The barren trees swayed softly as he walked down the rocky pathway toward his 1984 Chevrolet Impala. It wasn’t a cold day, but he knew it was coming. He hadn’t been proactive enough to shower before work, let alone check the weather, but he knew that the weather was going to change as it always did. There was a sort of calm before the storm, and he knew later the sky would gush forth copious amounts of snow, burying his poor rust bucket beneath. Jeremiah sighed as he wrenched open the corroded door of his automobile, and willed it to life. After a few tries, and several profane shouts, the engine sputtered, and Jeremiah was on his way.
As he drove away from his small ranch-style home, he realized he had forgotten his hat. He slammed his car to a stop angrily, and kicked open the driver door. He looked down as his Chuck Taylor’s hit the concrete beneath, and sighed again as he forced himself out of the car. Slowly, he sleepily stumbled his way to the front door and proceeded inside. He looked down the entryway, and after returning his mother’s disapproving glance; he jaunted up the wooden staircase. Jeremiah navigated his way through his room, the only room at the top of the stairs, and found the Slappycakes Coffee House hat. He shoved the green ball cap into his pocket and stomped down the stairs.
“You had better not be late for work again Jerry!” his mother shouted after him.
Jeremiah grunted and slammed the door behind him. As he made his way toward the car, he looked back at the house. It was perfect, one-story, with a green roof and matching shutters. There was a tree, complete with a tire swing he hadn’t touched in ten years, and a bountiful garden decorated the house’s edge. He spat on the ground as he walked away from it, and got into his car.
As he was pulling out of his driveway, it started. Completely unprovoked, the sky began to gush and the wind pick up. Little bits of snow began to fall atop his car, and Jeremiah knew it was going to be a terrible day. With no windshield wipers, he had to drive fast, so as to get to work before the snow blinded him. It began to come down faster and faster, as if someone was trying to trap him and force him to not go to work. He began to think just that and even slowed down to turn around. Just as he was about to come to a stop he saw headlights behind him. Sighing, he punched the gas and trekked onward through the barren countryside.
He lived several miles outside of his small town, a town based mainly on oil export. His father, whom he despised, was a blue-collar oilrig worker. His mother, a kinder soul, whom he also despised, was a schoolteacher. His father never graduated from high school, and his mother, always ridiculed Jeremiah because he didn’t either. Being a parent, his father joined in the nagging, even as a high school dropout himself. It was this type of hypocrisy that drove Jeremiah mad.
He was always at odds with one of them, if not both, and his nights typically ended in an argument and a slammed door. His tiny, cramped, attic space was his sanctuary. Within he would escape, usually by smoking marijuana and playing his favorite games. Jeremiah was one of those kids that lobbyists are always prattling on about when trying to ban violent video games. He is the one who one day could go postal, and know just how to do it because of one of his favorite Xbox titles.
As he finally pulled into the outskirts of town, he stopped at the local Petro-Mart to pick up a can of Cocaine. The energy drink he so craved was his playful way of pretending. It was like a kid, “smoking” his favorite brand of candy cigarette. He, of course, had never tried the drug, and it still scared him sometimes to think of doing anything that drastic, but it only scared him sometimes.
The gas station clerk gave him an odd look as he slammed the can onto the counter.
“What?” Jeremiah asked, shrugging.
“Well, boy,” the old clerk said, adopting a more rash tone. “It seems to me, by the look of ya, that you might have this drink’s namesake in your system already. I’m just curious why bother with the drink?”
Jeremiah gave the man a blank stare, and handed him a five-dollar bill. Brushing back his long, chest-length brown hair, he pushed up his glasses, and didn’t say a word. He just kept staring.
“Well,” the clerk said. “Here’s your change, you uh… just get out of my store.”
Jeremiah smiled and kept staring as he put the change into his pocket. The clerk recoiled a bit when Jeremiah brought his hand out slowly, and simply waved. The clerk breathed a sigh of relief as Jeremiah tromped out the door. He turned his collar up against the cold, and ran to his car.
His car, miraculously, started instantly. He pulled out of the lot, and across the street to the only building around for at least two miles, Slappycakes Coffee House. He looked at his watch as he passed by the giant smiling doughnut, Mr. Slappy, and entered his own personal hell.
