchen, “hey, come here for a second!”

She stepped into the kitchen a few seconds after he called for her.

“What’s your name again?”

“Sophie, my name is Sophie.”

“Right, right, Sophie. Come here, Sophie. Do you know how to shoot up?”

The look on her face was one of elation. He didn’t have to say no more. She snatched the spoon from his possession and turned on the hot water. Letting it run for a moment, she placed her fingers below the stream and smiled at him. The proper temperature had been reached and she turned the pressure down a bit before letting a splash of hot water rest inside the spoon.

“Go out in the living room and sit down. Grab me a shoelace, or something like it, tie it around your arm like you’re about to get blood taken and I’ll take care of the rest.”

He followed her instructions and waited for her in the other room. Sophie entered the area and held the spoon up at shoulder length, her left hand resting below to prevent the water from dripping on the carpet. As she approached him, Darren had a smile on his face and a shoelace wrapped around his right arm.

“I’ve always wanted to give this a try. What should I expect?”

With an ice cold stare, she told him to anticipate coming back for more. She asked him if he was ready for his first taste and he nodded his head yes. His smile turned to a face riddled with uncertainty as she found the vein to release the substance into. As it entered, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slouched back on the furniture, slipping off of it until his back leaned against the front end of the couch.

She stood over him and whispered, “It had to be you.” She kicked his body around a couple of times but was unsure if he was dead or just in a comatose state from the lethal dose. She dug through her satchel and pulled out a bottle of prescription medication. The medication was xanex and the name on the bottle read Billy Reinhart.

Sophie removed the shoelace from his arm and lay down beside him. She clutched his hand with her left and dumped a dozen or so pills into her mouth. She felt that this was right, and deep down she knew it. She knew that they would awake in that place once more.

It was just a matter of time.

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