Broken Back ch. 2

1

Chapter two of my novel. I would ask to please refrain from overt efforts with regards to punctuation and grammar. i'll get to it ...or an editor will. What i'm looking for is feedback based on impact only. Thanks all. 2

---

3

I'm not going to do this again.4

Fuck.5

Yes, I am.6

Images race by. Blurred buildings. Lights. Bodies. And only one image is in my mind. A large black ball of plastic encasing freedom. My exit door from pain and depression. The meds are working, but never seem to be enough. I've already taken double the daily dose...and i'm not even downtown yet. 7

Blurry.8

Streaks of colour wash by my eyes like being inside a car wash. I know they're people on the sidewalk, cars, stop lights. But it's all out of focus. And i love that. Out of focus. Everything. I don't want to see. See the faces of depressed masses. Buildings of boxes. Don't care.9

As the wheel melts in my hands, sweaty, I turn a corner. At least I think i did. 10

Is that a parking space.11

Don't lock my doors anymore. Hasty retreat.12

There they are. I can see them. My "friends". Suppliers of the sublime un-real.13

I hate this part. Not even an overdose of meds drown out the inevitable stomach churning created by my own self-loathing and anger at my repeat defeat. And ....the prospect of fucking jail. 14

I step forward anyway.15

Can only see forms, shapes.16

Not bodies...but i know it's them.17

Sup, bro?18

ehhh..not much.19

What'chya lookin' for?20

Snow white.21

ah'ite...wait here.22

Figures.23

Wait.24

Wait.25

Fucking wait.26

Fumbling for the bills in my pocket, which I should've done in the car, I get prepared for the age old exchange. Palms sweaty. Bills crumpled. I don't belong here...that voice says again in my head.27

Every time.28

Don't belong. I don't care. Shut the fuck up. I'm here. I need to be.29

After what seemed like a fucking hour, he finally re-appears. I can feel some thing's wrong today. Don't know what. But it's there. I ignore it.30

K, bro...you got it?31

Yeah..here.32

Cool.33

He sniffs. As always. Addict. Don't like dealing with addicts. Ironic.34

Good count, man. Fuckin' grade A, too. 35

They always say that. Next thing you know, you're puking your guts up from snorting crushed Tylenol to imitate numbness, with combo detergent. All part of the goddamn game.36

K.37

Thanks.38

Later.39

He just nods his head upwards and I walk away. It's cold out and I'm starting to shiver badly. But I don't think it's the cold. 40

As I round the corner towards my car, the bar catches my eye. I usually don't go in. And god knows I shouldn't have tonight. But I didn't know that until it was too late.41

Hi there. Napkin down on table, as usual. Cleans ashtray. Indifferent expression masked by paste on customer smile.42

Pint and a shot - vodka. Thanks.43

She leaves without a word. Widens tip bringing smile a little. I just shake my fucking head. A programmed world. Pre-programmed responses. Whatever. My hands are shaking and I have to get to the washroom. Soon as the drinks get here...i'll go.44

Meaningless sports event on big screen cuts through my eyes and ears and I want to scream just shut that goddamn thing off please. I put on my earphones as loud as i can. Drown all this bullshit out. Clinking glasses, television, meaningless rambles of conversation amounting to nothing but kill time. Same scene. Could be a painting.45

Here ya go. Smiles...46

Thanks. I don't47

My eyes dart towards the bathroom door. Have to. Have to go now.48

Down my shot, half the beer. Leave my coat over the chair as usual statement..."I'm still here - don't take my fucking drink away".49

This is where the concentration part comes in. The rest was easy. Getting from the table to the door through smoke filled air, I focus on one steady leg forward ..and then the next. Don't want to be thrown out for being labelled drunk, before I get a taste. I hate myself. Shake my head.50

Door.51

Acrid, dry urine smell pulls, making that usual face squint of displeasure. 52

Stall.53

Pockets.54

Blade.55

Bag.56

I face forward on the toilet, seat down. My porcelain counter of application and sublimation. Familiar territory.57

Some asshole walks in but I couldn't give a fuck. I'm not stopping now.58

I always knew I loved this part almost as much as the high itself. The preparation. Master chef makes his meal. His masterpiece. I'm good at this. Sadly. And I feel displaced pride. Ridiculous pride. 59

It does look good.60

Is a good count.61

Solid...colours right.62

As i carve and chop, i flush the toilet to cover the noise of chop, chop ,chop, chop against the porcelain surface. And there's that smell again. I don't care, i'm focused now. Like a surgeon. Fleeting image of me slicing away at my own brain. 63

Which is exactly what i'm doing. Slice brain. Remove pain. That's my job. Catch 22 is, I pay for my job. It doesn't pay me.64

Lines are formed.65

Handy, wide straw in pocket ready.66

And down it goes. or up. whatever.67

Blinding sharp pain shoots up the side of my left nostril into eye. 68

That's it.69

That's the sign of high-grade snow.70

Another.71

One more.72

And one for the road.73

Runs down my body like a reverse bath. Head numb. Right good goddamn numb. Just what I want. Numbness. Total numbness. Ohh. this is fucking great. And about the only time I feel happy for a few hours. And especially now.74

I wet my finger and pick up the remnants, but against gums. I love the taste. The smell. The feel. Forgetting about the disgusting bacteria ridden surface from whence it came. No caring now. It's all gone. Wide smile.75

Pack up quick. That little pang of paranoia...quick and awful side effect. but only a little. I figure it a safety zone. 76

Done.77

With hands actually shaking worse now from the coke, i reach for my Valium to even out a little. Calm to the CNS effect of increased synapses. Firing like machine guns in my head. What's left of it.78

Deep breath and swallow. Mouth is really dry now. Need more beer.79

That's my next vision. Destination. 80

I somewhat nervously open the stall door. 81

No ones around. Asshole from earlier left and I didn't even notice.82

Good.83

That battle past, I head for the door, re-checking my pockets for everything. Always do that. Part of that obsessive-compulsive disorder. All down in black and white on doctors notes. Ah, I just basically don't want to drop any money or dope behind. Keys are there. Every things cool.84

Or so I try to convince myself as my body wrestles with conflicting medications. But i'm use to this. Even like it. It's like panic and calm at the same time. Numbness and heightened acuity, perception, awareness. It glares like sunlight. with out pain. I love it. Fucking love this.85

I see my table and easier way made there than from. ahhhhh. beer. Down the glass, and in perfect time like staged choreography, the waitress appears again by my side. 86

More?87

Please.88

Same.89

Two beers, one shot this time.90

Okey dokey.91

Leaves.92

And in this haze, and wide-eyed up, I actually enjoy looking at the big screen for awhile. Leaning back in my chair, I light a smoke, and all is well with my world. or so i thought. At least for that moment.93

Shot down.94

Two beers down.95

6 cigarettes.96

Time to go.97

I want another hit, but not here. Home. Safety of home. Comfort zone. Even though I wake to hate it everyday. More and more.98

But for now. Home.99

Just put a hundred on the table and leave. Money is never a concern. I wish it was. Then there'd be less concern. Less choices. Bad ones usually.100

The exit seems too close and ominous for some reason or other, and I can't put my finger on it. I stare at it briefly, trying to decipher the reason. Doesn't matter. 101

Cold rushes at me in a curling wave as i open the door. Fresh fucking air. Feels good. I can barely feel my feet. Face. Hands. Did i actually hold the handle of the door? I'd forgotten already.102

Also forgot where I parked.103

Wasn't going to have to know until next morning anyway......104