He knew he was late, he knew he looked unkempt and he also knew that his manager was out of town until Monday. He cursed him under his breath for taking an early weekend. His co-worker, Nick peered up at him from behind the counter.
“Dude, you’re like a few hours late. Where the hell have you been?” he barked.
Jeremiah ignored him and continued on his path toward the bathroom. He took the bag off of his back, and pulled out a maroon colored, collared shirt. He stripped off his basketball shorts, and donned a pair of wrinkled khakis, and smashed the Slappycakes hat atop his head. He looked in the mirror as he tied his hair underneath his hat. He saw what everyone else saw, and what he saw day after day. He saw ragged, unkempt hair, a lazily shaven face and ten-year-old, thin framed, simple glasses on a long nose. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, and they were menacing. They were menacing in a sort of way that you would be terrified of the unspeakable horrors this man might do, but Jeremiah was not an intimidating figure at all. He stood an unimpressive five-foot, ten-inches tall and he was pushing a healthy one hundred and fifty-five pounds. He wasn’t quite gangly, but he was very long. His arms hung well below his waist, and his legs were thin and comprised much of his height. He sighed and exited the tiny bathroom.
He took his place behind the counter, ready to sloppily make any order barked at him by his co-worker, Nick. A squat, elderly woman entered the shop and began to make small talk with Nick. As Jeremiah wiped down the green counters around the latte machine, he overheard her say something about him.
“He makes a lot of the customers here uneasy,” she said in somber tone.
Jeremiah rolled his eyes and moved to the back of the restaurant. “She can make her own damn coffee,” he thought to himself. He picked up a mop, only because he was within view of a camera, a camera that his boss frequently reviewed. His boss knew how lazy Jeremiah was, but how badly he needed the job. If he weren’t given a situation in which to slack off, he would work moderately hard.
He let Nick handle the customers for the most part, unless it got overly crowded, then he was forced to interact. That’s how most of his life was, forced interaction. He never talked too much, and kept to himself, mostly because people didn’t want to engage him. He had become accustomed to not being approached, so when he seldom was, he didn’t know how to react, and just kept quiet. The store kept quiet for much of the early morning, and the snow had stopped falling; bringing more customers out of their homes, just in time for Jeremiah’s lunch break.
He wasn’t obligated to stay once noon hit, he was allowed to take his half-hour lunch, no questions asked. The snow had delayed the morning rush, so Nick was absolutely swamped, and if he were kind, Jeremiah would have stayed. He wasn’t unkind, but he didn’t care and he was out the back door before Nick could even ask him to stay a few minutes.
The second he stepped outside, the cold air began to bite at him. It was a dry cold, one where the wind began to rip his face to shreds. He made his way across the back parking lot toward McDonalds. He passed by the dumpster and heard a soft moan. He peered around the enclosure, and spotted a man, with scraggly, long, grey hair. He was bald on top and his matted hair hung around his gaunt face. He slouched back as he withdrew a needle from his sockless foot. His face was riddled with satisfaction. Jeremiah was rather intrigued, and wondered how the man could look so happy, so warm in such terrible conditions. He pondered the man’s secret and continued on.
To get to McDonalds, he had to pass by a steel mill that had been abandoned long ago. He passed by the grimy windows, and rusted doors. To his surprise, he saw an old man, leaning on the doorframe, as if waiting for passersby.
“Hey guy,” said the man. “You lookin for a good roll?” Jeremiah looked at him puzzled for a moment, until the old man opened his long jacket, and took a small white bag out of his inner pocket. He looked around sheepishly, and shook the bag at Jeremiah. “I got your fix bud, one-twenty.”
Jeremiah didn’t know what to think. Here he was, being offered a bag of a highly addictive, and dangerous substance, yet the thought of rejecting it had yet to cross his mind. Intrigued, he asked, “You got enough for just one trip, maybe just a taste?”
The old man held up a finger and said, “Ah, a newcomer! I’ve got just what ya need to get a fix.” He pulled a syringe from his leather pouch and said, “For a rookie, say… twenty-five. This combo will get you on cloud nine in just a few seconds.”
