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No Longer There
© D. Michael Smith 2011
He wakes up in a daze, where the h**l am I? He shakes his head to get the cobwebs out and he realizes he is right where he has been for the last 12 years. Alone in bed. He reaches for the bottle of blue pills and decides “F**k that.” For a bit anyway. You start reaching for those things at the first sign of fear, anxiety, they become a crutch, he already has two real ones, why look for more?
Now an ice cold IPA that was another matter altogether, he rolled over knocked the top off the cheap Styrofoam cooler next to his bed, stuck his hand in the ice cold water, then decided f**k it, rolled over and dunked his whole head in there. Oh yeah, nothing better than to get rid of the cob webs, fished out a beer bottle by the top with his teeth, pulled it out, watching the water flowing back into the cooler, laying his head back to the pillow, ran his hand through what was left of his hair, pulled the rope that tied his opener to the shelf that ran above and next to his white cracked, desperately in need of paint wall. Smiled when it hit him right between the eyes. As he grabbed the opener he felt the knot and laughed. At himself, at life, at the Universe. Re-did the ponytail he wore, not because he was middle aged and trying to hang on to the last of his youth, but because he just could not see paying some one $20.00 to pull his hair straight and clip it once or twice and hold his/her hand out expecting a tip. H**l he could do that. Might look a bit funky, but once it was pulled into the short ponytail, who the f**k noticed? Who the f**k cared?
He took a long pull off of the bottle and felt the ice cold beer work it’s way down his esophagus and into his gut, which cramped a wee bit, but then accepted the nectar of the God’s with relish. He poured the rest of the beer down with one long swallow, spilled a little bit out the side of his mouth. And it felt f*****g good! So being a good citizen of the USA where more is always better he reached in fished around, found another one, opened it, hook shot the opener back into its proper place, half on, half off the shelf. Perfect. Sat up grabbed the brush from the shelf without looking, pretty much knew the shelf contents by heart. Brushed his hair and put a tie in, while balancing the beer between his legs. He pounded that one too, it too felt good. Sat up with no effort, the abdomen workouts he was doing were killer, tossed the empties into the trash can which was clean. Musta done some cleaning in one of his funks. He found himself doing that a lot at night anymore, s**t he couldn’t remember.
“Not a good sign” says the doc. “No s**t” says he. He found himself in front of his open bottle of pills one night. Stayed up for three hours pouring down coffee and working out, decided he was going to live and went back to bed. Woke up the next day, everything still worked, the pain was certainly working well, but what do you expect when you work out like a madman for hours, making sure that you will wake up to this pain filled world. F**K! He cracked himself up sometimes. So smiling, he got up without bumping his head on the shelf. Stretched, cracked, popped and sat down in front of his computer, turned it on, snorted a pain pill, they worked faster that way. Checked his e-mail decided f**k it, clicked on Docs and went to work.
Turned on Alice and Chains Radio and decided it fit the mood. Dark, depressing, angry. And he was all of those. Dark, who wouldn’t be after just attending his 25yr old sons funeral. Said it was suicide. He says crap, His boy was talking on the phone to his sister,just minutes before, they were laughing, she was helping him with his homework and they were loving. People like that do not commit suicide. But, because his X-girlfriend whose house he was at for the Internet connection says he did, he did. No matter that the gun had managed to wipe itself clean of all fingerprints and magically open a 200lb gun safe door that was locked and magically replace itself in the exact same spot from which it was taken, re-close the 200lb door, re-lock itself and then return the keys to a hiding place his son knew nothing about, kind of like the ole magic bullet theory. No investigation because he was seeing a counselor for his depression. Which he had every right to be.
He had walked in on his wife of two months to find her f*****g some junkie kid on the floor. His son was not a violent person by nature, told the kid (who he had been supporting for months) to take the clothes(which his son had donated to him) and get the h**l out. His wife was so doped up all she could do was roll over spread her legs and pass the f**k out. His boy then poured a bottle of wine on her face, she never even moved.
His boy then picked up the phone and called him said “Dad, I need you.” Pops packed up everything He could fit into two suitcases, sold the rest and was out there the next day. One good thing about being a starving artist, takes you about a half hour to pack up and leave. They worked through it together. They became as close as any father and son could. He was doing great!
Then the Black Widow moved in on him. Bit him and had him all trussed up and ready to suck dry before He could say spit. Pops tried, but her hooks were in too deep and all he ended up doing was driving his boy away. So depressed and lonely as h**l he left homeless and broke. He had flown back to Colorado, where he was doing the best work of his life and tried to get back into the swing of things. You can never go back. Yet he did and his work became even better, or so everyone told him. He told his son he was doing it for him, to make him proud, so maybe, just maybe, he could see through the drug filled haze the Widow had him in and learn to respect his father. Which was the truth. Depressed, h**l yes. Angry, could not begin describe his feelings. Not at his boy, no, that he would never be.
He found an editor who would help him get published and some up and coming filmmakers were shooting a documentary about him and his writing. Son it all means nothing without you here to share it with. But he had no choice, He had to put it out there. He must. Life is for the living and he had three other children and a granddaughter who needed him. Even though his boy, who he loved with all of his being was; no longer there...
Peace