Jeremiah looked at him curiously. As he reached into his pocket to get his wallet, he said, “That’s a fair price, but what is this ‘combo’ you mentioned?”
“Ah, that, my friend, is what I like to call a speedball, straight and to the point.”
“Well, I like the sound of that, give it here,” he said as he handed the old man his money. He took the needle and went along his way to lunch. His heart was racing with the thrill of what he had just done. Sure, he had bought pot a hundred times, but this was different. It felt like he was straight out of a movie, a real drug deal. He was so above the clouds, he felt like he didn’t even need the drug, but only for a moment. He stepped through the McDonalds’ door and made a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, he went into the nearest stall and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t know if he should sit down, or just stand. His hands were trembling violently, and he realized he had better calm down. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his excitement. To him, it was almost as exciting as the night he lost his virginity. He supposed it was kind of the same thing, though today he would lose a different kind of virginity.
He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about injecting it, but he knew enough to look for a vein in his bicep. He gripped the needle in his teeth, squeezed his arm above the vein and with his free hand, jammed the needle into the bulging vein. It was instant bliss, miles ahead of any romantic climax. He slumped to the floor of the stall, and rested his head on the wall. He took a few deep breaths, withdrew the needle and tied some toilet paper around the point of entry.
He stumbled out of the bathroom, and was blinded by the lit restaurant. He felt like his eyes were ablaze, and he had to get away from his bright surroundings. He slowly walked outside, so as to avoid suspicion. As soon as he got outside, the bright reflections of the sun on the snowy landscape began a conflagration within his mind. He had to put out the fire, and he began to run. He ran toward the snowy banks outlining the parking lot and jumped in, head first. He sat in the snow for a moment, collecting himself and then he began to panic. “What did I just do?” he thought to himself. “All these people are watching and you just jumped into a snow bank. They’re going to know what you’re on. You’re going to get caught,” he told himself. “You’ve got to run, get away from these prying eyes.”
Jeremiah got up and began to run from the virtually empty parking lot towards the warehouse. Once he got there, the old man who had sold him the drug was nowhere to be found. He searched all around the building but found nothing. He looked down at his watch, and panicked. He ran across the lot, back to Slappycakes and went in the back door.
The minute he rounded the corner to the time clock, he saw the enormous line of angry customers. They were all so loud, and so angry. All of the hatred was directed at him, and everyone began to converge upon him. Nick grabbed him by the shoulders and began to yell at him. He pushed him off of him and jumped the counter and ran out the front door toward his car. He begged the car aloud to start as he ran up to the door. He looked behind him as he shoved the key into the door. Nick burst out the door, calling after him, “What are you doing, get back to work!” Jeremiah jumped into his car and pumped the brakes, priming the ice-cold engine. It sprung to life, and Jeremiah instantly hammered the gas pedal. He whipped around, and fired out of the parking lot.
As he sped away from the angry gaggle of people, he looked in his rearview mirror. Staring at himself, he saw he was sweating profusely. He wiped his brow and brushed his hair back. “I’ve got to get home,” he thought. “I’ve got to get it together, and sleep this off. I’ll make everything right tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be a better day,” he told himself as he pulled out of town, back onto the rocky, gravel roads toward his parents’ home. His head still felt like it was on fire, but he tried to console himself that it was all in his head. During the drive home, his hyperactive high began to wane and was replaced by a state of calm. “Good,” he thought. “I’m going to be okay.” The drug seemed to be wearing off, and he felt at ease with absolutely everything. The panic, the jitters, everything was replaced by that warm, peaceful bliss he had felt in the bathroom stall. He slouched in his seat, and his foot willed the car on faster. He saw ahead of him a field, covered in sparkling snow and admired the purity of such a sight. He let go of the wheel and closed his eyes as he plowed through the picket fence. Everything was at peace. He was going home. Pieces of the fence broke through the windshield, and the front end caved with the impact. The airbag broke, and Jeremiah was covered in its smothering embrace.
He awoke several hours after the crash, staring at a broken fencepost, just inches from his face. Night had fallen, as had quite a bit of snow. Jeremiah kicked open his jammed door, and gingerly stepped out to check the damage. To his surprise, he wasn’t injured, save a sore neck, and a couple of bruises on his ribs. He saw the large piece of the fence sticking through the window. He pulled it out, and saw that there was a moderately large hole, and the left headlight had cracked, but other than that it was still his old, rickety Impala. He got back inside, and tested the engine. It moaned and groaned as it usually did. Jeremiah tried everything, he pumped the brakes, he let the engine turn over as many times as he could, but no matter what he did he could not get it to start. He decided to give up on it, and began to make his way home.
Jeremiah was terrified to think of what his parents would do to him if they found out he wrecked his car. They wouldn’t even be concerned that he got in a wreck, just that the car was gone. The simple fact that he came through the door was enough to make them not ask about his injuries. He just wanted to get home and go to bed. He was relieved to find that, as he walked, the warmness of the drugs he had taken hours ago was still with him, but none of the other negative side effects. All the drug did now was keep him warm and sheltered from the violent winter storm. He was only a few blocks away when the wreck had happened. “Isn’t that what they always say?” he chuckled. “Accidents always happen right near your house. Probably so that your parents can yell at you right after it happens,” he snorted.
He made his way through his backyard, and contemplated climbing up the side and slipping in through the window. He realized that if he did that, it would just create more conflict, so he decided to do the smart thing and confess to his parents what he had done. He manned up and opened the front door, bracing for the onslaught.
“Jerry, is that you?” his mother called.
“Yes mother.”
“Oh where have you been, I thought your shift ended at nine?” she asked concernedly. Jeremiah was taken aback by her sincere tone.
“Well, I need to talk to you and father,” Jeremiah said, slightly scared. His mother came around the corner, and his father came down the stairs and stopped on the landing. His mother began to walk into the kitchen, and motioned for them both to follow. She pulled out a chair for each of them, and poured all of them some hot chocolate. Jeremiah stared at her, absolutely dumbfounded. He looked to his right, to his father and saw that he was staring, stone-faced, as always, waiting for the reason he had been summoned.
His mother set a mug in front of him and asked, “Well what did you need to tell us honey?” Her short, wavy, blonde hair bounced as she folded her dress and sat down.
“I hope this has something to do with where you’ve been, son,” his father chimed in. “We’ve been worried sick all evening.” Jeremiah again looked at his father, completely and utterly flabbergasted.
“Well,” Jeremiah began. “I was on my way home, and I fell asleep while driving---,”
His mother’s gasp cut him short before he could explain the rest of the crash. “Oh Lord, Jerry are you alright?! I mean, you look fine, but are you hurt? Do you need me to take you to the ER?” Jeremiah just stared at her. He felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. These people, so concerned and loving were not his parents. He had to still be high, he was sure of it. He had to get away from them and sleep off this awful drug.
“Yes, I am fine. Anyway, I fell asleep and veered off the road and hit a fencepost. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know if the car will run anymore.” His mother and father sighed relief, and looked at one another.
“As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters. That old car was due for its day; clearly the Lord didn’t think you were. We’re so glad to see you okay, son,” his father said.
“Uh…alright.” Jeremiah said, still certain that he was higher than he had ever been. “Well, I am a bit sore, do you mind if I go to bed now?”
“Oh yes honey, that’s fine,” his mother said. “Do you want me to make up your bed, or bring you up some more hot chocolate?”
“Uh, no I’m just going to bed.” He turned and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. Just as he hit the bottom step, his mother stopped him.
“Jeremiah,” she called from the table. “We love you,” she said.
“Very much, son,” his father added.
“Well…thanks.” Jeremiah said, staring with his mouth agape. He couldn’t believe his ears. As long as he could remember, his parents had never expressed any sort of positive emotion towards him. The extent of his father’s love was not making a fist when he hit him. His parents smiled, and he walked up the stairs slowly. “If I’m as high as I think I am, I had better take these steps slowly,” he thought.
Jeremiah woke up the next morning at three o’clock in the afternoon and called his boss at Slappycakes. He was worried that he needn’t bother calling as his position could already be filled. After the stunt he pulled the day before, he realized he would probably deserve it. His boss picked up the phone and Jeremiah began to tell him the tale of the day prior.
“Hello, this is Slappycakes Coffee Shop, how can I help you?” his boss asked.
“Hey, this is Jeremiah, I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday, as I am sure you’ve already heard?” Jeremiah held the phone away from his ear, so as to avoid the screaming.
“Yes, yes I did,” his boss said slightly sadly. “I heard you had a sort of breakdown and had to go home early. Nicholas told me you looked worse for wear, and that you just needed some time. I hope you’re feeling much better?” Jeremiah was confused. He should be getting torn into for psychotically running out of work, and vaulting the counter to do so. He should be fired, and even reported to the nuthouse. None of this had happened, and his parents loved him.
“There is no way in hell I am still high right now,” he thought to himself. “Has the world gone mad? Have I gone insane? I get in a car accident and everything gets better? What in the hell is going on here?” He continued to try and think, and piece himself together.
“Jeremiah, you still there?” his boss asked.
“Oh, yes sir. Well I called to apologize about yesterday, and I wanted to let you know I’m alright now. I also understand if you have to let me go. What I did was out of line, and completely irrational,” Jeremiah confessed. He couldn’t believe the extreme overcoming of conscience he was having lately either. That was the biggest head scratcher of all. He felt the need to become an honest guy, and do the right thing. As his parents would have told anyone two days ago, that was not Jeremiah Hardt.
“Well,” his boss said. “It’s actually quite the opposite. We know how hard of a worker you are, and the breakdown yesterday really showed us that you’re working too hard to still be where you are within the company. We would like to extend the offer for you to become our Assistant Manager.”
Jeremiah absolutely lost it. He let the phone fall to the floor, and fell back into his bed, rubbing his scalp. “There is no way in hell I am still high!” he yelled to the empty room.
“What was that?” his boss said from the floor.
Jeremiah quickly dove off his bed and scooped up the phone. “Nothing, sir. Can I call you back later today about this? I just need to think about such a big offer.”
“Certainly! Just call me by four o’clock, when I leave for the day.”
“Alright, thank you for this opportunity, sir,” he said as he hung up the phone and placed it on his nightstand. He lied back in his bed and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. He didn’t know what to do, or how to tell if his mind was still askew. “It has to be,” he reasoned. “Too much weird shit is going on for me to be sober.”
He decided to get up and take a hot shower. He gathered his things, and wandered downstairs to the bathroom. His mother caught him, and she gave him a warm smile.
“Sleep well hon? I’m making lunch if you’d like some.”
“I’ll eat after I shower,” Jeremiah said.
“Alright, I’ll have it ready for you by the time you’re out,” she smiled. Jeremiah began to walk toward the bathroom but he stopped before he exited the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said. “Thanks mom, I love you.” He said, sincerely. His mom simply smiled and continued cooking. He smiled to himself, “I could get used to things being like this, sober or not.”
After he had gotten ready, and had a nice lunch with his mother, he reasoned that his new demeanor could explain everything. Everyone was acting so much different because the drug had altered his personality. He wanted to keep things how they had become, so he came to the conclusion that he would have to find a way to get more of the drug he had taken. He was granted permission to use his father’s car, and he was on his way.
He felt invincible as he drove down the snowy roads in his father’s brand new Ford Explorer. He was careful to drive slowly, and as he approached the crash scene from the night before he was surprised to see his car was gone, while the fence had gone unfixed. “Father must have ordered a tow,” he reasoned. There were tire tracks all over the road near the accident, and leading to, and around the car. There were also footprints everywhere. “Damn, I must have gone all over the place last night!” he thought.
When he got into town, he passed Slappycakes, and pulled in behind the warehouse where he had met the drug dealer the day before. He hoped the old man would still be there; he didn’t want this new world to fade.
He got out of the car and wandered around the front, where he saw the old man, again, leaning on the doorframe. “Well hello there,” he greeted Jeremiah. “Back for another dose of the good stuff?”
“Yes, and no,” Jeremiah replied. “I don’t need any of the euphoric effects, I just want whatever made me so approachable, and made everyone like me so much.”
The old man chuckled and smiled. “Well, what I gave you was an interesting combination,” he said. “Just take this if you feel things changing and you’ll be back in top shape.” He handed him a small bag with a single pill in it. “Remember, only if things change, otherwise leave things alone.”
“What is this stuff?” Jeremiah asked.
“For you, its your magic potion,” the old man said, as he walked away. Jeremiah stood for a moment, pondering what the old man had said. He shrugged it off and decided that if whatever was in the pill was his secret to this life, he would take whatever came along with it, even if it eventually killed him.
He decided to leave his car parked where it was, and made his way to the Slappycakes lot. As he approached the door, he stopped for a minute, his hand resting on the door. “This is the real beginning of my new life,” he thought to himself as he pushed open the door. “Hey Nick, is boss here?”
“Yeah, he’s in his office,” Nick said with a kind smile. “He can’t wait to see you.” Jeremiah walked around the corner to the back. He knocked on his boss’ door and was told to enter. When he got inside, he saw his boss talking to a very petit and attractive brunette. He was awestruck by the sight of her; she was perfect in every way. Her green dress formed perfectly to her hourglass figure, and her eyes pierced his soul. Jeremiah stood, unable to move or even speak.
“Jeremiah,” his boss said. “This is Jeanette, she is coming in to take your spot when you become Assistant Manager. I assume that’s why you’re here?”
Jeremiah collected himself, and after a short, awkward silence he spoke. “Yes,” he said, his eyes still fixed on hers. She smiled a warm smile and blinked slowly.
“Well,” she said. “I look forward to working with someone like you Jeremiah, I have heard so many good things about you.” She excused herself, and was out the door.
“She’s a looker, eh?” his boss asked.
“Yes, she is gorgeous,” Jeremiah replied. His boss stared at him blankly for a moment. Jeremiah waited for him to speak. After all, he had come to accept a promotion; he figured there would be a lot of business to handle.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” his boss asked. “You’ve got the promotion already, I’ll see you the day after next. Go get her!” Jeremiah smiled and ran out of the office. He bounded into the parking lot, searching for her. It appeared she had already gone.
“You’re a persistent one, huh?” she asked. Jeremiah wheeled around and saw her there, leaning on the building, cigarette hanging from her soft, red lips. “Care for a smoke?” she asked.
“Yeah, thanks,” Jeremiah said as he pulled a cigarette from the pack. “So, do you live around here?” he asked.
“Well I just moved here,” she said. “It’s kind of a deadbeat town, I’m looking for a little excitement.” She smirked and took a long pull. “Do you know where I might find someone like that?”
Jeremiah smiled and winked at her. “I’m sure I could show you a good time,” he said confidently. The both stooped to the ground and sat with their backs to the building.
“Is that so?” she said, being coy. Their eyes met once again, and he pulled her close to him. Their lips met, and he got that familiar feeling he had the day before, only this time it was explosive.
“Yeah, I think so,” Jeremiah said as he stood up. “So are you coming with me?” She cocked her head, and looked at him confused. Jeremiah shrugged and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Jeanette asked sadly. Jeremiah continued to walk around to the back of the building.
“Come with me and you’ll get your excitement,” he called. “I mean unless you want to hang around with Nick.” She turned and looked into the window of the coffee house and saw the short, curly-headed kid beaming back at her.
“Wait, I’m coming!” she shouted as she ran around the corner to catch up. She wrapped her arm around his and again inquired, “Where are we going?” Jeremiah kept silent and led her into the car.
He drove the familiar route he always had. Back down the bumpy, country roads, back to his home. He pulled into the driveway, and she again asked, “Where are we?” He declined to answer and led her inside. Once inside, he made his way for the kitchen, and popped open a bottle of wine. He set it on the table and urged her to come sit with him. He pulled two glasses from the cabinets, and sat with her.
The night passed so slowly, he felt like the two of them could sit and talk forever and never would there be an awkward moment. She made him feel so confident and alive, more than the drugs ever had. He knew, however that all of this would soon fade, and he reminded himself of the pill in his pocket.
After their wonderful talk, he wasn’t sure the night could get any better. They finally ran out of the exquisite merlot, and were left with nothing but their goodbyes.
“Well,” he said. “It’s late, I should get you home.” She arched an eyebrow, and looked at him with an inviting smile.
“My house is so far away, and you’re right, it is late,” she said with a wink. Jeremiah’s heart began to race.
He wanted to ask himself aloud, “Am I really still high?” He played it cool, and went along with the game. “Well, you could sleep on my couch,” he teased. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Oh but I’m sure your bed is so much warmer, you wouldn’t want me to be cold would you, Big Jerry?” He couldn’t believe his ears. He had never gotten a compliment in his whole life, let alone be called “Big Jerry.” He hated that name, Jerry, but coming from her, she could call him anything she wanted. He hoisted her up, and carried her up the stairs, kissing her as he went. Once he reached the top of the landing, he was again reminded of the little pill in his pocket. He set her on the bed and excused himself. He ran to the bathroom, and downed the pill. After all, he didn’t want things to change at a time like this.
“You comin’ Jay?” Jeanette called from the bed. Jeremiah looked into the mirror, smiled and raced into the bedroom.
The next morning, Jeremiah awoke and she was nowhere to be found. She was not at his side, and she wasn’t anywhere in the house. He couldn’t believe she had gone. After what they had shared, the time they had, she wouldn’t just leave. The house was completely empty, his parents had gone, and so had his love/
He walked aimlessly around the house, more tired than he had ever been in his entire life. He felt very sick, and weak. His head was pounding, and all he wanted to do was lie in bed for the rest of the month, if not more. He suddenly didn’t care about anything. He went back upstairs, and sat on his bed. He found it very hard to breathe, and his chest felt like it was going to burst. His nose began to bleed, and he ran to the bathroom to get a tissue.
He had no idea what was going on, he felt like he was going back to his old self, lazy and ignorant of everything. He looked in the mirror at himself and thought, “That can’t be happening, I took the pill.” Then he remembered what the old man had said. He wasn’t supposed to take it unless he felt a change. He hadn’t felt a change, he just wanted what he had with Jeanette to last, and he had to be sure of it.
He ran to the kitchen to call 911. He had to get some help. He stopped as he approached the table where he and Jeanette had shared so many intimate secrets the night before. He saw nothing but a small piece of paper, no bigger than a business card with the words “Regency Hospital, Room 113”
He turned the card over, looking for a signature, or any clue as to what it meant. He wondered if something had happened to Jeannette and if she had been taken to the hospital while he slept in a drugged stupor. He immediately became angry with himself, and rushed to his car. He still felt sleepy, and he was becoming very sore, but he had to get to the hospital if Jeanette was in trouble. He pulled out of the driveway and sped toward the hospital.
He turned on the radio, hoping to calm himself. He turned on his favorite rock station, but heard nothing but a high-pitched buzz. He switched to another station, just needing some sort of ambience to calm him down. Every station was the same, just a constant, eerie high-pitched buzz. He turned off the radio, but the buzz persisted.
He flew into the hospital parking lot, and abandoned his car right in front of the entrance. They could tow it for all he cared, nothing was important to him anymore except Jeanette. He ran into the building, and the buzzing noise stopped instantly. The hospital was dark, and he didn’t see anyone inside. He ran through the empty halls, searching for room 113. He rounded a corner and almost ran into his parents. His mother was crying uncontrollably, as his father comforted her.
“Mom!” Jeremiah yelled. “Where is she, is she alright?”
His mother didn’t even pay him any heed, and they continued to walk on in sorrow. He turned and shook his father’s shoulder. “Father, where is Jeanette?! Tell me!” He continued walking and didn’t saw a word. Jeremiah didn’t have time to waste, and his parents clearly didn’t care. They had reverted to the old, uncaring souls they had always been. He thought to himself, “They wouldn’t care if I died, let alone Jeanette.”
He sped down the hall, and he finally reached the room. It was the only room he had seen with a patient in it. He looked around for a nurse, so he could get into the room and see her. He just wanted to look into those beautiful eyes and tell her everything was going to be okay. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her.
There was no staff member of any sort to be found, so he turned to the door and threw it open. He approached the bedside and stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He stared at the figure in the bed, horrified. In an instant, it all became clear. He finally realized what had really happened on that cold day in November.
